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Leaving Your Comfort Zone Can Be A Laughing Matter

A friend once said to me “you’re really funny. You should be a stand-up comedian.” Many of us have had the experience of making a group of friends laugh down the pub. Or, if you’re middle-aged like me, at a friend’s house for a dinner party – where laughter can become infectious. It’s one thing having a laugh with your friends, but making a group of complete strangers laugh for five minutes is another matter entirely...

I have always been fascinated by comedy. I grew up watching Tommy Cooper, Spike Milligan and Les Dawson. The more ridiculous they were, the more I laughed – children laugh around three times more often than adults. I loved silly jokes like “I went to my doctor and asked for something for persistent wind. He gave me a kite.” Les Dawson.

I run my own brand and graphic design business, so I’m no stranger to being creative and presenting my ideas to clients. I have, on occasion, also led and preached at St Saviour’s. But I wanted to push myself out of my comfort zone and see if I could do what my childhood heroes did. I was about to find out.

Walking into the unknown

After searching online, I found the 10-week Logan Murray Comedy Course, that ends with a final showcase in front of family and friends. The course has been running for more than 15 years and has seen hundreds of budding comics tread its boards. Logan Murray has over 35 years’ experience in comedy, TV and directing – and is acknowledged as one of the best comedy tutors in the country. 

I paid my money and, two weeks later, found myself in a small rehearsal room near London Bridge with fourteen other terrified would-be comics. From photographers and NHS staff through to a YouTuber and an opera singer, we quickly got to know each other in a series of improvisation games that were both challenging and hilarious. 

At the end of the first three-hour session, every person on the course had made me laugh. I came away hoping they were thinking the same about me.

The following weeks became even more enjoyable as our group began to really gel. I couldn’t wait for Wednesday evenings. Thanks to Logan, the environment was really positive and I felt very comfortable being creative, taking risks and playing the fool.

Watching and wondering

To prepare myself mentally for what I was going to do, I thought it would be a good idea to go along to an open mic night. This is where any budding comedian can sign up beforehand or even on the door. There’s no shortage of venues for amateur comedians to perform, particularly around London.

I’d heard about a club called The Lion’s Den on Shaftesbury Avenue. In the dark basement bar, chairs had been placed in rows facing a single microphone and a black curtain that had seen better days. The format was simple, each act has no more than five minutes and are called out at random.

The following hour and a half – which felt longer – consisted of two topics, namely, relationships and mocking God. It certainly was an eye-opener – a glimpse into contemporary culture and the topics that consume people. 

On the train home, I wondered why Jesus is seen as such an easy target. Do people see him simply as a fictional character? Is it because the chances of a Christian standing up and saying something is next to nil? I wondered if I, as a Christian, struggle to communicate the real power and relevance of Jesus in 2020? I’m no theologian, but I believe that people need to hear about a real Jesus and how radical his life on earth was – something I’m not great at.

Homework and my first gig


Back in the rehearsal space on Wednesday evenings, I was gradually becoming more confident in what I was writing. It certainly wasn’t polished, but I could see what it might become with more tuition. As Logan says “There’s no such thing as a bad joke, just an under developed one.” The weekly homework we were set included creating thank you notes, deliberately pretentious poems and even a vlog desperately selling ourselves for an imaginary dating website. 

The homework began to absorb my days (and sometimes nights) and my brain constantly whirred with ideas. I found myself tuning in to people’s conversations on the train and in cafés. I couldn’t switch off.

Through this mixture of listening, writing and performance I began to see a style appear. It was definitely me but, inevitably at this stage I guess, influenced by the comedy that I really like now. With the dry conversational style of Stewart Lee and the surrealism of Harry Hill ringing in my ears, my material was loosely based on real experiences but pushed into fictional scenarios.

At the end of the seventh week – after we’d spent the evening learning about microphone technique – the homework set was to book a spot at an open mic night. I knew it would have to happen at some point. You can’t attend a stand-up comedy course and then not actually perform any stand-up, like being taught how to cook but never tasting it. 

I had compiled more than five -minutes of material from the exercises, but it wasn’t in any semblance of order. I had jokes about all sorts of topics, from epilepsy (a condition I have) to not taking my wife out to dinner. A mixed and quirky bag, to say the least. I began to cut, change and add bits, learning it in chunks by standing in front of a mirror in the bedroom holding a hairbrush like a teenager. And, bit by bit, it began to feel more like me.

We decided to book gigs where at least three of us novices could perform on the same evening. That way, each of us would know that at least two people would be laughing, even if only out of politeness.


We chose The Cavendish Arms in Stockwell for our first event. It’s a great room, quite wide but only five rows deep, with around 60 chairs set out. I let the compere know that I had arrived with my ‘bringer’. A lot of open mic nights are called ‘bringer nights’, meaning that acts can only perform if they bring a friend along. It’s a format that works really well, boosting the audience numbers and making the evening more like a gig than a rehearsal.

Immediately, this gig felt very different to the one I’d been to at The Lion’s Den, with the audience providing generous support for everyone. Having been told that I would be on in the second half, I went off to the loo during the interval to reread my notes and write key words on the back of my hand – a safety net in ink. I bought a coke and went back to my seat while the butterflies in my stomach did their thing.

Three acts after the interval the compere said, “Shall we get our next act out? This is his first time doing stand-up. It’s Stuart Smith.” I jumped up from my seat, onto the stage and promptly knocked the microphone out of the stand – a bit too soon to be dropping the mic. Strangely, this didn’t throw me at all and I launched headfirst into my first joke. 

Then the weirdest thing happened, I could hear people laughing! Although I couldn’t see anyone due to the spotlight, I could hear them. They laughed at the next joke, and the next, and I began confidently ‘selling’ each joke like Logan had told me to. I was really getting into my flow when I saw a flashing red light at the back of the room signifying I had one -minute left. The 5 -minutes had flown by.

I moved the microphone stand to the centre of the stage, shook hands with the compere and sat back down. I was buzzing. It was an incredible feeling to have made total strangers laugh, out loud. I didn’t sleep that night. I relived the evening and replayed my set in my head. I wanted to go and do it again. Two weeks later, I did.


Performing in the final showcase in front of my family and friends was an incredible experience. We performed in alphabetical order, so I was the last act of the evening, and I couldn’t have been happier with how it went. 

In less than three months I had gone from watching stand-up comedians to being one myself, albeit for five -minutes at a time. I’d learned lots about comedy but the biggest transformation had been in my self-confidence, how I stood and realising how being out of my comfort zone can actually energise me rather than fill me with fear.

I encourage you to think if there’s anything you’ve always wanted to try but never got round to. Perhaps this is an opportunity to learn something new. Something for yourself, or maybe something you can share with others at another time. I wonder if God is gently whispering something to you now.

Written by Stuart Smith

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St Saviour’s Sunbury

205 Vicarage Road, Sunbury-on-Thames, TW16 7TP

Charity Number: 1130267 | Diocese of London Profile

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