A fully clad emperor

Last night was my first stand-up gig since Edinburgh. I was booked to open (ie do a 20-minute set) at a bar in Plymouth. The headliner was the excellent Steve Hall of 'We Are Klang' fame. On top of our fees we were both put up in a (cheap) local hotel for the night.

All for the entertainment of eleven punters.

It was patently obvious this was the way it was the moment I stepped into the bar. The sound of the clinking glassware being cleaned by the three barmen. The musty smell of a bar that was busier the night before. The eagerness with which our free drinks were provided.

Staff and acts conferred and immediately agreed on a catalogue of reasons for the lack of trade: people had been out in the sun all day, the England-Croatia match, the fact that the uni wasn't back for another few weeks. It would've been impolite to point out facts like the bar being tucked away from any foot trade or that the single sign advertising the comedy was in the Gents toilet upstairs in the bar itself. No, it was easier to brainstorm a bunch of external factors and blame them.

Why be the guy who denies the next couple of comics the chance of a paid gig and the glamour of a night away from home on the Devonshire Riviera?