Nat Locke: how a bottle of wine, a flying nanny and a chance encounter led to my first stand-up gig in years

Sometimes in life, you say yes to things that are WAAAAAAY in the future and then when the day finally rolls around, you realise you have put yourself into quite the predicament.

And that’s how I found myself on stage at the Regal Theatre last weekend, doing 20 minutes of stand-up comedy to open for Joel Creasey.

It all started in August of last year. I was on a junket in Adelaide to see a performance of the musical Mary Poppins because it was headed to Perth shortly thereafter. When my host had asked if I would like a drink, I politely requested a glass of white wine. Pivotally, my host returned with a whole bottle and this is probably the deciding factor. Remember this if anyone ever thrusts a bottle of white wine into your hand. You just never know what you might agree to.

Upon taking my seat, I realised that I was sitting next to Joel Creasey, who somewhat hilariously, was visiting from Melbourne on a buck’s weekend, which is further evidence that gay weddings are way more fabulous than straight ones. But I digress. We chatted animatedly as we are Nova stablemates, and at some point before Mary Poppins drifted down, he asked me if I might like to open for him when he brings his show to Perth.

I should add that I have done some stand-up comedy. More than 20 years ago, I had a crack at it, making the national final of RAW Comedy and performing to 1200 people at the Melbourne Town Hall during the comedy festival. Still, that required a whole five minutes of material, and being a competition for inexperienced comedians, the expectations weren’t set hugely high. It was the catalyst that shifted me from a chiropractor to a breakfast radio announcer though, so I think we can all agree it was a positive experience.

However I soon discovered that there wasn’t much room in my life for stand-up while I was getting up at 4am every day, and also (for the first 12 years at least) still working as a chiro. So I didn’t do it for ages.

When the Comedy Lounge opened in Murray Street several years ago, I did a spot at one of the shows during opening week. And a couple of times since then, I did five-minute open mic spots. And that’s it.

So how did I have the audacity to agree to a 20-minute opening spot for an acclaimed comedian? Other than the white wine? Well, I figured that if he asked me, he obviously thought I was up to it. Also, every now and then, I like to just say yes to things because they push me outside my comfort zone. Also, I gave him many, many opportunities to come to his senses and change his mind, but he never did.

I had to keep reminding myself that this was something that I had actually agreed to as the dates approached, because the stress levels started to peak. I wasn’t particularly nervous about it until every second person started asking me if I was nervous about it. Also, when you know you’re going to be standing in front of several hundred people who are expecting you to be funny, I’ll be honest, you do start to wonder whether anything you’ve scribbled down is, in fact, actually funny.

This, of course, is the entire predicament every comedian encounters. You become acutely aware that different people find different things funny. Of course, proper comedians try their material out at experimental and open mic nights so they can tweak it and refine it and adjust it as required. Yeah, I really should have done that. But I didn’t. Oops.

What can I say? I was busy.

My other, significant concern was that I wouldn’t be able to remember 20 minutes of material, given I frequently forget what I walked into the other room for. And that’s why for all of the afternoon beforehand, I paced my lounge room saying my set out loud repeatedly. Having said that, the only time I put a stopwatch to it and talked it through from start to finish was during the drive to the theatre. Am I mad? Yes. Did I remember everything? Also yes. It turns out my artistic process is successful.

Thankfully, the first night went well enough that I was emotionally capable to return to do the second, sold-out show on the Saturday night. By this time, I was confident that I could actually do it, so it was a considerably more enjoyable experience. It turns out I greatly prefer a full house. I’m weird like that.

And here’s the question everyone is asking me now: have I got the bug? Will I be doing it again?

Here’s my very non-committal answer: maybe.

And if you’re not happy with that answer, pass me a bottle of wine and ask me again.