| Diary of a stand-up comedian
By John Ryan
We were in Norwich and I asked if there were any Irish at the gig.
“Aye,” boomed the voice and I could tell instantly that he
came from the North.
“And we beat yis at Windsor Park,” he shouted to confirm my
suspicions.
There are accents you hear that you just can’t help but associate
with things. We all do it. You hear a Scouser and you expect a great sense
of humour.
It is as if the two go hand-in-hand. You hear a man from the West Country
and you expect a pirate. When you hear a broad Ulster accent you can’t
help but wonder which side of the road he walks on. I know it is wrong
but it is a fact.
I went to pick up my guitar. “Sing The Sash,” he shouted.
I was thrown. “I don’t know how it goes,” I said hoping
to move on.
He decided to start singing and there was no way I was going to play it.
I could feel tension amongst the front row and decided to start marching
up and down the stage mocking him as I went. He thought it hilarious.
Now I know that as a confession there will be people outraged that me
a good Catholic boy would even consider attempting to play along with
‘one of them’.
Even though the fella clapped and cheered my efforts I knew there would
be trouble with one of the other acts and I wasn’t wrong.
Almost as soon as I was off stage Pat the compere asked if I had gone
mad.
“How can you even consider allowing the singing of THAT song?”
I replied: “Yer man may be Orange but he is still an Ulsterman as
far as I am concerned.”
Pat was incensed that I would consider describing: “That bigot”
as an Irishman.
A bigot, just because his religion has a couple of rules different to
ours?
“Wasn’t Wolfe tone a Prod?” I mumbled as Pat stormed
off.
I couldn’t understand his attitude especially as like me he was
born and raised in England. It is sad to think that there are bigots on
both sides.
I hoped this was behind me having fallen out with a mate years ago. We
were on holiday and met a group of Irish girls. Without warning, Declan
jumped up, shouted: “Bitch” and stormed off. I could see the
girls getting ready to leave and picked up the signal from the remaining
three lads that they needed help.
I went over and asked if everything was okay. The girl was visibly flustered
and explained how everything was fine till Declan took offence to her
saying she was from Londonderry.
Well I sensed both an opportunity for some cross faith dialogue and a
chance of a beer with a gorgeous girl. Within a few minutes she was laughing
and the three boys gave me the thumbs up. I had no problem larking about
with her and kept well away from politics and religion. After a while
I went off the toilet and that is where the fun started.
Declan followed me into the loo and proceeded to rip into me. He stood
eyes blazing demanding to know what the hell I was playing at. A group
gathered.
He jabbed me in the chest. “Are you going to stay and drink with
that girl?”
I nodded.
“Even though she is an Orange woman?”
Everyone in the gents agreed that she was a fine-looking lass.
“You know her father is in the lodge and that doesn’t bother
you?”
I shook my head.
“So what if she was Ian Paisley’s daughter then would that
stop you?”
The veins were up in his neck.
“No,” said I, “not in the slightest.”
He asked if I had no shame, how would my family react if they found out.
I told him my father would laugh and my mother would pat me on the back
for being open minded.
“What if she was a UDF man’s daughter?” he demanded.
I thought for a second and said: “I wouldn’t care if she was
Hitler’s daughter.”
He was outraged. “And will you go back to her hotel with her?”
I laughed and said I would and that I would try and convert her with me
magic Catholic stick if it helped.
He stormed out and never spoke to me for the rest of the week. Which meant
I got to see what a bigot he was. Of course he never found out that not
only was I the wrong religion for the girl I was also the wrong sex. I
had a “yoke instead of a thingy” as me granny would say.
I thought those days were gone until this week in Norwich. The gig finished
and the Ulsterman shook my hand and offered me a Guinness. He apologised
for any trouble he had started. I explained that Pat was from Stoke: “Or
London-stoke as yis would probably call it!”
And yer man laughed aloud as we had a pint. He then offered me a gig in
his local pub in Belfast. I politely declined.
“I’m not a bigot but I’m not stupid either.”
Humour and communication can overcome any tension.
“Be you Catholic or Protestant you have to realise that basically
we are the same,” says I. “Except for one hour on a Sunday.”
And he agreed. Pat never returned and my newfound friend and I shared
a Guinness. I certainly had no doubt who the bigot was.
Find John on www.comicvoice.com |
