CityLife

The joke's on Channel M's Byron

COURAGEOUS: Byron

STANDING in a packed bar in Fallowfield, there's a faint whiff of paint in the air. The place has recently been decorated, the big lights shine down and the place looks bright and intimidating.

It's the first heat of the annual CityLife.co.uk Comedian Of The Year awards and I'm on sixth. "How the hell did that happen?" I ask myself.
"Do something that scares you," has been a mantra I've been repeating on the Breakfast Show for months, like some naff new age life coach. Now look at the mess it's got me into.

TV presenting allows you to indulge in childhood fantasies - you think of the things you thought you'd like to do as a kid and then go out and film them.

But, this time I've bitten off more than I can chew. This is not a Mickey Mouse competition; previous winners have included Caroline Aherne, Peter Kay and Dave Spikey. Johnny Vegas only came second.

I'm sure there are plenty of people who have sat down in the morning, watched breakfast telly and thought, "I could do that, it's a doddle."

Well, that was the trap I fell into, looking at last year's contestants for this prestigious comedy contest. How hard can it be? Tell a few gags, spin out a couple of crazy anecdotes, job's a good 'un.

Sometimes I can be a real idiot. I'm reminded of this point by a close friend who said that in all the years he's known me, he's never heard me tell a joke. Yet I entered a competition that depended on it.

Just to add to the pressure, they've changed the entry requirements. No longer can drunken crackpots spout mindless, incomprehensible drivel.

DVD

The contestants have to have a DVD of their material, prove they've done the circuit and meet the judges' standards. I'm only in because I can publicise the event. I have no pedigree, I am a comedy mongrel.

I had plenty of homework to do. Can you learn to be funny? Well, with my trusty cameraman in tow, I went back to school, Bobby Ball's comedy master class at Casey Lee Jolly's Academy for Dance and Drama in Bolton.

Though his hair may not be as dark or a bushy as it once was, and he has put on some timber in recent years, that cheeky face and twinkling eyes haven't lost their sparkle. Ball and his partner Cannon are still touring after more than 40 years.

"I don't think you've got it," says Bobby. "Your eyelashes are too long and your teeth are too white."

Hardly a boost to my self-esteem. "It's important that they like you. I don't think they'll like you. I like you, I like your feminine side."

Unsure if he's trying to chat me up or send me under with self doubt, I change the subject. "What about swearing, Bobby?"

Routine

He replies: "If you swear on stage, you'll sell two tickets. One for the husband and one for the wife. If you keep the routine clean, you'll sell four tickets, husband wife and kids."

Very business savvy. Well, Cannon and Ball haven't been doing their turns for almost half a century on a wing and a prayer.

The lights have been lowered, the stage is set and the compere introduces the evening's entertainment. Now I really feel sick.

Don't drink any more, I keep telling myself. Slow down, relax. I long for the first act to be rubbish. He's not; he's great: that's karma for you.

I've got eight minutes on stage and though I can talk the hind legs of a donkey, it seems like an eternity. Remedy is packed and there are some friendly faces in the crowd. Colleagues and friends are all coming up to me telling me jokes, "use this one, it's hilarious."

I know they are only trying to help, but it's just confusing me. They are just as nervous as I am. I walked past a group of my mates and overheard: "What if he's rubbish? Should we still laugh?" Bless 'em.

My time has come. Toby Hadoke is introducing me with the witty quip "For eight years he's worked at Channel M and this is his biggest audience to date."

Fame

The theme to Fame blasts over the sound system as I walk on stage, clutching my pint. Then, all of a sudden the anxieties, fears and self-doubt evaporate. I'm loving it. OK, OK, I'm hardly going to make Alan Carr worry about his future job prospects, but what a buzz. The crowd are ace; friendly and very forgiving.

I didn't make it through to the final. But, you know what, it doesn't matter that my stand-up career began and ended within eight minutes, because I loved every second.

And my advice: Yes, do something that scares you. You'll feel amazing afterwards.

By the way, I'm now available for bar mitzvahs, funerals and weddings.

You can catch the remaining heats every Thursday at Remedy (formerly XS Malarkey) on Wilmslow Road.