South of the Border, Down Malahide Way

Last night I had my eighteenth gig, and it was one I’d been looking forward to a hell of a lot ever since I booked it. This was my first gig in Dublin, at the Battle of the Axe in Temple Bar’s Ha’penny Bridge Inn.

I had actually been to the Ha’penny about three years ago, during a weekend in Dublin with a few mates. I remember very little about it, except that I really enjoyed it, the MC was Simon O’Keefe and the headliner was Bernard O’Shea. Oh, and I also inadvertently criticised one of the comedians to her fiancé. Not my proudest moment.

The scene of my embarrasment

It felt really weird to be in the room, actually, probably because it was the only comedy gig I’d been to until I started thinking about doing it myself (well, at least the only one that wasn’t in the Waterfront Hall). To emphasise the weirdness of it all, I was in the exact same seat as last time. It wouldn’t be an understatement to suggest that all of this weirdness was making me shit myself.

It was great to be back in Dublin, but also awful. I mean, it’s a lovely city, but it cost me more than five Euro for a pint of Carlsberg. How do people live there? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t briefly consider bringing a carryout with me, although I imagine that even that would be more expensive than I could afford.

Probably the only carryout I could afford

Oh, before I go on, I’ll take the opportunity to thank my good friends Richard and Heather, who were kind enough to make the trip down with me for a bit of moral support Cheers, lovely people. MC for the evening was Mr. Gerry McBride. Whether you’ve heard of Gerry or you haven’t, I suggest you finish this and head right over to his incredible blog “No Punchline” http://nopunchline.wordpress.com. It’s a wonderful read. In addition to being an excellent blogger, Gerry is also a very fine comedian (and also a very nimble one – you should see his lunges), and did a great job working the room last night. Which, come to think of it, makes him sound a bit like a hooker.

Gerry on the game

The room was great, the crowd was great, and I can honestly say that every one of the acts were great, too. I’m annoyed at myself that I can’t remember more of their names, as the two I do remember were top-notch. Rory O’Hanlon opened, warming up for his Edinburgh show, and I loved his act. Peter Flanagan was on third, with his one-liner set, and I thought he in particular nailed it. It really pisses me off that I can’t remember the rest of the acts’ names, because as I said, there wasn’t one of them that didn’t make me belly laugh.

In what was either a rigged vote or a result of Gerry mishearing, I actually managed to obtain the winner’s prize of a rubber duck, which is currently sitting proudly on my bedroom chest of drawers. I’m probably more pleased that I actually caught the duck when it was thrown to me than anything else. The duck scares me a little bit, actually, as it doesn’t appear to have eyes. That unsettles me for some reason.

Playing at the Battle of the Axe was actually a bit of a dream achieved for me, given my previous visit to the club, and to win was really an honour. Given the quality of the other acts, I really don’t think I deserved to win, and I hope that doesn’t sound like false modesty, because it really isn’t. Thanks to Tony Ferns for giving me the spot, to Gerry for a great introduction and a nerve-settling wee pat on the shoulders before I went on, and to all the other acts, who made me look positively amateurish by comparison.

Last night was probably the most fun I’ve had at a gig, and I definitely plan on being back at the Ha’penny, if they’ll have me. Hopefully, I’ll be able to add to my rubber duck collection, which is currently comprised of the duck I won last night, and not a whole lot else.

My bedroom in 2015 (possibly)

My next gig is looking to be another great one, at Dicey Riley’s in Strabane on July 29th. Along with myself will be hometown boy Ruairi Woods, Santa Claus look-alike Paddy McDonnell and Gerry McBride, all hosted by Mr. Shane Todd. Very much looking forward to that one. In the meantime, I’ll try to get a couple more blog posts up.

Thanks for reading!

Frank and the car, son.

So, at this point, I’m sixteen gigs into my comedy…well, I guess you could call it career, although that sounds a tad presumptuous to me, so I’ll just call it my comedy “thing”. There, that’ll do.

So, basically I’m in double figures, but I’ll not be catching up to Ken Dodd any time soon (which is good, because he scares the shit out of me). I’ve been thinking about why I haven’t done more gigs. I’ve been doing stand-up for almost nine months now, and yet I’ve only done sixteen gigs. That’s less than a gig every fortnight.

That number depresses me even more when I look at someone like Ruairi Woods. Ruairi had his first gig the same night as I had mine, and how many gigs has he done? Well, the man himself says, “about forty, lad”. So that’s more than double than I’ve done. It really does seem time to get the finger out. However, because I’m a whiny bastard, I’ve decided that there’s an impediment to my progress that needs to be dealt with before I can do anything. What is it?

This.

Okay, aside from the picture which manages to hide my mouth and give me a ridiculous haircut at the same time, the key thing about this licence is the word preceding it “Provisional”. Yep, I can’t drive. I finally started to learn a few months ago, and am getting there, but it’s still a while off. To make it worse, there’s already a car in the back garden, waiting for me. Taunting me. Calling me lazy, rubbish and not very funny.

Who knew a Clio could be so harsh?

To be honest, I think I’ve built up this driving thing too much in my mind. I have visions of the world being my oyster, driving all round Ireland, nay, the world, gigging wherever I want, when actually I’ll probably use the car to get Chicken McNuggets from McDonalds and cruise for the occasional dogging session (Just kidding. I don’t even like McDonalds).

Gigging in places where I need to get a lift appears to have awakened some sort of deep psychological issue. Even though I pay my share of the petrol money, and don’t get a lift with anyone who wasn’t already going to my destination, I always feel guilty about it. Why is that? Is it because Johnny McCarthy touched me one time I didn’t have any money for petrol? Perhaps, but whatever the case, I really hate asking for lifts, and thus I rarely attempt to get gigs outside of Belfast. It makes things much easier for everybody, especially me.

Okay, enough about cars, and more about this blog. I’ve been trying to decide what exactly I’m going to talk about on this, and I’ve a few ideas.

I’ve decided that I’m going to do some self-analysis on past gigs, particularly the bad ones, if I can track down video footage. I’m pretty sure posting some of these is a crime under the Geneva Convention, but we’ll give it a go anyway. There will also be a post analysing my first attempt at running a gig, which taught me it’s a lot harder than I imagined it would be, and what I’ve learned from it.

I’ll also be hoping to introduce non-comedy peeps to some of the best and brightest comedians currently working the Northern Irish circuit. I think most people don’t look beyond what’s on at the Empire, and there’s a lot of genuine talent gigging right now that is well worth a look.

Oh, and you’ll probably find me rant quite a bit, be it about myself – specifically my inability to write new material at any decent rate – or just in general. I have a sinking feeling that I’ll talk about wrestling and American politics a lot. So look forward to that…

Before, I go, I’m going to give you a spoiler. There’s one Northern Irish comedian who, without a shadow of a doubt, will never appear on this blog in a positive light. In truth, this man won’t appear on this blog at all after this post. Let me be frank; it’s not the way he tells them.

Fuck this guy.

Love and hugs!

Seven And Off: A short introduction

Hello, and welcome to Seven And Off.

First of all, thanks for taking the time to read this. From that, I can only assume that you’re either incredibly bored, have been nagged into it by my good self, or have some sort of fetish for feeling pain.

So, it feels only wise to introduce myself. I’m Alan Irwin, or Alan Stephen Robert Irwin Jr., if you’re the kind of twat who uses middle names. I’m twenty-one, and since October 18th last year, I’ve been trying my hand at stand-up comedy.

A number of Northern Irish comedians, all of whom are both much more experienced and much more talented than me, have their own blogs, and in that spirit, I thought I’d get in on the ground floor. I’m hoping to be doing stand-up for as long as I possibly can, so I might as well have a chronicle of it.

As for the title? Seven And Off refers to the fact that it’s still very early days for me. For those who don’t do stand-up (although why are you reading this then, you fool?), a short set for newcomers is usually five to seven minutes. So basically, you do your seven, and get off.

I’ll take a moment to allow you to enjoy the genius of that bullshit.

Anyway, I’m not really sure what I’m going to talk about this, but it’ll all come back to stand-up in some way. Hope you stick with me, just as the Labour Party stuck with Gordon Brown for three years…although that didn’t turn out so well, so, perhaps not.

Alan