Let me tell you where I am readers. I’m here in the only place I feel safe at the moment… my shed. The first is a group called the “Men’s Shedders Association” But this isn’t just any garden shed, I’m not perched on a lawnmower with my feet on a bag of charcoal. This baby has carpets, curtains and even a coffee maker.
I’ve been self-isolating way before it was trendy. Although I didn’t call it that, I called it “hiding from my kids.”
This shed is quite compact, about six foot long by four foot wide, about the size of a downstairs toilet in the North or a one bed flat in Central London. On the 14th March BC (before Corona) I did my last live Stand up gig. Now I can’t get on stage, so like everyone else, I’ve decided to start working from home. Every week I do my own live stand up gig to a webcam here in the shed for the people on Facebook, it’s essentially a cross between Babestation and B and Q.
In Italy they sang songs from balconies, it was tender, it was beautiful. Here in Nottingham you’ve got a Yorkshireman bellowing punchlines in a wooden bunker at the bottom of his garden.
The response has been amazing, I’ve been on BBC News, Sky News, Five Live, over twenty thousand people have watched the first show as it was streamed live. It seems one man’s pandemic is another man’s career break. Someone even asked me who I’d got to do my PR! What?! PR? I didn’t plan this!? I didn’t think, forget “Live at the Apollo”, I want to be the acceptable face of the Coronavirus!
I think people were looking for a distraction though, which comedy certainly has the power to be.
Doing these jokes now feels a bit like missionary work, I don’t think of myself as a comedian
anymore, I’m basically Bob Geldof with punchlines.
My friends have said, how can you do stand up with no laughter Scott, isn’t it weird? No, I’ve performed in Doncaster, I’ve been here before.
I’ve got one physical audience member in the shed with me, my wife Jemma. Her role is sound engineer, morale officer and when she lays down a draft excluder. She also makes sure I stick to time, by frantically tugging on the leg of my jeans when I start waffling on. We go live every Thursday night and on that day I put a bit of extra effort in. I empty the dishwasher, I cook, I clean the entire house, I deal with the children, the last thing I need is my only audience member turning against me.
Roy and Margaret, my parents, also feature. My dad plays the ukulele and my mum sings. Listening to them do a rendition of The Urban Spaceman with my mum playing the Kazoo, was the first time since this crisis began, that I realized, just what a long haul this would be.
But It’s been amazing to see how my parents have embraced technology. Before the pandemic they were useless. It’s all changed now though. I’ve got my mum inviting me to three-way video conferencing sessions on Zoom, dad is in the spare bedroom, with a headset on, streaming a live vlog to his followers on Twitch. By the end of this pandemic, even your Gran will have a podcast.
“These days feel like a little window into my retirement years and I’ll be honest, it’s not looking good. I’ve got no money, no pension, no social life and the worst thing is, the kids are still at home.”
I’m trying to embrace this downtime, to see it as a moment of reflection a time to take a breath. These days feel like a little window into my retirement years and I’ll be honest, it’s not looking good. I’ve got no money, no pension, no social life and the worst thing is, the kids are still at home.
I’ve felt something these past few days that I haven’t experienced in years. Boredom.
Last Tuesday all I did was griddle some aubergines, that was it, a whole day and that was my only achievement. I needed the toilet, but I decided to hold it in, just so I could have something to look forward to on the Wednesday. I can’t wait for Friday, that’s the day I finally get to top up the bird feeders.
We are trying to ration our food at home now. We are down to our last pack of pasta and our delivery slot is still two weeks away. If things carry on like this I’ll have no choice but to go up into the loft and strip all the fusilli from my daughter’s primary school pictures.
We did a freezer eat down last week, clearing out all those leftovers. It feels very cathartic, but those were some weird meals. It was like Heston Blumenthal was on the pans. On the menu were potato waffles, sweetcorn, falafel and some unknown accompaniment, which I’m now convinced was breast milk. Either that or cod in butter sauce?
But In the midst of this trauma, there are things to celebrate. There is a real sense of community now, people are pulling together. We have a WhatsApp group in Nottingham, where people shop for those who can’t get out. Everyone is very reasonable on there, you have to think about what you ask for. You can’t have people risking their health just to pick you up some fresh peppercorns. “We’re in a state of national emergency Malcolm, I think you might have to accept that your food might be a little less seasoned from now on!”
No one knows what the world will look like when we come out of this. I was watching a video of a concert on YouTube the other night and something didn’t seem right. At first I thought it was the lack of mobile phones, then I realized what it was, people were stood in a crowd! It freaked me out! I wanted to yell at the television! “What are you doing guys, are you insane! you should be 2 metres apart, come on, social distancing! where is your hand santiser, where are your masks! Is this an essential concert?!”
Close contact could soon be a fetish. They’ll be underground cuddling clubs, proximity perverts hanging around in alleyways in long trench coats. “Come in here and stand next to me, go on, breath on my neck, that’s it, touch it, go on, you know you want to, touch my face, shake my hand, let’s go down to the basement for a game of Twister!”
Humour is one of the best tools we have to get through this. Only a fortnight ago, we were laughing about how we were having to greet each other. We touched elbows, we saluted, I even did a fist bump with the pensioner across the road. It was the most gangster thing ever. When all this has blown over we’ve made plans to pimp us his mobility scooter, then go down the old folks home and start dealing Viagra.
But I’m really missing my job. I’ve done shows every weekend for nearly a decade and I feel lost without it. I miss the hen parties and the stag nights, the punters on their phones and the drunken heckles from the shadows. I’ve done gigs where I’ve driven for four hours on a Tuesday night, in torrential rain, to perform to two people and a dog, for no money, at Bobby Wingnuts Cackle Dungeon…..and I even miss those ones now too.
I can’t keep doing jokes to my wife in the shed, it’s not normal. If you carry on like that you won’t have a career, or a wife.
After all, when this is over I think we will all need a laugh. Comedy is going to be in such demand and I can’t wait to be on the frontline, back in that comedy club where I belong.
But until that day comes, I guess this shed will just have to do.
@scottbcomedyuk | scottbennettcomedy.co.uk Find The Scott Bennett Podcast on SoundCloud and iTunes