Open spots...

I'm sure there are a fair few people who have done these out there, but my god, this must take the biscuit...

I booked myself to do an open spot (the name of the organisation will remain anonymous to protect the guilty). It wasn't a comedy night, but in the past there have been plenty of people doing daft poetry, funny songs etc etc...

Oh lord. Not this night. I was preceded by a woman who had written a piece of prose 'bearing witness' to the 1953 flood down South (n.b. you weren't bearing witness, dear. You have to be there to bear witness- you just made some stuff up). She'd written it (and spoke it) in the style of an eight-year old girl in danger of drowning who had an asthmatic mother and a disabled father. Picture it... "I had to be brave and hold on to my daddy's hand. Mummy had left her medicine in the house and her chest really hurt..."

And then me... 'So... bovril as sex aid then?'

Followed by some poetry about child abuse and my phone going off (to the tune of 'Dangermouse').

Why do I do this to myself? I really don't know...