Rick O'Lection and why I’m not a stand-up…

I’ve always wondered what it’s like to get up on stage and try to make people laugh. I think that stand-up comedians must be either very confident, totally crazy, or both. Sometimes when I’m unable to sleep at night, instead of thinking of islands from A-Z, I make up stand-up routines. I even have a stand-up persona – he’s called Rick O’Lection.

Poor Rick suffers from Alzheimer’s. I did consider a transvestite stand-up persona but then I remembered that Eddie Izzard had already cornered that particular mirth market. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to guarantee that all of my gigs - if I got any - would always take place on a Wednesday night whilst my wife was out at Zumba. It did cross my mind that an Alzheimer afflicted comedian might not be very PC. But then if you can’t laugh at disability, what can you laugh at? After all it is 1976… isn’t it?

Sorry, there I go slipping into Rick early again.

In my mind’s act Rick bumbles onto the stage looking lost – all cloth cap and duster. He approaches the stage and speaks into the microphone:

‘I’ve been Rick O’Lection and you’ve been a great audience. Thank you and goodnight!’

He bows and then lifts his head (a puzzled look passes across his face):

‘No that isn’t right. Good evening plumbers, I’m Rick O’Lection and I’m from Dublin, but I’ve forgotten how to do a French accent. Anyone in the audience got a dog? You know those furry things with long ears and carrots. My dogs got no eyes. No eyes? How does he smell? It doesn’t matter he can’t hear you anyway…

I must ask Pete, he’s got one…

Is anyone in the audience married? No? Well, it’s only a piece of potpourri and who wants to live in an installation anyway? My wife Jane… Janet… Jackie? No, she’s a blonde and Jackies a brun… dark-haired. My wife Lady Gaga is going to Jamaica. Holiday I think … or was it with her job? The dogs not going. Did I mention he’s got no eyes? That’s why he crossed the road I think…Pete’ll know…I’m sure it was in the bread bin with the goldfish…

Why was the stick brown and sticky? Because it was a brown stick. No, not Lady Gaga, Judith Chalmers. It was a stick.

Knock, knock.

Knock, knock.

Knock, knock.

I must be out.

Thanks Luton, or Carlisle, or maybe Macclesfield? I can’t remember where I put my ticket or I’d check. I must have put it somewhere. How much was it for? Will cash do instead? I probably left it at the bank and I haven’t a pen even if I could write you one. Anyway, you’ve been a great ambulance and I hope you enjoy your burger…

My name’s been… well whatever and now I’m going for a lie down. All this standing up has made me torrid. Good evening playmates. Oh yes… I’ve been Rick O’Lection, from Dubai although I’ve forgotten how to do a Spanish accent, and you’ve been a thingummy.. you know, a group of people watching something. Do you want fries with that?’

Poor old Rick. Sometimes I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.