Triple Crowd

One of the great things about being based in London as a comedian is that there are loads of gigs every night of the week. Monday is traditionally the night of new material, where acts of all levels ry to work up new jokes into polished routines. Last Monday I went to the new material night at The Hob in Forest Hill, where I was also lucky enough to perform alongside acts of the calibre of Micky Flanagan, Daniel Kitson, Celia Pacquola and others trying out new stuff in a small room for no money.

Last night I had two new material nights in the diary so headed to Leicester Square with about ten minutes of new jokes. I've been writing some more political and topical material over the last few weeks and it's been interesting to see which bits work and which bits audiences either don't understand or don't find funny. Testing new jokes is always interesting. I find some jokes hard to let go of even if nobody laughs. I'm convinced they're funny and I'm determined to make them work. Sometimes this pays off. Quite often I admit defeat in the end, but only after trying them out a dozen times! Other times a joke I came up with on the bus to the gig gets the biggest laugh of the night, or an ad-lib suddenly lets a whole routine make sense. I don't think it's possible to write stand up in isolation. You have to keep testing it with audiences, moulding it according to their reactions. At least half of my favourite jokes came as the result of an improvised moment on stage, or an audience reaction. Hence the new material nights.

I was opening at 99 Club @ Ku bar, a lovely little room in the basement of a gay bar. Unusually for that gig it was quite a small crowd, and, despite the best efforts of the MC, by the time I went on they were pretty quiet and not a little resistant to the idea of smiling, let along laughing. This is always a tricky situation at a new material night. There's no point trying out new stuff if the audience isn't warmed up, but if you spend too much time warming them up you have no time for the jokes you actually wanted to do. In the end I went for a compromise of spending the first few minutes bantering and warming them up and then slipping in a few new routines towards the end. I had to work pretty hard to get them laughing, and it felt like a useful test of the bits I did get to try. And at least I had got the night up and running, for which the other acts would be grateful. Opening any gig entails some responsibility not to fuck it up for everyone else. I felt happy that I'd got it off to a good start.

On the way over to my other gig I got a text saying that Old Rope needed acts and was I around? Old Rope is a brilliant new material gig and there are usually great acts on, so I didn't hesitate to agree and dashed over to the Phoenix near Oxford Circus. I was on almost as soon as I arrived, and had a good gig. It was a bigger audience than at the Ku bar, and they were already a bit more warmed up, although they were still not the easiest crowd in the world. I did most of the new jokes I had planned to do, and some of them worked very well. I was particularly pleased with a new bit about banks having to apologise for their crimes. Some routines didn't work so well, or I fluffed them a bit because I couldn't quite remember the right wording. But overall it felt successful and I was happy that I'd had a chance to try everything new at least once that night.

The final gig of the evening was back in Leicester Square, in a tiny room above a small pub called the Round Table. The Round Table holds a special place in my heart. I have performed in there many times over the years, for many different promoters and many different clubs. It is ludicrously small, about the size of an average living room, although I've been in there with an audience of 60+, which was the very definition of a health and safety nightmare. I've performed in there with a mic, without a mic, with a huge spotlight, without a huge spotlight, and over the last seven years have seen at least three refurbishments of that room. In fact, one of my first ever gigs was in there. It was in August 2003, in the middle of a heatwave, and all I can remember was that the room was unbearably hot and I was sweating profusely, both during and after my set! I've seen a few big name comedians perform in that tiny space as well. I remember a couple of years ago Lenny Henry being completely freaked out by the close proximity of the audience and the fact he could see them all - a bit of a change from the massive theatres he's used to!

Last night the room was quite busy if not crammed, and the club had gone for the no mic and no lighting option which is probably sensible in such a small space. It's amazing how much difference not having a mic can make, though. I was the penultimate act in a very long night and I could feel that the audience were quite tired when I went on. It took me a while to adjust my delivery to the room. Without a mic it's quite hard to throw away lines and still be heard; you have to project more and be slightly less conversational. My other challenge was that about half of the audience were not from the UK and therefore were not quite as quick to pick up my topical or political references. I ploughed on though, even doing my new jokes about The Only Way is Essex, despite the fact that almost nobody seemed to have seen the programme! Overall the gig was fine: I finished with some tried and tested material so as not to bring the energy down, and left happy that I'd given my new jokes a decent run out at least twice and in some cases three times.

On the way home I popped back into Old Rope to catch the end of the headliner's set. Nina Conti was absolutely hilarious and just a little bit disturbing; the perfect mix for a ventriloquism act. Her use of an audience member "puppet" was absolutely inspired. It was a great way to end a hectic night.

Itchy Stitches

So I went to my GP a few weeks ago and mentioned that I had a mole on the side of my chest that was a bit itchy. She looked at it, said it was probably nothing to worry about, but that she'd send me to a dermatologist to check. Just to be on the safe side.

I saw the dermatologist a few weeks later and she had a look at it, said it was probably nothing to worry about but that perhaps I should have it removed. Just to be on the safe side.

So on Friday I went to the hospital to have it removed. The doctor looked at it and then she said: "why are you having this removed?" And I couldn't really answer. I wanted to say: "you're the doctor, why don't you figure it out?" But that seemed unnecessarily aggressive, and besides, she was just about to cut a chunk out of me, and I didn't want her to slip "by accident".

But to be honest, I wasn't really sure why it was being removed. Nobody had seemed that worried about it. I suspect there was an element of arse-covering going on. Much better to remove it than leave it and then get blamed if there is a problem later. In the litigation-happy US I imagine there are thousands of unnecessary operations every year because a doctor would rather be seen to be doing something than not. Just to be on the safe side.

The operation itself was very quick and straightforward. The doctor injected me with a local anaesthetic, which very quickly made the area numb. I could still feel the cold of the sterile wipes, though, which I found interesting. I thought anaesthetic was meant to cover hot and cold as well as pain, but apparently not in this case.

She then cut away the mole using a scalpel. Well, I assume it was a scalpel. I couldn't really see so it could have been a blunt spoon as far as I know. Someone on Twitter said their doctor used scissors. I think that would have made me quite queasy. Once the mole was removed she stitched me up.

I wasn't expecting stitches. I don't know why; it seems obvious now. I think it's because the way the operation was described to me beforehand was so offhand, so "just to be on the safe side" so "it'll only be a local anaesthetic" so "it'll only take 30 minutes" that I didn't think it would involve any consequences apart from a small scar.

But no, I have stitches. I had to keep them dry for 48 hours, which wasn't very pleasant considering I had 3 gigs in that time and got quite sweaty. Now I can wash again (to the delight of those in close contact with me, I'm sure) but I'll have these stitches in for nearly two weeks before they are removed. It's not a big deal, but they are quite itchy and I'm slightly worried about bursting them whenever I lie down or stretch for something. There is also something very odd about having a length of spiky blue thread inside your skin. I feel a little bit like Jeff Goldblum early on in The Fly, when he starts getting little coarse black hairs growing on his back...

Also, because it's not visible unless I take my top off, I don't get sympathy from people unless I specifically tell them about it. Which seems a bit gauche. Unless of course I happen to write a blog about it.

So, what have we learnt?
1. All of the medical professionals who saw me were women.
2. None of them seemed very concerned about it, but decided to do something anyway, which is certainly better than the opposite situation.
3. I should think a bit more carefully about the consequences of operations, and maybe not book 3 gigs in the 48 hours after one.
4. I am very very brave.

Blue and Yellowy blue

So we are now a few months into having a Coalition Government. Whenever I hear that phrase it somehow sounds wrong. I think it’s because I’m so used to hearing about Coalition troops in Iraq and Afghanistan. I imagine a squad of twenty aggressive fuckers wearing blue, excited and ready to take on the enemy, and three or four soldiers wearing yellow hanging out at the back and quietly wondering if  there’s a more civilian-friendly way of attacking the stronghold. But in the end they are flattered by the attention of the others into grabbing the grenades and leading the assault.

I read yesterday that the welfare minister said that the Government wanted to come up with "a new definition of homelessness". Presumably to save money only people actually sleeping in cardboard boxes will now be considered worthy of help. Any plastic covering will make you ineligible for benefits.

What next? Education ministers coming up with a new definition of clever? To include anyone not actually stupid enough to cause themselves harm without constant supervision?

Health ministers coming up with a new definition of illness? To insist that the NHS doesn’t need to treat you unless you are actually going to die in the next 3 hours?

They may not have done that, but the Coalition has done something pretty damaging.  They’ve abolished NICE, the National Institute of Clinical Excellence. I always thought that acronym was part of its problem. It sounds too suspicious. At primary school we were all told not to describe something as simply “nice”. It sounds weak and pathetic. Maybe the organisation would have been more secure if it had been called the Society for Pharmaceutical Organisation and the Rationalising of Therapies, or SPORT. No Government would ever dare abolish SPORT!

But NICE was always in trouble, because it was hated by the Daily Mail and the Daily Express, who seem to base much of their coverage on the basis that everything causes cancer and everyone is going to get it. NICE is there to decide which treatments are affordable for the limited resources of the NHS. To the Mail and Express this smacks of communism. The idea that a drug that costs millions and might only extend life by a few weeks is perhaps less affordable than one that can help many people have a better quality of life, is seen as some sort of fascistic rationing, and must be stopped.

The Government has acceded to these demands, and wants to introduce a free market system for drug sales in the NHS. If a GP decides that a drug is necessary, he can prescribe it, regardless of the cost, as long as it stays within the overall budget of the GP’s practice. It's the wonderful free market in action again!

In theory this might work, but only in a world without advertising, marketing, over-worked doctors and above all the Daily fucking Mail. Because in reality GPs will be pressurised into providing drugs that they can’t afford as a result of slick marketing from the drug companies and in the fear of being attacked by the tabloids.

This will lead to scenarios where you might go to your GP with a cut on your hand only to be told:

“Sorry. Ideally I’d give you some antibiotics for that, but we’ve got no budget left this month. I spent it all on a new drug to keep Mrs Smith alive for another 2 months. Yes, she is the Mrs Smith whose face was splashed all over the papers recently, demanding that I treat her, despite her being 98 years old. Yes, she is also the Mrs Smith who said I was “worse than Hitler” for suggesting that our inner city practice might have some priorities other than her case. But I can assure you it has nothing to do with our budgetary situation. Why not come back next month and I’ll see what I can do, assuming you have any of your hand left by then…”

We need things like NICE. In the same way we need the Health and Safety Executive, the Office for Fair Trading and many other organisations. Yes, in a perfect world a free market would provide many of the services we need for a reasonable price. But we don’t live in a perfect world. We live in a world where Simon Cowell exists and yet hover-cars don’t. A world where a billion people are in poverty and yet Piers Morgan has a job. A world where bankers can make up money and then get given billions of pounds of real money to replace it when they realise they can’t spend their made up money anymore.

Essentially, our world is full of dicks, and a free market will only allow the dicks to prosper. If we want the occasional nice (sorry!) person to do well, without having to become a dick, we need to have some regulation and organisations to do it.

Or we could just redefine fairness as: “whoever has the money gets more.” And leave it at that. 

Trick or Treat

So Halloween has come and gone again, like the over-commercialised, Americanised excuse to dress up like a whore and eat enough sweets to give diabetes to an elephant that it is.

When I was younger, Trick or Treat used to be quite scary. You'd get teenagers in hooded tops banging on your door, saying: "give us some sweets or we'll break your house." Not so much trick or treating as demanding money with menaces.

But now I live in quite a posh area of North London, and it's very different. You see parents leading round small children dressed as Marie Antoinette, or The Credit Crunch. And most of them won’t accept sweets. You have to give them couscous.

I discovered recently that it didn't used to be trick or treat, but trick for a treat. That’s gone now. Presumably because of child prostitution laws.

Egging seems to be the method of choice for tricking these days. Yesterday morning I saw the remains of various yolk-based attacks littering the streets.

In fact, I heard that in some areas of the country shopkeepers are told not to sell eggs to children around this time of year. They become contraband, like cigarettes or alcohol. I love the idea of teenagers hanging around outside greengrocers, approaching adults saying: “buy us half dozen free range, mate? Go on…just half dozen! OK, three? We just really want an omelette, innit!”

University Blues

I’ve just read a very powerful attack on the Browne report on University funding:

http://www.lrb.co.uk/v32/n21/stefan-collini/brownes-gamble

Essentially Collini argues that the press has missed the point by concentrating so hard on the questions of individual student funding. Of course raising tuition fees and loans is an important issue. However, it is more important to realise that Browne has recommended the removal of the majority of the government grant to fund teaching in universities and suggested replacing it with a market system.

All decisions on the teaching and funding of courses will effectively be left to the market to decide. 18 and 19 year olds are going to determine what is taught in Universities, which sounds like a recipe for disaster to me. This will surely lead to courses in playing video games, watching Murder She Wrote and how to cook a meal for four using just a tin of baked beans, some rice and a courgette. And no tin opener.

Students are the very worst people to decide what they should be studying! It’s like asking prisoners how thick they want the bars or how secure they'd prefer locks. Education should be about what people need to know, not just what they think they want to know.

Also, if we have a market forces system, that won’t improve the quality of the universities’ teaching. It will simply improve the quality of their advertising and marketing departments. Universities and colleges already advertise for students, boasting about their better facilities or cooler alumni. This will just get worse. Universities will start ripping out libraries and replacing them with cinemas, and their advertising will get more ambitious. I can just imagine new posters on buses: “Male graduates from Warwick have bigger penises.” Or: “Did you know that David Cameron went to Oxford? What a wanker.”

The bigger question must be: do we need so many students in so many universities? Labour’s aim to get 50% of young people into university was laudable to an extent, but only if the degrees were rigorous and useful. Degrees are now being devalued because the number of graduates has risen so much in the last few years. Jobs that never required a degree in the past are now asking for a 2.1 or above.

This means that poorer and less academic young people are hit with a double-whammy. Either they go to university, getting into a large amount of debt in the process, in order to have a chance in a crowded job market, or they decide not to get a degree and find themselves shut out of low paid roles that would once have been a good first step on the job ladder. It’s hard to see who wins in this inflationary environment.

The only thing that is clear is that the Browne report will do nothing to improve the situation. Elite universities will become more elite, but only in social terms. As Collini says:

“it is a necessary truth about markets that they tend to replicate and even intensify the existing distribution of economic power. ‘Free competition’ between rich and poor consumers means Harrods for the former and Aldi for the latter: that’s what the punters have ‘chosen’.”

Beautifully put.

Universities are a public good, like a health service, a road system or a collective understanding that Simon Cowell is a prick. They should be funded and supported properly, not abandoned to a free market experiment that could quite possibly lead to Cambridge and Oxford charging £40,000 a year and the University of McDonalds offering a six month course in advanced burger-flipping techniques. Applying a market system to the public sector is almost always a failure. Remember the railways. A free market university system will be a similar disaster. Lectures will be cancelled due to a lack of available staff or leaves on the lectern. 

In terms of funding, we don’t need loans or a graduate tax. We already have income tax, which acts as a basic graduate tax already. If you earn more, you pay more. The Government always claims that graduates earn more, so therefore they pay more. Yes, non-graduates pay more too, but that’s just the price to pay for living in a progressive society. I don’t have children so I don’t use schools, nurseries or maternity services. However I have no objection to helping to pay for them.

Sadly this sort of thinking doesn’t appear very popular at the moment, in the rush to save money and slash budgets. I’m just very glad that I went to university before all of these reforms. Students are going to have to make some very difficult decisions in the years ahead. Universities will be very different places. Although they’ll have cool cinemas and amazing bars so the students probably won’t care.

C*ts and B**kers

I heard someone on the radio after the cuts were announced saying: “We’re in this together. We have to think of it like wartime. Get a bit of the Blitz Spirit.” Well, perhaps, but there are some crucial differences. For example, in 1940 we didn’t blow up our own houses and then give bonuses to the Luftwaffe.

Banks are trying to smarten up their act. For example, online transfers are now very fast. I had one the other day from my friend that took less than a minute. So why did it used to take so long? I think they’ve simply removed the “take out the cash and roll around in it for a while, screaming I'm rich, I'm rich, rich beyond my wildest dreams! Mwhahahahahaha!” section of the process.

When you look at the economic chaos they have caused, I don’t think the banks have suffered enough. If we can’t stop their bonuses, then we should try other methods. Every time you take out money from a bank ATM you get offered an "advice slip". That should change to an "apology slip". And it can’t just be a standard apology. Every one has to be different. Handwritten. Banks should be forced to start employing people to come up with ever more elaborate ways of saying how dreadfully sorry they are. If nothing else, it might help boost employment figures. Plus sales of pens.

So I probably won't do that gig at the zoo...

There is an old showbiz cliche that you should never work with children or animals. They are unpredictable, hard to direct and likely to shit everywhere. Although I've worked with kids a couple of times on TV shows and they were both actually scarily grown up and professional. And had CVs significantly longer than any of the adult actors they were working with. Possibly they were vampires.

Working with children is one thing. Doing stand up comedy for children is something very different. It's a growing genre. James Campbell is mostly responsible for this. His "Comedy Club 4 Kids" has demonstrated that it is possible to perform stand up for even quite young children without patronising them and without completely alienating their parents as well. I've done a few gigs at "4 Kids" and generally found them enjoyable. I've found that by playing to the children but also throwing a few references to the adults you can get the kids laughing with their parents and vice versa. It can be a hard gig, though. I've had a couple of experiences where the children simply stared. Paying attention, but lacking the social training that suggests that you should at least smile if you are enjoying something. In those situations it's usually time to bring out the poo jokes.

So comedy for kids is now relatively well established, and there are clear rules: no swearing, sex or drugs references etc. However, in the last few days I've performed at two gigs that have been somewhere between comedy for kids and comedy for adults. In other words: comedy for teenagers.

The first show was on Friday at a school in Sudbury: the gig had actually been organised by a sixth form drama class as part of their coursework (you never did that in my day, etc.) and the audience was a mix of 15, 16 and 17 year olds and quite a few adults. Due to traffic nightmares I didn't get there until the interval and so missed seeing how the acts had fared in the first half. I enquired as to the rules. The promoter said that we should keep it reasonably clean, but that actually none of the acts had so far so I shouldn't really worry. In the end the gig was fun. I simply did the kind of material I normally would, just without as much swearing as I might use at a rowdy Friday night gig, and without some of the more adult sexual references. I enjoyed myself and the audience seemed to have a good time.

This turned out to be merely a warm up for a far more challenging gig. Yesterday I performed at the New Wolsey Theatre in Ipswich at a special "No Adults Allowed" gig. It was a big room (300+) and nearly sold out, and as the title of the night might suggest, the whole audience were in the age range 12-17, with no adults allowed in the auditorium. The average age was about 14. Too young to do normal "adult" material to, but too old to do family friendly kids material to. All of the acts were backstage wondering what to open with, what to have in reserve. Again the rules weren't entirely clear: swearing was probably frowned on, but not totally banned. And after all, the parents weren't in the room so they wouldn't hear what was going on anyway.

In this situation, the real problem is not about what the management wants, it's about what the audience will understand and respond to. So many jokes that work at a normal gig will sail over the heads of a younger audience. Stuff about relationships, money, politics, history and any popular culture reference to anything made before 2006 will simply be incomprehensible to the vast majority of the crowd. Easy, even hack, jokes about the A-Team or The Godfather will seem like accounts of ancient history to people born after Oasis released their first album.

The stress of the evening was slightly increased by the fact that all 3 acts were present but the compere was stuck in traffic and running increasingly late. I was supposed to be closing the night but at the last minute was drafted in as replacement compere. From thinking that I would have the advantage of seeing how the rest of the comics dealt with the crowd and tailoring my set accordingly, I was suddenly about to go on first without much of an idea as to what to say. I took a deep breath, a few swigs of water and stepped on to the stage, hoping that I'd be able to make a connection with the audience.

Thankfully, the first section of the show went very well. It took me a couple of minutes to get the night going, but eventually the banter began to click. I realised early on that I had very little to talk to them about. The standard questions of "what do you do?" and "are you in a relationship" have no relevance to that age group. Asking "what do you want to do when you grow up?" was simply met by a shrugging "dunno" on the couple of occasions I tried it. But I kept plugging away and the room warmed up. At first I was a bit tentative about content, still not sure how far I could push it. But when I asked a boy on the front row what he liked doing when he wasn't at school, his friend shouted "wank!" and that brought the house down. I remembered that there were no disapproving adults in the room and relaxed - I could play the part of the mischievous older brother, being a bit naughty whilst also keeping them under control. I threw in a few jokes that got a good reaction, got some clapping and cheering going and introduced the first act, who proceeded to have a really good gig. I breathed a sigh of relief. The show was up and running and so far, so good.

After the first interval the audience was now fully stocked with ice creams, lollies, sugary drinks and sweets. I had a brief flashback to my days doing Christmas shows, and it dawned on me that this crowd was going to get more and more hyped up on sugar throughout the evening, unlike an adult audience that tends to get drunker and slower as the night goes on. The beginning of the second section was a bit of a struggle at first, almost as though the crowd had reset, and I had to work hard again to get some energy in the room. I hit a seam of gold though when I asked what people wanted for Christmas. One boy said: "my school to burn down", another just said: "cash" and a third said: "surface to air missiles". I was reminded how twisted children's imaginations can be and launched into some slightly darker material which they lapped up.

It was at the beginning of the third and final section that things got a bit weird. I again commented on how many sweets and ice creams seemed to have appeared in the crowd, and the kids, bolstered by sucrose and E numbers, and possibly feeling properly relaxed at last, started shouting out what snacks they had bought whilst I commented on whether I thought they were any good or not. It was quite fun, and I said something like: "this has just turned into a game of let's shout out any food, hasn't it?"

Then someone threw a sweet.

It landed next to me on the stage. I'm pretty sure it was a friendly gesture. There was no hostility in the room and I think someone simply got a bit over-excited and wanted to share their sweets with me. I looked down and said: "Right. Someone appears to have thrown a sweet at me."

Then someone else threw a sweet. I said: "Er..."

Then someone else threw a sweet.

Then someone threw an ice cream.

Then everyone threw something.

Within seconds, I felt like a pop group at the Reading Festival. Sweets, bottles, ice creams and choc ices rained down on me from the auditorium. What had started as a nice gesture had become a hysterical competition. With no adults to tell them not to, the kids just copied each other and threw stuff. Some girls threw their shoes. A boy near the front threw his hat. Another boy even threw his coat.

It was quite a surreal experience. It wasn't like I was being booed off. They were just over-excited and being silly. I decided to stand my ground and simply act surprised. Luckily none of the sweets hit me - someone caught me with a glancing blow with a Calyppo but that was the extent of the damage. After a few seconds of madness the stage was littered with day-glo debris. I picked up a couple of wrapped sweets and a Mars bar and put them in my pocket. Then I calmly said: "Literally stop now."

The barrage petered out. There was an odd, giddy atmosphere in the room. I knew my job as the compere was to bring on the next act to a warmed up but not riled up, audience, so I had to take some time to sort it out. I needed to keep it light, and not act like a nervous supply teacher. After all, what could I actually do? If one person throws something, you can get security to chuck them out. If everyone throws something, you just need to calm them down.

I cleared the stage as quickly as I could, kicking the debris to the back or sides and throwing back the various bits of clothing that had been lobbed, all the while berating the audience for being stupid. There was one more brief flurry of sweets when I started to explain that they really shouldn't be throwing stuff, and for a split second I did begin to worry that I wouldn't be able to control them and I would be like a supply teacher and have to call for help. But I was a supply teacher with two secret weapons: a microphone and the ability to swear. A couple of well placed "fuck"s got them laughing again and slowly the audience began to settle down.

I told a couple of stories, explained once again that throwing stuff really wasn't cool, and finished with one final joke before introducing the closing act. She came on wearing a hard hat she'd found backstage, which made me smile. She then proceeded to do a reference to the Chilean miners, which went straight over the audience's heads, proving that current affairs is another area that is hard to make jokes about for teenagers. But they didn't throw anything during her set and she went on to have a good gig.

As I left the stage I felt elated that I'd managed to deal with the situation well enough that we could continue with the gig and I didn't have to call on security. At the end of the show I thanked the audience for coming and said they'd been lovely all night, except for a couple of minutes when they'd been dicks, which I think was a fair assessment. The gig had turned out to be challenging in a slightly different way than I was expecting, but in the end I was pleased with how it had all gone, and the promoters and theatre staff seemed happy. Job done.

I'm looking forward to playing to adults again though.

Not even a double entendre on "bust"...

It has often been said that comedy does well in a downturn. Alternative Comedy started in the dark days of the late 70s/early 80s, and in our current economic crisis, stand up comedy has never been more popular. Michael McIntyre’s Roadshow, Live at the Apollo and many many panel shows dominate the TV schedules, and comedians seem to be filling more arenas around the country than rock stars these days. The rest of the country may be in recession, but comedy is booming.

However, if the last few years have taught us anything, it’s that if you have a boom, you’re going to have a bust. Why should comedy be any different?

The signs are already there. The open mic circuit is bursting at the seams with new, young comics desperate to get their chance in the spotlight. Unscrupulous promoters, the Bernie Madoffs of this world, exploit naïve newbies with pyramid scheme-like deals – bring a friend nights, pay to play deals. And yet still the new comics emerge from more and more stand up comedy courses, rushing into the lower levels of the circuit in an unregulated torrent, like debt-burdened graduates flooding in the job market just as employment opportunities dry up. It’s a supply and demand disaster waiting to happen.

The internet could also play a part, just as in the dot.com crash. Sites like Twitter and Facebook spread new jokes around the world in seconds. Topical humour saturates our daily lives – trying to come up with original material is getting harder and harder as everyone is surrounded by comedy all of the time. From Youtube clips to text jokes to clever status updates, comedy has become democratized and therefore devalued. Why pay for laughs when you can listen to your mates mucking around on a new podcast?

Within a couple of years this could all come to a head. Rates of laughter will suddenly plummet. There’ll be a run on puns leading to a collapse in the value of observational material and the government will have to step in to prevent the collapse of large scale comedy clubs.

This will in turn lead to massive cutbacks in humour, with only a few wry remarks allowed as we have to pay back a huge chuckle deficit that will leave the next generation of comedians struggling under the massive weight of public frowning. Once famous comedians will be forced back into tiny comedy clubs and thousands of hopeful wannabes will have to find jobs in other devastated sectors such as teaching or banking.

And then with a single one liner it will start all over again.