I was working non-stop as a standup comedian, and thought I loved the hustle. But when I found myself sobbing into the carpet after a back spasm, I had to reassess everything
F
or as long as I can remember, I have been ambitious and desperate to prove myself. It started with a competitive spirit at school sports days, then a determination to land parts in local theatre productions, then a place at drama school. I was between acting jobs when a friend suggested I try standup. One gig and I was hooked.
I quickly decided comedy was my future and I would do whatever it took to make it work. The rest of my life went out of the window. I gigged constantly – often six nights a week – determined to hone my craft and establish myself as a comedian. I was always knackered, but I revelled in it, telling myself I loved the hustle. I trod the boards at comedy clubs, art centres, theatres … anywhere that would have me. I performed for six years at the Edinburgh festival fringe – the first two to very little fanfare (and audience numbers), but after that, things started to rev up. I was booked for bigger shows, sometimes abroad, sometimes on TV. I felt as if I was really hitting my stride.
Then the pandemic happened. I had spent so long being obsessed with my job that, when it stopped, I didn’t quite know who I was or what to do with myself. In the scheme of things, I was enormously lucky: I got to spend loads more time with my partner, Alice, and our wonderful daughter. All of a sudden, I was someone I never knew I had wanted to be: a homebody. I had my girls, my sofa and more banana bread than I care to remember – even my old pal anxiety seemed to have taken a holiday. It was glorious. Then, the world opened back up, my career kicked off again and my tour resumed after a two-year hiatus. The hustle was back! I could gig five times a week, alongside recording two podcasts and occasional TV and radio spots. I was working nonstop – just how I liked it.
