For most comedians the run up to Christmas is a bit of a nightmare: lots of gigs full of Christmas office parties, getting drunk, talking to each other loudly, basically being obnoxious pricks. I have always tended to avoid gigs after the first week of December in order to avoid this. But thanks to our Lord and saviour Robin Ince, Christmas doesn't have to be such a nightmare for a few of us at least. All this week (until my own show starts at the Leicester Square Theatre on Sunday) I am taking part in the third seasonal "Nine Lessons and Carols For Godless Children" at the Bloomsbury. It is an utter delight to be a part of: it's always sold out, the audience are clever and sober enough to control their own bodily functions and the bill is packed with interesting people. There are comedians, musicians, humanists and scientists milling around backstage, making it a gig where you want to hang around when your seven minutes is over so you can chat. It is a real nerd fest in every degree, but nerds are wonderful people, especially compared with the alternative non-nerd audiences that we might be playing to elsewhere on a day like today. "What a load of freaks!" I commented as I looked around the green room before the show. "What am I doing here? I am cool," I then observed in deluded fashion. Luckily the other freaks laughed and agreed. "If you think this is bad, wait until you see the audience!" At least we were show freaks, imbuing us with a small degree of style and class. But I am happy amongst the freaky geeks. This is where I belong. Last night at Tim Minchin's aftershow party I had felt uncomfortable being amongst the cool showbiz types who were there (though Tim himself is a living geek God) and perplexed that within the pass-accessed only Sky bar at the O2 there was a second exclusive area that you needed a pass to get into as well. I didn't know if my pass would let me into the second area and wasn't prepared to risk the humiliation to find out, but I also slightly resented the distinction and hierarchy. I stayed out in the less exclusive bit with the ordinary people (who had got a pass into the after show bit- I didn't want to hang out with the regular schmoes who couldn't even get in there. I have some standards. And hypocrisy. And lack of self-perception.
The tension created by the exclusive area within an exclusive area made me uncomfortable enough that I had to leave. But tonight in the crowded green room, we were all equals and anyone who had roped off a corner and insisted they were better than the rest of us would have been shunned as a massive tool. But there were no egos here and unusually at one point as a dozen or so of us were sitting around in a circle the room fell silent for a good 30 seconds. At no other place in the world would a group of comedians sit in silence, not itching to enter into a competitive battle to out-funny each other. But here we were all confident enough and comfortable enough in each other's company that silence was acceptable and for that moment preferable.
It is a very unusual gig, more reminiscent of an odd University professors' common room than a theatre. And a grouchy, cardigan wearing Robin Ince, suffering from toothache and carrying around a huge pile of index cards increasingly resembles a scatty professor. But he deserves massive kudos for putting these shows together and for the fact that they are already a winter tradition and so popular that they sell out long in advance. Even on a bill with 17 or 18 acts (and amazingly it all still finished on time - no Johnny Ball to talk for half an hour on climate change this year) it feels like a real honour to be asked to take part.
On days like today I wish it could be Christmas every day.
