Brand - Cant stand up for sitting down

To myfamily, for shoring me up during the process

Id like to thank myfamily for being a great big lovely bolster separating me from the more chillyparts of the outside world, and for putting up with me while I was trying towrite this as I was a right grump. Id also like to thank my friend and agentVivienne for being supportive, honest, and reading each bit that I sent herstraight away, rather than pretending her email wasnt working. And of courseIm contractually obliged to thank Martin my editor Im sure well bespeaking again soon. Thanks too to Alan Davies and Mark Kelly who filled in thegaps of my fading memory. And finally Id like to thank you for buying it orrunning the risk of nicking it, if that is what you did and I truly hope itsa good read with some laughs.

Hello, readers andwelcome to Part 2 of my memoirs, covering the period from my first gig as aprofessional comic through to the present day.

Ivecalled them memoirs because, rather than being a chronological account of mylife, theyre a collection of the bits and pieces of my existence that I canremember and believe you me, Im stunned I have recalled so much, given thatmy memory has been shot to pieces since I had children, and it wasnt thatgreat before either. I imagine that, at some point, some scientist or other hassaid that we only remember the exciting bits in our lives, and lets hopethats true, because you certainly dont want to know about the great cup oftea I had in April 1994 in a caf in Wisbech or my favourite episode of Casualty.

So Ihope this hotchpotch of musings is to your taste, and I can assure you they arecertainly not as intellectually challenging as Proust (in case you are a bitweird and actually thought they might be). And if you start reading and think, God,this is dull, you can always pass it on to someone you dont like.

Its April 1988, and I amon Channel Four live on Friday Night Live. Im on a raised platform infront of a crowd of the thinnest, youngest, most attractive people Ive everseen who are staring quizzically at me. This may well be because TV directorsof live shows tend to put the chubby, not so attractive ones at the back. Apart of me feels slightly smug that for once I am not at the back Im inthe front, so bollocks to them.

Myfirst couple of lines work well and there is some laughter and the crowd startsto relax a bit. Im beginning to relax too despite the fact that my arm isgoing up and down in a chicken-flapping-its-wings style with nervousness. Idrone on in my monotone voice

Then avoice cuts through the crowd. Get off!

Myfirst feeling is one of indignation. Im actually doing all right, so whatsthat all about?

Becauseits live TM the fear is multiplied a hundred. fold. Any mistake you make, asmall fluff or whether you spectacularly and waterfall-like actually wetyourself, will be captured for eternity and so the pressure on you is huge.There will not be the comforting thought of a film editor whooshing away yourmoment of humiliation. This is it.

What doI do? It is a male voice heckling me, surprise surprise, and it is my naturalinclination to get into a slanging match with him. After all, this is what wecomics are supposed to do best. However, this is live telly and my set is timedto the second. If I start getting stuck into a heckler, that will eat up mytime and the whole thing will be thrown out of kilter. I stare in the generaldirection of the heckler and say, Thank you, and move on. Afterwards,however, Im really pissed off and want to get the heckler into a corner andlamp him. My first-ever appearance on TV and he nearly ruined the whole thing.

I hearthrough the grapevine that some staff from LWT have been sacked that day and heis among the disgruntled sackees. I feel slightly less homicidal towards him. Isuppose at least it wasnt that personal.

In astrange karmic twist, some years later I meet the heckler at a TV studio inSouthampton. He is now the presenter of a live magazine show on which I amappearing.

I wasthe one who heckled you on Friday Night Live, he says, with a smug grinon his face.

Andnow youre presenting a live show, how would you like to be heckled? Ienquire.

And Irather meanly leave it at that, implying that I am going to heckle him back,but not bothering, hoping the anticipatory fear will be enough to ruin his day.

Having taken the plunge inearly 1988 and left my job as Senior Sister at the Maudsley Hospital mylittle safety net, though I suppose most people wouldnt see a twenty-four-hourPsychiatric Emergency Clinic quite in this way I am suddenly out on my own.

Obviouslyits a bit of a risk, to leave a secure job which I liked and strike out intothe murky waters of possible nothingness. Although a nurses salary wasnt muchto write home about, at least it was regular and there was always thepossibility that my burgeoning comedy career could take a nose-dive before ithad even begun. I had been a nurse for the last ten years, six of those yearsfull-time in the Emergency Clinic dealing with every possible psychiatriccrisis you could imagine, from extreme psychosis to drug withdrawal topersonality disorders. I had a mortgage to pay on a flat and plenty ofoutgoings.

Comedy,by contrast, was a hand-to-mouth existence in which, at the end of every show,you got a little brown envelope with cash in it or just a handful of notes. I wasntsure there would be enough bookings to justify my leaving a secure job, so Iasked my mum and dad what they thought about it, and they were pretty positive.They could see Id done my time in a stable job, and to some extent were thereas a safety net. They werent loaded, but they would ensure that I wasnt onthe street in a sleeping bag eating out of skips round the back of Sainsburys.

Friendswere also very supportive and thought it was hugely exciting. One particularmate had encouraged me right at the beginning by reminding me that I was nevergoing to do it if I didnt take the plunge, and this next stage, of sloughingoff my job, was something most of my friends urged me to do.

Addedto that, I was bloody knackered and I really wanted some lie-ins. Given thatmost of the jobs I had done up until that point had involved shift work, Ifancied a bit of staying in bed till midday with nothing to do until theevening. Comedy also seemed to me to have a built-in social life, and comicsseemed like interesting people. I was aware of the dearth of women and wantedto get out there and do some material for the female audience. It wasnt aparticularly difficult decision. Ive always been somewhat of a gambler becauseI dont think those huge decisions are irreversible: you can always go back. Sowhile many people are lying awake at night turning a problem over and over intheir mind, I am one of the lucky ones who snores their head off, happilyoblivious of lifes possible pitfalls.

Back to Friday NightLive, the comedy extravaganza on Channel Four which is the show for allambitious alternative comedians to aim for at the time. The compere is BenElton, the politically motivated, sparkily relentless nemesis of MargaretThatcher every right-thinking alternative comics sworn enemy.