The Sad Plight of the Heckler

Today’s blog isn’t funny. Sadly though, it is true. Maybe play some violin music in the background, imagine everything in black and white and then have a little cry. Or alternatively if you’re the sort of person who mocks the weak, then why not play circus music and read this whilst doing jazz hands and making cow noises. I’m not sure why, I’m just trying to cater for every crowd.

Sometimes hecklers aren’t bad. Sometimes, despite the fact that they might appear malicious, say nasty things, and irritate the rest of the audience, they aren’t evil people. Last night, a really fat man called Greg proved that sometimes hecklers are just sad, sad lonely people. Arriving with a friend of one of the acts (Julia Clark who was brilliant) he had previously stated that he would heckle the acts and sat in the 3rd row looking ready for banter. I spoke to him in the first section and his flame of vitriol didn’t even spark before I had moved onto speaking to someone else. He visibly slumped in his chair seeming sad. Then when the second section started he had moved to the front row, by himself. The front row was entirely empty on the left side and so this large bulk of a man sitting there was hard to miss, both visually and if I was to aim something at him. I did 15 minutes of material and towards the end of that, I made some comments about my height, as I am prone to do. Greg, after much thought, for you could hear his brain cogs whirring for some time, said ‘I bet you like escalators though?’

I replied by saying ‘What do you mean? I do, because it means I don’t have to walk up stairs. Looking at you I’d assume you love them too.’ This immediately threw him off and he mumbled that I like them because it means I can ‘smell tall men’s arses on the way up’ and then just kept repeating ‘you like the smell you do’. It was a very poor attempt at heckling, made worse by its length and having to explain what it meant. Greg knew this as he said it and his head sunk as far as it could considering the size of his neck. I was about to launch into a retort of telling him that Shakespeare said ‘Brevity is the key to wit’ and then call him a ‘big fat prick’, but something stopped me. I think it was the fact that the entire room was looking at him with confusion and pity, and his friends were just staring at him like he’d suffered from incontinence and announced it to the world. I very gently explained to him why he was rubbish and why he should stop speaking, and he did. Then Julia came on stage and he interrupted her twice, which she aptly dealt with by telling everyone that her friend had pre-warned that he might heckle, making him look like an even sadder beast. We all treated him like a child having a tantrum. By the third section he was still sitting there. I asked him why and he said his friends wouldn’t let him sit with them anymore. I actually felt sorry for him. Not much though. Just a bit.

I almost think we should have some sort of charity for these people. Those who want to speak out and be part of it all but are just rubbish. Maybe we could all chip in and they could do their own show in a small community centre somewhere. I would watch but would only heckle right at the start to make them feel uneasy for the rest of the show. Then I would sit at the front and stare. I reckon it would do them a world of good. These people can be saved. Or failing that, do as they did last night and just banish them from your social groups. I asked if anyone else wanted to take Greg home with them last night and they all said no. I can only assume he will now be exiled from Bromley for some time. Which might not be that bad.

Just a quick blog today for I be drawing more things and doing stuff, then off to Guildford tonight to a place called the Electric Theatre. I’ve never been in an electric theatre before. I assume we can’t start till they’ve plugged it in. Before this blog endeth, here be the latest radio show from West Country rapscallion Tom Craine, where he is joined by – who would’ve guessed it – me! We speak on breakfasts, made up games and why Pixie Lott is my wife. Its much funnier than today’s blog. Enjoy: