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Have your say! If you want to comment on this or any other BBC blog, you will need to sign in to your BBC iD account. If you don't have a BBC iD account, you can register here - it'll allow you to contribute to a range of BBC sites and services using a single login.

Need some assistance? Read about BBC iD, or get some help with registering.]]> Elis James Elis James https://bbclatestnews.pages.dev/blogs/walesarts/2010/08/elis_james_interview_bbc_radio_wales_mal_pope_lisa_rogers.html https://bbclatestnews.pages.dev/blogs/walesarts/2010/08/elis_james_interview_bbc_radio_wales_mal_pope_lisa_rogers.html Comedy Fri, 20 Aug 2010 10:23:54 +0000 Most people can empathise with that feeling of not realising how drunk you are until you try doing something you usually do sober (ie 'why am I in my kitchen trying to make a cup of tea in a pint glass?').

It quite often happens when you're sat in a nightclub having drinks bought for you in succession (I'm aware this only really applies to Page Three models and people who drink in enormous rounds), and you think 'wooooah' on getting up to go to the toilet, as the nightclub dancefloor starts to feel like you're walking on a catamaran.

Anyway. I always perform stand up comedy sober, but I got this feeling on Monday night when there was late show I'd forgotten about... which I had to do hammered.

Now then. I don't drink at all before stand up. I am funnier sober, my timing is better and my ad-libbing more sharp. The least I can do is turn up for work without being drunk; after all I talk for a living and everyone knows a slurring newsreader is probably quite a bad thing, so I work on that principle.

However, while it's occasionally possible for footballers to look graceful and fat (Jan Molby immediately springs to mind, Lee Trundle during his early years at Swansea and John Barnes at the end of his career, when I thought he was both cuddly and effective), it is possible for some stand ups to be incredible whilst inebriated.

In fact, there can be something quite exhilarating about a drunk yet lucid comic freewheeling their way through a hazy flight of fancy, spittle flecked moments of genius being punctuated by sips from a glass of wine or beer.

Dylan Moran drinks on stage, Johnny Vegas has clearly had a pint before performing, and these are two of the most lauded stand ups of their generation.

Unfortunately, I am one of the comics who proves the rule, as demonstrated on Monday.

Following my solo show at 7.40pm, I met a friend for something to eat. The show had gone well and I decided to drink a bottle of red with my salad, being fairly health conscious during the festival (that's my five-a-day if you include the grapes in the wine).

We talked about comedy, football and everything in between, at which point I thought 'I love the taste of expensive premium lager,' and had a few of those. A couple of lagers later I got a text saying 'as you're closing the show, you don't have to arrive until 12.15am,' at which point I thought 'oh dear.'

I turned up, a few espressos sloshing around my stomach just to make my insides think that I'd had a breakdown, and as I was announced I was beginning to think 'well this should prove no significant problem,' until I walked on stage and the mic stand wasn't quite where I expected it to be (ie about three feet away from where my hand was flailing).

I said 'hello' and the audience said 'hello' back. I then said 'hello' again and mumbled desperately 'why aren't you saying hello to me?' before somebody replied 'because you're drunk!' I took a moment to steady myself before delivering a retort that would shake artistic foundations in London, New York and Swansea.

'Yes!' I replied. 'I'm drunk... because I had a drink!'

The gig went pretty badly. I decided to do some 'greatest hits' material, thinking 'I can just get my head down and bash these out' in the way pub covers bands hastily decide to do Mustang Sally instead of Miles Davis if there are mini kievs being thrown at the bassist.

Unfortunately, I gave away the reveal to my best routine (ie the punchline, and thing the routine rests on) about five minutes too early, thus rendering the whole set up pointless. I carried on with the set up regardless, however, displaying a titanic lack of judgement.

So, that's five minutes of the gig wasted, now it's time for some banter. I asked various members of the crowd questions, answered clumsily each time before deciding on the hoof to perform a routine from last year's Edinburgh show - the most ambitious thing I've ever written and, also, something I haven't done for a year.

I have no memory of how it went. My only memory is of Dave in the tech box doing that 'wind up now!' motion with his hands, which is probably a bad sign. I left the stage, the other comedians gave me a hug (we were all mates so they found it hilarious) and I walked home, a lesson learnt and preparing myself for a hangover.

I spoke to my friend John the next day and he was philosophical about it all. 'It's good to blow out the cobwebs' he said. 'Prove to yourself that you can't do stand up drunk. If you'd nailed it then suddenly you've set a precedent for drinking heavily before each gig, which is dangerous and the next thing you know you're asking for crème de menthe on the rider before performing the fresher's week show at Reading University.'

So if you're disappointed that I'm not writing this from a harem in Edinburgh, other comics drinking champagne from a football boot as Page Three girls look on, squealing things like 'despite being three sheets to the wind his metaphors are still as snappy and hilarious as ever,' I can only apologise. Maybe it's lack of practice.

If you see me in September, sleeping in the car park of Reading University, clutching a bottle of cooking sherry and urine stained notebook, then you'll know I've put the hours in.

Elis James is performing his show Daytripper at The Tron in Hunter Square, at 7.40pm (not 19 August).

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Things that make it feel like the Edinburgh Festival:

Doing two rowdy late shows on Saturday night. One was at a venue called The Underbelly, where three drunk Scottish lads took off their clothes as 200 people roared approval, in that way you only get when it's 2.14am and there's nudity on the cards. I was backstage talking about ticket sales to my friend the Australian comic Felicity Ward though, and missed the whole thing.

Things that don't make it feel like the Edinburgh Festival:

I have not been drunk yet, as I am still terrified that my show is awful and if I do a show hungover I will be rubbish, reviewers will slate me, I'll never be able to come back to the festival and mam and dad's house will fall into the sea.

I am also eating quite well, and it is just about morning when I get up, amazingly. Once, at the Fringe in 2008, my watch stopped during the night, misleading me when I woke up into thinking it was 7.58pm, which would have meant I'd missed my show.

Thankfully, I realised on staggering terrified into the kitchen that it was still the afternoon (thank you oven clock), but the scary thing was that it was plausible I'd slept the whole way through. It was at that stage I realised the Edinburgh Festival gives you the body clock of a tormented night porter at a haunted hotel.

Things that make it feel like the Edinburgh Festival:

I have already seen the show that has inspired me for next year, and that was within 24 hours of arriving in Edinburgh. John Luke Roberts is a mate of mine but I hadn't seen a single preview of his show, and was only vaguely aware of the premise.

However, I went on the first night (a minute before starting he muttered "this will be good in a fortnight El, please don't judge me") and it was absolutely superb. Video inserts, offstage screaming, superb acting from his very talented girlfriend Nadia Kamil in one of the funniest pieces of crying I have ever seen - it is an amazing piece of work and far more than just stand up. I left the venue feeling totally inspired.

John Luke Roberts Distracts You From A Murder is on at the Pleasance Dome at 8.10pm. It is clashing with me but I am going to be big about this and I urge you to see it.

There's plenty of early buzz for a few other shows as well, but I haven't had a chance to check them out yet, so I will fill you in as I get the chance. Josh my flatmate described Henry Paker's 3D Bugle as "extraordinary", so that's next on the list. (Henry Paker is on at The GRV at 7.50pm and is also clashing with me, so I'll have to watch that on my night off.)

Things that don't make it feel like the Edinburgh Festival:

Our flat is actually quite nice. To save money I lived in a windowless, coffin sized griefhole last year, and if the door to my room was shut the only way to tell if it was night or day was by looking at my phone.

This year, in classic Edinburgh tradition, the handle broke on our lounge door, and being four comedians none of us knew what to do about it.

My immediate thought was "oh well, we'll lose our bond and we'll have to hang out in the kitchen for four weeks, but I can live with that," until my flatmate John Robins exclaimed "MY DICTAPHONE AND ALL MY SHOW NOTES ARE IN THERE!"

Amazingly, following a tearful call to a real man with big hands and a toolbox, the door was mended within the day (it took the real man approximately 10-15 seconds, which is the most embarrassed I have felt for a long time. He was here for less than the duration of those announcements telling you to mind the gap at train stations).

That level of efficiency doesn't feel like me at all. In 2008 there was a brown/orange ooze seeping into our lounge, which myself, Dan Atkinson, Lloyd Langford and John Gordillo would just stare at as we ate our tea. Eventually, the ooze became quite the celebrity after The Scotsman ran a feature on it.

Right. I'm off to try and make my show funnier. Living with John Robins, Josh Widdicombe and Damion Larkin has led to a small amount of horseplay, which I will fill you in on if it's appropriate (not a huge amount of horseplay - we are comics after all, not Welsh rugby boys on a tour of Canada).

OK. I'll tell you. One of the lads read from my diary sardonically whilst naked.

Oh despair!

Go and see John Luke Roberts!

Elis.

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Feel free to comment! If you want to have your say, on this or any other BBC blog, you will need to sign in to your BBC iD account. If you don't have a BBC iD account, you can register here - it'll allow you to contribute to a range of BBC sites and services using a single login.

Need some assistance? Read about BBC iD, or get some help with registering.]]> Elis James Elis James https://bbclatestnews.pages.dev/blogs/walesarts/2010/08/elis_james_jamie_and_louise_bbc_radio_wales.html https://bbclatestnews.pages.dev/blogs/walesarts/2010/08/elis_james_jamie_and_louise_bbc_radio_wales.html Comedy Thu, 05 Aug 2010 14:36:01 +0000 I haven't had an anxiety dream for years. I think the last ones were probably due to a childhood phobia of swimming I had in the late 80s, and in general I'm quite a laid back person.

I don't beep the horn too much, I've never cut up a partner's clothing and thrown it into a canal whilst screaming "it's the look on your face I HATE," and I used to laugh at John McEnroe, thinking smugly to myself "why is he making all that fuss? It's only tennis." I have been suffering from anxiety dreams of late, however, and these are exclusively to do with the Edinburgh Festival.

Allow me to introduce myself: I'm Elis James, comedian, writer, and guest blogger during this month's Edinburgh Festival.

I think I should explain what the festival is first, before I start moaning about it. It's the world's largest arts festival; it runs for the whole month of August and, if you weren't sure from the title, it's held in Edinburgh.

Thousands of performers from all over the world will take over the Scottish capital for four weeks, whilst local people watch some shows, rent out matchbox-sized parts of their flats at extortionate rates to people too desperate to quibble, mutter to themselves angrily that Princes Street is too crowded during the day, and secretly love the fact that Glasgow has nothing to compare with it.

It's the comedy section of the festival that I'm concerned with, and this year I'll be performing my second solo show which I'm writing at the minute.

Now, this is where the anxiety dreams set in.

There are an estimated 2,500 shows on at Edinburgh, about 850 of which are comedy, and thus I suppose it had better be good. It's like taking meat to a barbecue - you'll be given short shrift by your hosts if you turn up with some gone off Winalot you've fashioned into sausage shapes, which you try to pass off as Tesco Finest chipolatas.

Worryingly for me the world's finest comedians are there, thus raising the standard to an annoyingly high rate, and so expectations are high across the board. Also, having been to Edinburgh a couple of times now, I will get reviewed by all manner of people, which terrifies me in a way I find difficult to explain.

The broadsheet newspaper I have read every day since I was 18 is going to review my show this year apparently. If I get slammed by them I may as well ask Shoot! Magazine to come along, just so I can get criticized by every publication I've ever ordered from a newsagent. I wonder if Wizzer and Chips runs a review section. That'll complete the set.

You're probably wondering why I'm putting myself through this. Well. I love comedy. Really, really love it in the same way a football obsessive can be as happy watching Sunday morning pub football as they are an FA Cup Semi-Final, I will gladly discuss why Tizer is a funnier drink than Sprite until I'm told to go home or social services are called. I am also unable to hold down a real job, and thus writing a new show for Edinburgh is a sort of must, because:

1. I can't move back in with my parents as I'm 29, and
   
2. Dad's still angry about the Blu-Tack stains I left on the wall when I took down my Radiohead posters in 1997.

And so my hands are tied. It's comedy or gun running, and not only am I chronically unfit but I have a pretty limited knowledge of the criminal underworld.

With less than a week to go until the festival starts, I am finalising the show at preview gigs up and down the country, ie I go on stage with a notebook and a dictaphone, and during the day try to shape these recordings into something worth hearing.

These shows are billed as Edinburgh previews and are often double bills with another comedian doing the same thing, and the audience is aware of what's happening (apart from the woman in Swansea who walked out on me a few weeks ago, 'FOR HAVING THE CHEEK TO PRACTICE ON HER!' It's like when a band do new songs at a gig, or as part of a radio session, but I don't have a tourbus, merchandise, or drugs hidden in my equipment which I smuggle unawares into other countries.

So. I have written a show called Daytripper, and will perform it every day at a venue called The Tron on Hunter Square, at 7.40pm. By the next blog I'll have an idea of how it's going, and will promote the show either by:

1. lying and saying it's good, or
   
2. bashfully admitting that it's going well and ask if you fancy coming.

I'll also have an idea of which shows are hot and will let you know, and will fill you in on any japes I get up to with my flatmates - I am in digs with three hard living, hard drinking comedians, so will let you know if our flat is like the last days of Rome (or the last days of Crossroads).

It will probably be like fresher's week, but every now and then one of us will burst into tears because "someone on Twitter has said that my show lacks foc....oh yeah focus".

See you on the other side.

Elis