1996

I wrote my first page of jokes when I was aged somewhere between eight and ten. I remember the moment I showed them to my Dad, who was paving the driveway at the time. He looked at the my efforts, smiled and then carried on lifting bricks. I’ve been needy ever since. Fast forward between nine and eleven years, and I’m walking up my local hill. The sun was setting, the air was warm and a man sporting loose pants, a tight T and a decent dose of Down’s Syndrome was heading in my direction. As my shadow lapped at his Volley’s he smiled and said, ‘It’s 1996 mate, it’s 1996.’ He repeated it three or four times and then carried on with his life. Now, when you grow up in the outer suburbs of Adelaide and an angel comes drifting down your local hill sprouting wisdom, you take notice. After our paths had crossed and my message had been received I remember thinking, ‘Yeah it is 1996. I should do something with my life.’ I’m not making this up. A lot of people get into comedy because they heard Bill Cosby on vinyl, or because they saw The Big Yin on television. Me, I got caught in the headlights of the ultimate truth and rarely do I look back. Clearly I had an interest in comedy but if I hadn’t met “1996” (I never got his name so I went with what I had) I may well be the slow guy on the Mitsubishi line. Happy and content? Maybe. But always wondering ‘what if?’. 1996 gave me courage. Don’t get me wrong, there have been times when I’ve wanted to punch him square in the nose, ‘I’m broke 1996! Broke and self involved! Why didn’t you tell me to be a Doctor? I could’ve been saving lives. I’d still be the funny guy at the barbecue. That’s all I need. A bit of attention and a side of coleslaw. Why 1996? Why?’ But 1996 wouldn’t have cared for troubles like these, instead he would’ve smiled at me and said, ‘It’s 2004 mate. It’s 2004.’ That’s the kind of guy he was and I miss him. 

My point is I’m just like you. I have thoughts and they are funny and poignant and surreal and serious and callous, sometimes even cold. My only hope is that when you see me I’m entertaining and that maybe, like 1996 did for me,  I inspire you in some way, shape or form to have the courage to do what ever it is that you want to do. 

Red shoes

‘We need an act for tonight’ was the tweet. I responded with a quick ‘I’m nearby, I can pop in.’ I wasn’t nearby, I was an hour and a half a way but you never know, this could lead to work, a big time agent might be in the room or a plane might fall into my house and, because I was proactive, I will be allowed to live. I caught the early train giving myself time to enter the gig with a, 'I was just over there' vibe. The room was in a WalkAbout pub that was made for vomit. Comedy came second to bile in this place but that’s ok, I thought, the audience will get me because tonight I feel gettable. I took off my brown boots and popped on my red shoes, the funny ones that make me look like I’m going places. I started talking to the guy I was sharing the bracket with. We were both given ten minutes. He was young, hung over and told me he’d just signed with a big agent. I’m thirty-five, wearing read shoes and have just signed with Boots to get a discount card.  I then discover that the night is run by a promoter who already hires me. Now I’m doing a try out spot for a guy who I’ve already tried out for. Curse you twitter. Lady Wife was right, you’re a vacuous whore. It became apparent that I was wasting my time and, if the gig went poorly, shooting myself in the foot.  ‘Ladies and gentlemen please welcome to the stage your first act for this second bracket Patrick Morris’. The kid was slick, confident, genuine and funny.  ‘Now keep that round of applause going for Adam Vincent.’ I was disjointed, dark, and on this occasion, a testament to mediocrity. I had just received a kick in the pants from a star of the future. At least I hope he is because then it makes my so-so gig more glorious.

On the tube on the way home I hunched over, it’s my posture of choice after an average performance. Briefly, my mind pressed pause on the replay of my previous efforts, allowing me time to discover that I was still wearing my red shoes. My brown boots! I jumped off the tube, ran down the stairs, lunged to the other platform, waiting two minutes for my carriage (a long lunge), said goodbye to some small talk, ran up some more stairs, tried not to cry, negotiated with a bouncer, dashed down some stairs, rekindled my 'I was just over there' vibe, only to see my boots being thrown about the room by the headliner, a man older than myself playing a character older than himself, which was fitting as he seemed close to death. The snippet I caught included no laughs and a needy tension that I’m not ashamed to say made me feel good.  It’s his own fault, had he been throwing my red shoes about people would’ve been in fits, the reds shoes are rarely mediocre twice in a row. I retrieved my boots, found a booth and popped them on like a school kid who had just been dacked. As I tied my laces a man came up and wanted to know where I am gigging next. 'You were funny. I really like your stuff' he said. It’s a fucking roller coaster people.  

I have other comedy stories that I only post on my website www.adamvincent.com if you're interested. 

Online moral high-ground

I’m all for gay marriage, questioning the 1%, getting rid of hunger, ending tyranny, sorting out Aids and cancer, empathising with bullied children on face-smack; I love nothing more than sharing an online moral high-ground before breakfast. A good cause stirs the blood and prolongs erections.  I just think it’s time we gave them some order. On top of the list has to be ridding the world of nuclear weapons. Two men being recognised by the government as married means nothing if, as they say ‘I do’ they’re bleeding from the nostrils due to radiation poisoning. Missing teeth and a mouth full of vomit tends to take the focus of what should other wise be a happy occasion. As for the remaining order of priorities does it really matter?

By all means fight the good fight but it’s quite clear that the powers that be are lining up to attack Iran because they may be building a nuclear weapon. It will start with an increase on sanctions; this will create tension in the region…actually stop! I need not justify why Russia, North Korea, UK , America, France, Belgium, Germany, Italy, the Netherlands and Turkey need to rid their countries of nukies*. (Israel won’t confirm or deny they have nukies, which is fine as they have a deep respect for international law. South Africa, a country known to have dabbled in nukies, claim they’re nukie free. Again, a tolerant country so lets not dwell.) My point is the lack of grace and understanding shown in all of the just causes mentioned above is the very reason why disarming nukies is of the upmost importance.  It only takes one idiot to push the red button and we’re all toast and I’d put my front teeth on that idiot not residing in Iran. So I guess I’m asking if you like my sentiments feel free to share them and even act on them. Otherwise enjoy your weeties.

*I like to call them nukies because it makes them sound cuter. Some of the countries mentioned store American nukies and are able to deploy them.