When chavs attack!

Ok, I should start by saying that I've played Falling Down With Laughter at Belushi's Bar before, and had an absolutely storming time, so I have no desire to impune the excellent reputation of a fine comedy establishment.

However, last week I had absolute STINKER of a gig there - the only time I've ever really wished that the ground would open up and swallow the audience.

I arrived, tired and grumpy as always, and the selotape handle fell off my keyboard case. I should have taken this as a sign, but no, I went in and sat at the back, to watch the other acts.

I was due to be on in the third section, and although there was an audience of only 18, they were a very warm and welcoming crowd. The first section contained a brilliant four man improv group, called Improvedy. Sadly, three of them had to leave at the first interval. Dylan stayed on.

God bless you Dylan.

So the second half has an audience of 15, and features a singer songwriter with some beautiful bittersweet songs. The whole front row is clearly his retenue (they're singing along), but they all live in Watford, and have to leave at the interval (bless them, they came and excused themselves while I was setting up my keyboard - very sweet of them). This means I'm now looking at an audience of about 6 people. Could be worse. It's 11pm.

Then, hooray, 5 new people turn up. Ok, they might be a bit pissed. Alright, they're
absolutely lagered off their tits and are having problems even focussing on such a large and stationary object as the floor. Still, they're up for it (if by "it", you mean shouting abuse at each other, Alexis the compere, fellow audience
members, and of course me).

Just when I think things can't get any worse, a heavy metal band in the bar upstairs starts playing an exceptionally violent rendition of (appropriately) "I Predict A Riot", drowning out my jaunty little ditty about sudoku.

During "Why Do People Think I'm Gay", I think one of them might be about to make a lunge at me with his beer bottle, but it turns out to be uncomfortable flatulence (on his part, not mine)

At one point, one of the toothless gyppos yelled out "I'm goin home".
"Please do", I retorted. The abuse continued, I ended up telling the pikeys to 2Shut the f#ck up", in the middle of one of my songs, and then the other audience members started trying to police them as well, which only led to more hostility. Indeed, a bit of tinsel was thrown in anger. (I never thought I'd see the day)

I did my 60 second swearing song, which registered a glimmer of sentient thought on the monobrow of one of the neanderthals, before he went back to chatting loudly with his cousin about how crap I was.

I quit after 3 songs, and went upstairs to seek solace in the fiery embrace of my old friend Jack Daniels. I should have dealt with them better, and I certainly shouldn't have antagonised them, but exactly what lessons I could learn from this, I'm not sure. Never perform to anyone with teeth missing?