What am I doing?

Metaphor.

Sometime over the next couple of months this blog will be undergoing a long overdue redesign. I don’t know what Adventures in TV-Land will look like when he (my brother) is done but I do know that it will look different. There’s a lot of stuff on this page that I feel as though I’ve outgrown.

And that doesn’t just go for the aesthetic. I’ve felt for a while that things need to change a little around here. The problem is that I have no idea how. I don’t think I know what this blog is anymore. I’ve had a blogging crisis before, when I moved from blogging about my actual adventures in television (are there readers who have no idea that the name used to be literal?) and toward blogging about my life more generally. When that happened I was terrified that I would lose readers.

What I’m only just realising now is that maybe during that transition I also lost my niche.

What I do doesn’t really fit anywhere. It sits awkwardly within the communities of bloggers that exist because this isn’t a craft blog or a literary blog or a blog about motherhood. This is a blog about… me. It has things in common with “mummy” blogs except that I don’t have a child to hold all the fragments of thought together. It bears some resemblance to vlogging but it’s only words. This blog is just me, sitting down each week to write about whatever happens to be in my head. Sometimes I wonder if that’s enough.

The redesign seems like as good a time as any to rethink what it is I’m doing here.  I feel a little as though I’m blogging into the abyss again. I know that maybe that’s just because people are reading in silence. It’s that age-old conundrum: if someone reads your blog but doesn’t interact with you, how do you know that they aren’t a Russian?

I feel like for every reader I gain, another one drops off. We’re not moving forward. This week a thought struck me out of nowhere and it was this: maybe that’s because I’m not getting any better. Maybe my content is too sporadic to draw new readers. Maybe I’m not really anything consistently. I don’t know.

Where am I going? What is it that I’m hoping to achieve with this blog? Maybe all this is just a reflection of my state of mind right now. In fact you can expect more blogs soon which riff on the theme of indecision and uncertainty. I know that this could be a moment that will pass but there's enough niggling doubt that I need to look at this seriously. I need to see if there's anything in it. 

Maybe this blog, just like me, needs to grow up a bit and move into the next stage of its life.

PS:

I’ve been struggling for a while (read: about a year and a half) with the idea of money. When I talked about taking a break from doing things for free, I realised that I never stopped doing this. That’s an awful lot of hours and an awful lot of words and yet this blog has never directly earned me any money. 

I think I need to investigate the possibility of earning money from this, even if it’s only a little bit. I think that, long-term, that’s important.

I really want to know what you think about that. Here are some options to consider. It really would be great to hear your thoughts.

Advertising: I’m not really sure advertising is a viable option for me but I have considered running small, cheap ads for things like blogs, online stores, comedy rooms etc. Other blogs seem to do this to great effect.

Donate button: that’s the traditional option. There’s still something a little weird about it really. But it’s pretty non-invasive and whatnot.

This thing: I came across this site yesterday and part of me likes the idea. I haven’t fully investigated the viability of it. But it’s…interesting, I guess.

What do you think? Do you have any other ideas? Thoughts? Comments? Etc?

30 questions

I briefly considered posting the first 250 words of my film essay in place of a blog this week. Except I actually haven’t written 250 words yet because I’ve spend the last hour writing a blog. I finish uni for the semester next week and so hopefully I’ll have a little more energy to knock out some quality blogs over the break but today there is this. The disadvantage of posting every week is that sometimes there are weeks like this one. Today I am low on time and inspiration so I spent a lot of time Googling questions I could answer and I came across a thing called “30 questions about me”. I found these questions on Tumblr. You have been warned.

1. What’s your full name?

Alexandra Beatrice Neill. The Beatrice part is not funny.

2. How old are you?

You could work this out by yourself if you were a dedicated blog reader. Tsk.

3. What’s your star sign?

The one that’s named after a disease.

4. What’s your hair colour?

The other night I spent about ten minute staring at myself in the mirror trying to work out if my hair is dark enough to be considered black.

I told you all the uni work is affecting me.

5. What’s your eye colour?

Can we have a chat about the fact that we just use regular colours to define things like eyes and hair? Literally no one has “brown” eyes. Eyes are always murky, swirly, complicated colours and they usually have bits of other colours in them.

If we want to go by societal norms though then my eyes are probably something akin to hazel.

6. Have you ever been in love?

No. My boyfriend is the worst. I hate him.

7. Who was your first crush?

I had a crush on Harry Potter when I was ten. This is a true story.

8. How long was your last relationship?

I’ve been having a will-they-won’t-they relationship with this packet of Hobnobs for about an hour now.

9. Ever cried over a boy?

Last time I played Quidditch I was bludgered in the windpipe. That made me cry; a boy did that.

10. Are you missing someone?

I think that living in the modern world means that we are almost constantly missing people. We’re closer together but further apart.

11. Do you drink?

Yes. Otherwise I would die because that is how humans work.

12. Ever been so drunk that you don’t remember all the night?

No but seriously, why is this fun? As someone who obsessively chronicles their existence, the idea of drinking so much that I forgot a chunk of my life is just terrifying.

13. Ever tried drugs?

I take drugs every day. They are my favourite thing because they mean I can breathe and not have an asthma attack and die.

14. What scares you?

The other day I realised that loneliness scares me. That's a thing. I also continue to be afraid of escalators.

15. Do you believe in fate?

Please see this blog.

16. Do you believe in karma?

Do I believe that if you are not a dick then sometimes not-bad things will happen to you? I guess.

17. Who did you last speak on the phone to?

My dad rang this morning. Hi dad.

Someone in the Tumblr tag for this post had written “My friend Jesus” for this question. I am unsure if someone actually named their child Jesus or if this person believes they have a mobile connection to God.

18. What’s your favourite film?

Muppet Treasure Island. Please don’t tell my film studies teacher.

19. What film did you last watch?

Hans Richter's Rhythm 21. I should be writing an essay about it instead of writing dumb blog posts.

20. What books are you reading?

I’m currently reading Phonogram- The Singles Club. Which is a comic but it still counts. It’s really good and if I didn’t keep spending all my time doing homework and writing blog posts I would have finished it already.

On a related note: you can totally be my friend on Goodreads if you want.

21. Dogs or cats?

Here’s a fun fact: I’m technically allergic to cats. I’m also really allergic to dust mites and house dust. Because “house dust” is a thing you can be allergic to.

22. Night or day?

What kind of question is this? Daytime because that’s primarily when I’m conscious?

23. What can’t you live without?

Oxygen? 

24. Any piercings?

I don’t even have my ears pierced. There’s another fact for you.

25. Any tattoos?

If I ever did get a tattoo I’ve always thought it would be kind of handy to get LEFT and RIGHT tattooed on the back of my hands. This would be stylish, practical and hilarious.

26. What attracts you to the opposite sex?

This is a very homophobic question. It should just be “what attracts you to people you are attracted to”. 

27. Who did you last kiss?

Why do these stupid lists always have questions like this? Is this really the best way to get to know me? Pish. I am not answering your dumb question.

28. What’s the last song you listened to?

The Interval Song by Tim Minchin. Because it’s the last track on my Musical Comedy Mixtape and I was listening to that in the car this morning.

29. What turns you off?

Please see question 27.

30. What did you want to be as kid?

I wanted to be a teacher for a long time but I think that was just because both my parents were teachers. After that I wanted to be a writer.

I also briefly toyed with the idea of “ballerina” when in kindergarten. I think this probably says something about society.

Because I understand that this doesn’t really count as a blog, I am willing to take suggestions for punishment. That’s a thing people do on the internet.

If you can think of a thing that I could do and then blog about it to make up for this rubbish, please leave your suggestion in the comment.

When to stop

There was a day, last year, where I learned what it really meant to work too hard. I was in Melbourne, editing The Pun during the Comedy Festival. I’d been getting up at 8am, editing all day, seeing two or three shows in the evening, returning home after midnight and then doing it all again the next day. I was living on cheese and Easter eggs and toast. After about a fortnight of this I decided to get up before seven in order to go and hang out at a GNW rehearsal. My brain tried to tell me that this was a bad idea; I needed sleep. I ignored it. I could do everything. I was going to do everything.

After I had blearily stumbled through the rehearsal something in my brain clicked and I decided that I needed to take the afternoon off. I walked out of Town Hall and realised that I didn't know how to get back to where I was staying. I stood there, amidst the crowd and realised that my tired brain couldn't conceptualise getting to the tram and getting home. I literally had no idea how to do that. I didn’t know how to walk and I didn’t know how to use public transport and I did not know how to get from where I was to where I needed to be (bed). I can't explain how distressing that was. I was so tired I was unable to function.

I managed to get myself to a café before I broke down. Walking took a lot of effort but I did it somehow. I wish I could apologise to the waiter who took my order for toast and tea while I was weeping. I imagine that was quiet distressing. I sat in that café and realised that I’d finally pushed myself too far. I texted my boyfriend, who was far away, and said: "I think I need someone to tell me when to stop.”

It is as a direct result of this incident that I decided to give up volunteering. I decided that, for at least a year, I would say no. I wouldn’t take on any new projects or apply for jobs that didn’t pay. I wouldn’t help out at festivals or offer my services to people. I was taking leave.

I’ve spent a lot of my time throwing myself headlong into projects. I’m no stranger to working for free.

When I mentioned last week at EWF that I’d given up volunteering it occurred to me for the first time how bad that sounds. In an industry that relies so much on people giving their time for free it feels selfish that I decided to say no. We all give our time for free because that’s how it works. There isn’t an alternative. Every time I have worked for nothing, it’s been with the knowledge that the people I was working for would love to pay me, but for one reason or another they can’t. I’ve gained incredible amounts from those experiences and I don’t regret a single one of them.

I haven’t given up forever. One of the reasons I decided to take this time out is because there are projects on the horizon that I know will take an awful lot of my time and energy. As always I have grand plans but I needed to take the time to learn to say no before I can start to say yes again.

I guess I’m telling you my horror story because sometimes these stories need to be told. I know so many people who work so hard to keep making things happen. And things do happen; wonderful, amazing joyous things. But I know from experience that sometimes these things mean that people don’t eat and don’t sleep and don’t look after themselves. And that means that sometimes good people have random breakdowns in cafés. And that is not good.

It’s hard to say no. But sometimes saying no is the best option.

Sometimes we need someone to tell us when to stop.

What I learnt at EWF

Photo via EWF on Facebook

I've always believed that I could be a writer. More than, that I’ve always believed, quite stoically, that I was going to be a writer. For years I’ve been able to stubbornly ignore all those people who wanted to tell me how hard it was going to be, how little money I would earn, how unemployed I was likely to be and resolutely solider on.

Sitting in the audience at the Emerging Writer's Festival opening night gala last Thursday I realised that for the first time in my life all that stubborn belief wasn't enough. For the first time, in my life I was scared.

This year I finish university. That means that next year is the real thing. I’m going to leave, after all those times I’ve talked about staying, and move to the city. And then I’m going to try and be neither unemployed nor miserable. I’m going to be a writer, full time, after all those years of dreaming about it.

When, at the age of 10, I decided I wanted to be a writer, it felt less like a choice and more like a revelation. There have been many times since then that I’ve wished I could change my mind. If only I could be a teacher or a doctor or a research biologist (which my high school biology teacher insisted I’d be great at) and still be happy. But I’ve always known that a writer is what I am, for better or for worse.

Oddly though, I’ve felt less like a writer in the last six months than I have for a very long time. I’m working at a magazine two days a week and I’ve just finished writing a 40 minute play. I am writing. And yet the dream feels further away than it has since I was 15. Lately, leaving uni and falling into a job that I love, feels impossible. Where’s that stubbornness? Where’s that ridiculous belief I’ve always had that if I try really, really hard I’ll get there?

Lately all my starry eyed optimism has tarnished.

I’ve wanted to come to the Emerging Writer's Festival for years. But it took my boyfriend ringing me in late December and saying he’d found some crazy cheap flights to actually get me there. I’m glad he pushed me. In amongst the flurry of assignments for uni and deadlines at work, this weekend has been a tiny haven to help me remember the things that matter.

That sounds corny but I’m too tired to think beyond clichés. Somewhere amid the bustle of life I think I’ve forgotten some of the things that make me happy. I’ve forgotten how much I love talking to people about writing, how much I love listening to people talk about it. I’ve forgotten that doing things, even on the days when it’s hard, is incredibly satisfying. I’ve forgotten how much I care.

Listening to Australian Stories (a panel which looked at all the things happening in places that aren’t Melbourne) I remembered how much I care about getting writing opportunities to the people who need it. Growing up in regional NSW, no one told me that I could be a writer. I hate to think about all the other little mes, living in rural and regional areas thinking that writing is an impossible dream. Growing up like that I felt so alone. There were times when I legitimately thought that maybe I was crazy. Attending TiNA for the first time at the age of 18, I couldn’t believe how many other writers there were. There were all these other people who thought like I did, people who dreamed like I did. That changed my life.

This weekend I remembered that all over again. It matters that those people are out there, in the real world and not just on Twitter. There’s nothing quite like talking with faces and laughing and drinking cider. The internet is great but it really doesn’t replace the real world.

I remembered that things only happen if we make them happen. Making them happen is much harder than NOT making them happen. And sometimes you do things and no one comes. And sometimes it seems like more stress and angst and exhaustion than it’s really worth. Every time I’ve risked my own sanity for a project, there have been times when I wonder why the hell I do it. Why am I having an exhaustion related breakdown in a café? Why am I at Dan Murphy’s at 7am on a Saturday? Why am I still writing this stupid blog even though it’s 1am? The answer, of course, is because it matters.

I want to start doing things that matter again.

So thank you, EWF, for helping me to polish my tarnished childhood optimism and to make it all shiny and new again.

One girl's quest for the best drink in existence

Next Saturday (May 25th) is Towel Day, the annual celebration of Douglas Adams’ life and work. Here's a celebratory blog post.

My quest to create the perfect Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster began about two years ago. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy has been my bible for almost a decade now and the mythical drink has always held a strange kind of appeal. For the uninitiated, here’s what the book has to say about the Gargle Blaster:

…the best drink in existence is the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster…the effect of which is like having your brains smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped around a large gold brick.  

Most of the “Earth” recipes that you’ll find for the Gargle Blaster fall into one of two categories. The first is the “boring cocktail” category. There are a number of bars across the world that serve their own version of the Gargle Blaster. Most of these try and tackle the “best drink in existence” part of the brief without really addressing the “large gold brick” element. I’m of the opinion that you can’t have one without the other, so while a lot of these drinks look quite tasty they never really look like a Gargle Blaster.

The second category is those which try to recreate the recipe which is listed in the book. This is a clearly futile exercise because that recipe was written specifically to be impossible to make without the use of a spaceship and several dozen lifetimes. “Arcturan Mega-gin” is not the same as Bombay Sapphire.

Drinks that fall into this category tend to be overly complicated and, to be honest, pretty awful.

My own head canon does list a definitive recipe. Unfortunately I’ve never been able to find a copy. During the first run of the Hitchhikers stage play (I’m talking about the one with the hovercraft for those who know their stuff), the theatre bar produced a Gargle Blaster that, from everything I’ve read about it, was pretty damn excellent. I think it involved dry ice.

Unable to get my hands on that formula[1] I set out to create my own.

My first attempt used a recipe from the “accurate recreation” camp. It contained a hell of a lot of ingredients and was pretty complicated to make. It started well and, to be honest, I wish I knew what this drink had tasted like at the stage when it was beautifully green. The main problem with my first attempt at concocting a Gargle Blaster was this: the recipe used Barocca in place of “tooth of an Algolian Suntiger”.

Never do this. For the love of Zarquon, no. When we dropped in the Barroco the drink went from looking presently appetising to looking like this:

The other problem was that it used actual mint extract instead of “hypermint extract”. I can only imagine that hypermint is slightly less like paint stripper when you try to drink it. My first attempt, as you may have gathered, was not particularly success. But I was undeterred.

It was not long after this that I was given tequila for the first time. Two things occurred to me immediately after I did my first tequila shot. The first was that I obviously liked tequila more than all the other people at this party who were doubled over in agonising protest. The second was that the experience was pleasantly like having your brain smashed out, probably by a brick.

A recipe slowly began to form in my mind...

I wanted tequila, for its brick like quality. I knew that the mint extract had to go but minty-ness wasn’t so bad and it added to the brain smashing somehow. As it happened I had a bottle of Crème de Menthe that I bought to make Grasshopper pie. Not only was this minty but it also happened to be a spacey shade of green. I thought Curacao[2] would be good because it was delicious and an excellent shade of blue. I also knew that it needed lemon, a lot of lemon. I was basing my recipe around the phrase “like having your brain smashed out by a slice of lemon, wrapped around a large gold brick”: there had to be lemon. Also olives were compulsory because they are actually canon.

The first time I road tested this recipe was at a party for Doctor Who Day. Upon consuming it, one of my friends vomited, one almost choked on an olive and everyone else’s eyes started to water. I was on the right track.

The recipe which I subjected by friends to over the next couple of years was a variation on this theme. I usually topped up the concoction with ginger beer, in order to make it a cocktail. The main thing which varied was the amounts of Curacao, Crème de Menthe and tequila. Some batches were much better than others. My friends willingly volunteered to be my guinea pigs but I’m not sure they always enjoyed the results.

On one occasion I tried to make a virgin Gargle Blaster. This is a largely pointless exercise which will invariably produce something completely inconsumable. I don’t think anyone was game to even sip the thing. Don’t try this at home.

Earlier this year it occurred to me, that the main complaint was how difficult the Gargle Blaster was to finish. Once you start drinking the thing, not everyone is game to keep going. It had always seemed to me to be the kind of drink that should be downed in one go anyway. That was when I realised that it should probably be a shot.

And so I downsized the recipe and created what my focus group unanimously agreed was the best Gargle Blaster yet. It was, unlike so many of its predecessors, actually pretty. More than that, everyone enjoyed it. It was delicious, it looked like something that they'd serve at a space port and yes, drinking one felt like having your brain smashed out.

So here it is. After two years of experimentation, I am proud to present my recipe to the world. This is one of my proudest life achievements to date and next weekend is the perfect opportunity to try it yourself. Enjoy!

The Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster

(Alexandra Neill edition)

1/2 tsp. blue Curacao

1/2 tsp. Crème de Menthe

Tequila

Juice of half a lemon (strained)

Combine the Curacao and Crème de Menthe in a shot glass. Add lemon to taste (you can add more or less depending how much tequila you want. At least a tsp. is a good guide.). Top with tequila.  

Drink…but…very carefully…

A note on olives: my focus group tell me quiet animatedly that the lack of olive is one of this recipe’s strong points. Don’t try to shot an olive or you will probably die. If, however, you would like to include it, you could add one on a toothpick. Remove the olive to drink and then eat it straight afterwards.

---

[1] If anyone out there actually has a copy of  this recipe or knows where I can find one, please please get in touch.

[2] When I turned 18, the only thing we drank at bars was something called a Ninja Turtle (blue curacao, Midori, orange juice). For some reason no one outside Grafton has ever heard of a Ninja Turtle but they’re delicious.

The season with the Mariana Trench in episode quality

Doctor Who 50th Anniversary Rewatch

A guest post by Alex Bennetts (pictured above)

Dear Doctor Who Series Two,

With the rebooting officially out of the way in Series One (Daleks! A plucky assistant! Lots of corridors!), and Eccleston’s blink-and-you’ll-miss-it tenure as the Ninth Doctor out of the way, you had the universe at your feet. All you had to do was run – and run you did! Okay, it was awkward sometimes, sure: you stumbled a few times, even trying to make us believe you were okay with an Olympic-torch sprint, and at one point collapsed on the ground in a heap. But you made it to the end, Doctor Who Series Two, and we’re glad we watched your legs bounce up and down along the way.

Let’s start where you started. Although The Christmas Invasion had that dumb, spinning Christmas tree, robot Santas, and a startling lack of the titular character, you’re the first instalment of an annual tradition. And finally – eventually! – you let us see David Tenant’s Tenth Doctor for all his wit and wonder. What splendour for us all. Coming from Nine’s post-war angst, Ten’s controlled vivacity is exciting to watch. Whatta guy! I can't wait to spend more time with HIM.

And then from there, you had slight ups and downs, but it was generally pretty damn good, for a while. New Earth was fun, if a bit melodramatic; while Tooth & Claw gave us a solid historical with an odd decision by Queen Victoria, The Werewolf at the end. The Doctor has just saved your life, Vicki, give him a break! No need to set up an entire institute to oppose him, Wolfster.
In School Reunion, we get the return of past-companions Sarah Jane Smith and robo-puppy K-9 (yay!), before the needless destruction of K-9 (nay!) and the re-return of K-9 (yay?).  Martyrdom isn’t so dramatic when the character is brought back two minutes later.

Oh, and it seems like Rose Tyler gets trapped in less rooms this series, which is good character development for someone who gets trapped in rooms a lot. Congrats, Rose!

In The Girl In The Fireplace, we get a classic piece of storytelling from Stevie Moffat. The self-contained story is so tidy – a whole life in three quarters of an hour, a visually sumptuous adversary, and a horse on a spaceship. What more could you want? Well, maybe a better two episodes to follow it up...

The Cybermen return to Doctor Who, in a story that explores an alternate universe and all that entails. These modernised Cybermen are loud, clunky things – formidable simply because there are so many of them. And lots of Cybermen isn’t a bad thing! But if making noise and forming a metallic mob is your only way of inducing fear, then you’re a bit of a sub-standard spook.  When the gang are encircled by the freshly-minted Cybermen at the end of Rise of the Cybermen, that sure is a climax! But then the metal men are just disintegrated by TARDIS magic. Oh. Okay.

The Cybermen double-episode is important in reintroducing the species, but it does it in a really lacklustre way. Their inventor, John Lumic, is just a caricature of a mad scientist, and his motivation of “I want to live longer” doesn’t really line up with his actions of “I just made a bunch of robots and now I’m going take over the world and steal all the brains.” At least Mickey the Idiot gets a bit of development in that he becomes a badass and less of a dullard. Then he goes to France to with his hunky new boyfriend to "destroy" some Cyber factories which I think is terrible code for "making out with my hunky new boyfriend." Important to note also is Pete Tyler’s return – or, really, Alternate Universe Pete Tyler’s introduction. Whatever. It’s Rose’s Dad, but not dead and he’s apparently friends with the Prime Minister and probably spends his holidays with the President of the U.S.A. skiing in the alps??? I dunno, he seems to have a better life when Rose is a dog rather than a human. Alternate Universe Jackie Tyler is also there but she dies because of REASONS.

After that uninspiring double, you give us Mark Gatiss’ sub-par The Idiot’s Lantern. Remember when Rose wasn’t getting trapped in rooms by herself anymore, Series Two? Well, hey, I know you’re fond of your old self, so it was inevitable you’d slip back into bad habits. I guess at least this time Rose is trapped in a conceptual room, that being a TV set? Okay, okay, still terrible.

You’ve stumbled, Doctor Who Series Two, but I’m not worried.  Because next you offer a good – if not great – two-parter. The Impossible Planet and The Satan Pit, in which we meet the Ood in a dark mystery story and then The Doctor jumps down a big hole and speaks to the Devil! Cool! Maybe this series IS going to be really great‽

Oh. But let’s not get too excited. Because next up is that huge fucking dip in quality: Love & Monsters. Glob dang, Love & Monsters, why’d you have to go and do something stupid like exist? Forty-five minutes of dead air would have been preferable, let’s be honest. This is the episode in which a likeable minor character is forced to live the rest of her life as a slab of cement.  In fact, this episode is full of likeable minor characters who end gobbled up by a monster that looks like it was designed by a child. Wait – it WAS designed by a child? Okay, you get some kind of pass, Gobble Monster, but the script? A full grown adult wrote that script. Just let that sink in a bit.

You’ve got some explaining to do, Series Two. You could have done something to try and make us forgive you after Love & Monsters, like given us a good episode or shot us in the face. Instead, we have Fear Her, which is neither. It’s just a dud. Lots of cringing. Lots of parents who don’t really care that their children are missing. WEIRD.

Never mind. Army of Ghosts and Doomsday is a good jog to the finale. Also those REASONS from episodes ago are resolved: Alternate Universe Pete comes back to get all kissy kissy with Regular Universe Jackie. (Is referring to “our” universe as the Regular one offensive to all other universes? I dunno. SUCK IT, other universes.) The Cybermen prove themselves as pissy lil’ bull ants in comparison to the Daleks. And then Rose, after trying to save her father on his death bed last series, is reunited with her family! Mum AND Dad! Albeit, it’s in the Other Universe which we’ve established is a bit shitty in comparison to ours but she’s got her family! And even Mickey! What wonderful news! You should be thrilled!

Buuuut, she’s separated from The Doctor! Aww. The ending of the series where she gets locked in a (really big) room is pretty sad, but maybe just get a lil’ perspective, girl! Wake up and smell the Roses! (Ha, ha.) The ending is wonderfully nice in giving her so much of what she wanted through her story, it’s pretty damn sweet! The ending is emotional, too (if you forget about the times she returns later). But that’s not now, and that’s not you, Series Two, so I’ll give you a break.

We’ve had the best of times, Series Two, and we’ve had the blurst of times. Let’s pretend you never slaughtered our ability to implicitly trust you with that abusively bad drop in quality, and maybe we'll stick around for the next series.

Yours sincerely,

A Fan By The Name Of Alex Bennetts Who Doesn't Really Like The "Open Letter" As A Format Because He Thinks It's A Done Thing But Whatever He's Made His Decision And He's Using It For This Blog Post, Just Deal With It

Professional audience member

A couple of years ago I developed a strategy for seeing comedy. The strategy was slightly convoluted and it involved seating myself in painfully specific sections of the audience. I decided that the best seat was the one in the second row, in the aisle on the right-hand side.

There are a lot of flaws in this idea, not least of which that it relies on the seating being arranged into two blocks with a space down the middle. The logic behind it, however, is simple: that seat affords you a clear view of the stage while minimising the chance that you will have to engage with the show or the performer at all. You’re reasonably safe in the second row, for one, and I also had this dumb theory that performers usually heckled to their right (ie: the left half of the audience). Basically I was terrified of being heckled. That’s what this boils down to. I really, really did not want to engage in crowd work.

It has recently come to my attention that I was wrong. During our time at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival this year, the gang of five that I was travelling with took to sitting in the front row. At first we mostly did this because of our tendency to arrive at shows far too early. Plus during the first weekend of the festival we saw a surprising number of sold out shows. The combination of these factors meant that we found ourselves being ushered into the row closest to the stage and encouraged “not to leave any gaps.” It didn’t take long before we were doing this of our own accord, in shows with ample vacant seats.

I realised something: the front row isn’t all about you. For a lot of comedians, audience interaction is an integral part of their show. Often it’s a small part but when it goes horribly wrong it’s easy for the other material to topple in its wake. Having a friendly, willing and not intoxicated front row makes the show run more smoothly for everyone involved.

I’m not sure that I’ll ever set foot on a comedy stage but I do know that I’d like to do everything I can to help out those who choose to. Sitting in the front row is on par with tweeting about a show you loved; it’s a little thing that can make a little bit of positive difference. Think about it this way: for every enthusiastic comedy goer who sits at the front, that’s one seat that can’t be filled by a drunken backpacker. When the comic walks on stage there's a bunch of people sitting there looking cheerful. That is a nice thing and it doesn't take much to make it happen.

Plus, far from the hellish ordeal that I’d built it up to be, engaging with comedy is often really fun. I should probably mention at this point that I don’t tend buy into the “Look at this guy! Hahaha! What an idiot!” school of comedy. Most of the comics that I love approach crowd work with the slightly awkward enthusiasm of someone trying to make friends at a party.

I’ve been one-half of the couple in the front row twice now. I’ve always thought that being part of that couple would be pretty much the worst thing ever and, at a random open mic night, it probably would be. But you’re also providing a service. If there isn’t a couple in the front row, the comedian has to do that awkward “so…are you two a couple? No? Just friends?” bit. No one likes that bit.

I’m also lucky enough to be part of a couple that comes with an inbuilt joke: we both have the same name. Take it from me, there’s a goldmine of material in that. All you have to do is say “LOL these two people have the same name and they are dating!” and people will laugh because there’s something inherently funny about it. It would be selfish of me to withhold this gift from the comedy community.

If my life so far has taught me anything it’s that being brave usually turns out for the best. Stepping outside your comfort zone a little is far more likely to result in moderate good times than, say, death.

So next time you go to see comedy, consider the front row. You might be pleasantly surprised