When A Door Closes Find a Window
COVID took a lot from all of us. The freedom to move and mingle, to pop out for a coffee or a glass of something a bit stronger with a friend. But, I’ve always believed in life, you either laugh or you cry. And I have always been rather partial to the former.
So when the world shut its doors during the pandemic, I decided to find a window. I signed up for Funny Women, an introduction to comedy, a course run by the brilliant Lynne Parker.
Finding the Window
Now, before you raise an eyebrow, let me explain. Humour has never been far from anything I do. Even in my most corporate speaking engagements, delivered to boardrooms across continents, there has always been a little lightness woven in. A personal story, a gentle laugh at myself, a moment that reminds the audience that we are all human. I have never been one to drone on from a lectern with the solemnity of a Victorian headmaster. Life is simply too short for that.
Enter Funny Women
Lynne, who founded Funny Women, has always believed that comedy matters precisely because of the creativity and collaboration it brings out in people. Society has always turned to humour in tough times, she said, and she is right, of course.
When theatres, clubs and venues went dark during lockdown, something rather wonderful happened. The comedy community gathered online instead, and Funny Women became a thriving virtual hub for anyone who wanted to find their voice.
It was the perfect time to sign up.
The brief was straightforward enough. Pick a real situation from your life, turn it into a comedic sketch, and tell it to a panel of experienced comedians. There was no corporate audience who might laugh politely to be kind. But instead, professional comedians, who were going to provide real feedback.
I chose my story carefully. And every word of it was true
The Jeans. Oh, the Jeans
During lockdown, in a moment of what I can only describe as optimistic delusion, I decided it was time to reclaim my inner hippie. I ordered a pair of mail-order jeans. Beautifully embroidered, terribly trendy, and entirely the sort of thing I had worn back in the day. The sort of jeans that whisper, ‘You’ve still got it!’
They arrived, and they were gorgeous! Frankly, they deserved a better fate than me. I laid them on the bed and admired them. Step one went beautifully. Then I put them on. I put one leg in, then the other, and I pulled. The jeans made it as far as my hips and then, quite firmly, stopped. I could not get them up. I could not get them down. I was, to use the technical term, stuck.
I lay on the floor. I did. I attempted manoeuvres that would have impressed a yoga instructor. Possibly also a contortionist. Definitely not a woman who had, until that morning, considered herself reasonably dignified. Nothing, but nothing budged these denim works of art. They appeared glued to my hip bones. In the end, I reached for a pair of scissors and cut my way to freedom. Those beautiful, embroidered jeans met their end on the bedroom floor. Victims of optimism and a particularly unforgiving waistband.
Real Beats Perfect
After the laughter died down, one of the panel offered one simple piece of advice. When you present anything to any audience, don’t try to be anyone other than yourself. People can spot a performance a mile off. What they respond to and what they remember, she said, is someone who is simply, unapologetically, real.
The course ran for around six sessions, all online, all during the strangeness of lockdown. It was funny, it was gruelling in the best possible way, and it reminded me of something I already knew but needed to hear again. Know your brief, and know your audience. Keep it real and true, and never take yourself too seriously.
As for the jeans: I have no one to blame but myself. And possibly whoever invented mail order 😂
