Life and Laughing_ My Story - Michael McIntyre [84]
‘OK, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for our next act.’ He took out the list of acts from his pocket and read out my name, beginning my comedy career: ‘Michael McIntyre.’ The audience applauded as I walked towards the stage and took the microphone out of its stand. I had been advised to look into the middle distance. As I’m writing this I can see that there’s a routine just in looking into the ‘middle distance’ as opposed to the ‘long distance’ or ‘near distance’, but then I was a comedy virgin with no instinct as to what might work onstage. So I looked for the middle distance, and gazed into it.
The view from the stage was surreal. Nothing can prepare you for all the expectant faces staring at you. I can’t remember what I opened with, but I remember hearing the sound of laughter. It was amazing, I felt like Jerry Seinfeld. ‘I’m a natural,’ I thought, ‘this is a breeze.’ Unfortunately, I then proceeded to struggle for the remaining four and a half minutes. I walked offstage to lacklustre applause, and within moments Daniel had them back laughing at full volume.
But I was away, off the mark. Technically the gig was a disaster, but I did get one laugh, one solitary laugh, something to build on. I was so relieved that it was over and proud that I had cleared the most terrifying hurdle of my life so far. I sat in the audience at the Comedy Store and the Palladium confident in my ability to succeed as a stand-up, but now I knew that was because the comedians made it look easy. It wasn’t.
I had been bitten by the comedy bug. I booked myself into several other new-act nights and I was now on the road, but what about the other lane of my road, the Kitty Lane? (Sorry, I genuinely thought I’d left this analogy behind.) Well, we started talking on the phone regularly. I had learned my lesson from before and eased off a bit. She and her friends, including my sister’s boyfriend, would go to the Lansdowne, a pub in Primrose Hill. I would head down there to run into her accidentally on purpose. My natural instinct every time I saw her was to drop to my knees and ask for her hand in marriage, but I just about managed to hold it together. We were becoming friends. I was one of her many friends, an alarming number of whom were men with a similar yearning look to me. There was no doubt about it; I faced a lot of competition.
My days revolved around writing jokes, wondering whether to phone Kitty and hoping she would phone me. My state-of-the-art BT caller ID phone was playing a huge part in my life. To see her number flash up on the display was the highlight of my day. When my lease ran out on my studio flat in West Hampstead, I took my obsessive behaviour to the next level. I found a small one-bedroom flat two roads from the flat she shared with her parents. My new residence was in a 1930s block called Stanbury Court that overlooked her local pub, the Steeles, where we first met. She seemed to welcome my being local, and we started spending evenings together, drinking and laughing. At regular intervals, she would remind me that we were just good friends; either by saying the words ‘We’re just good friends’ or telling me about other men in her life. Although this was like a dagger in my heart, I played it cool.
I once tried to make her jealous by telling her about a fictional girl I had met. Unfortunately, she seemed genuinely pleased for me. Not only that, but she really wanted to meet her. She was also very keen to come to one of my gigs, but that was out of the question. After my Comedy Café debut, I had had about five further gigs and still hadn’t really added to my tally of one laugh.
The holy grail of stand-up for a new act is playing the Comedy Store in Piccadilly Circus.