Comedy Night

I hadn't thought to sign up for the Lansdowne Comedy Night well enough in advance, but as it turned out, that afternoon my friend Sarah decided not to go and so offered me her ticket. It was good to see Sophie, and I was looking forward to an evening of comedy. I sat with Sophie and one of the South African posse, and after Sophie got us some wine, we took in the show.

The first comedian was really good, and I enjoyed his jokes. All of the comedians were obviously a bit in awe of being in a private member's club, as they normally play venues in pubs and other low-rent locales.  So as such, they kept constantly making jokes about how posh we all were.  This comedian asked, "Is anybody here working class?  If you're not sure if you're working class, the way to tell is the relative size of your television to your bookshelves.  If you've got a giant, massive flat-screen television, while you've got some spindly IKEA 'Billy' bookshelf that's practically falling down with only a few books on it, you're probably working class."  I laughed pretty hard at this, because it was classically one of those "funny because it's true" comments.  I guess with two bookshelves packed into my tiny flat, and no television at all, it tells you something about my social class!

His best joke had to be at the end of the night however:  "My girlfriend worries that I'll cheat on her, because being a comedian involves lots of late nights and drinking in pubs with lots of women around.  To reassure her, I try telling her the old Paul Newman quote, about, "Why would I go out for hamburger when I've got steak at home?"  The problem is, when you're pissed, a hamburger tastes pretty damn good!"

There was then a female comedian who was apparently Sophie's friend, and the reason this whole comedy night had come about in the first place.  They also had a chap who sort of served as "MC", and had gotten us to engage in some ritualised banter, including every time he yelled out, "What colour boxer shorts are you wearing?" we'd all yell back the answer "Misty Twig!", which happened to be the name of a girl sitting front and center.  The comedians absolutely loved her, as she was pretty and incredibly witty, and took everyone yelling her name all of the time with good grace.

At the intermission, we had a jokes contest, where they gave us all slips of paper as we wrote punchlines to the joke, "What is the difference between Boris Johnson and a vacuum cleaner?"  My table seemed to think I was extraordinarily witty with the few that I came up with:

"Both can suck, but only one can blow."
In the efforts of having a positive one:  "One cleans up every day, the other one will clean up in May."
And then the one that actually made it into the finals of the competition: "One used to destroy restaurants at Uni, the other one would clean up after."
However it was low-brow humour that won the day with, "Only one ever touches the c*ck of a teenage boy".

The comedians had said that they'd never read so many positive Boris Johnson jokes, I guess once again showing the kind of crowd we were in!

After the intermission dinner break, a rather funny fat guy came on, and randomly decided to try and banter with Misty Twig, and then seemed quite surprised when we all knew her name and shouted it out loudly.  I'm not sure if he really hadn't been paying attention earlier or what, but it did seem like a humorous bit of good fortune that he'd decided to chat to her.

Then there was a guy who absolutely HAD to be autistic, as he got on stage, let out an absolute stream of one-liner jokes while laughing awkwardly and staring at the floor.  Nobody laughed, except nervously to wonder, "What on earth is going on here?"  Apparently it was a guy who had really wanted to try comedy, and that was his first time on stage.  Sorry dude, but I'm not sure this is quite your thing...

The final comedian did a pretty good job (particularly as everyone was still sort of recovering from the autistic rapid-fire jokes), and everyone got a good laugh.  After the show, we all hung out in the bar for a bit, and then at midnight Sophie decided to take a whole crowd to the 151.  I insisted on going home, begging the excuse of my knee, although wondering, "Am I the only person who has to work tomorrow?"

When I got to the Underground, I checked my phone and saw that I'd missed a call from the Tall South African, which was a shame.  (I'd been texting him photos of fancy cars in Mayfair earlier).  Sent him a text that I'd see him tomorrow, and then went home to bed, glad to get off of standing around on my sore knee.  Had a good laugh and it was good to get out though!