Our Stu Hughes – improvisor and owner of two small sheds – gives us the insight we didn’t want into his life crisis.
As I wandered through Marks & Spencer’s slipper department on that rainy Sunday afternoon in 2019, my life could have gone in a number of different directions.
I had started to notice that my fashion choices were beginning to be influenced by Burton’s window displays. I was craving corduroy in all its mysterious browns. I had recently spent 90 minutes researching waterproof walking boots. Meanwhile, Facebook had begun to drop sponsored posts in my timeline about carpentry, sturdy underpants, Viagra and back hair removal. I sensed that my life was moving into a new phase.
So, on that mildly disappointing Sunday (with my hands poised over a pair of tan suede thermal slippers with natty tassels) I saw middle-age stretched out before me. It was not the most exciting glimpse into the future I have ever had. It took the form of sensible shoes, cod liver oil supplements, conversations about pensions and house prices, utility bills, no-nonsense career choices, bathroom sealant, lawn maintenance, Dire Straits, and practical decisions about higher fibre intake.
In that moment I knew I had to pull myself away from the comfortable footwear and head straight to the store’s café, with its views over the car park, to contemplate the rest of my life. I ordered a strong coffee and a cream scone and vowed that before I left the safety of that Marks & Sparks café, I would make a list of the things that one should do when the spectre of middle-age begins to haunt your wardrobe, knee joints and music tastes.
I discovered that my options were limited – and horrific.
This was my list:
- Take compulsory basic training in motorcycle riding, embrace leather and buy a Honda Fireblade that would only aggravate my piles
- Purchase a two-seater convertible MG sports car and forget that we only get two hours of British sunshine per annum
- Invest in a carbon fibre racing bicycle that costs more than a medium sized country and wear shorts that leave nothing to the imagination
- Take up golf in the vague hope that I don’t start to take myself too seriously and morph into a brightly dressed knob
- Wear aviator shades indoors and change my name to Maverick
- Or get a hair transplant in Lithuania
Thankfully that list was lost somewhere never to be found, at the bottom of an M&S bag-for-life under the sink. But if I ever do find it, I will immediately rummage in a kitchen drawer to find a tiny IKEA pencil and add a seventh option to the list.
- Comedy improv.
And then I would choose option 7.
Not long after that fateful Sunday, I started comedy improv to improve my confidence, but it has given me so much more, including the chance to stick two fingers up at being a sensible adult. If you ever want to fight against the dying of the light, improv is the flaming torch you should wave threateningly at adulthood.
Comedy improv is a joyous, exuberant and silly antidote to the day job, real-life responsibilities, and grouting. It is two hours a week of being under 12-years-old again. It is two hours a week of playing daft games while trying to make your mates laugh. Even more magical is the fact that the daft joy seeps into the other 166 hours-a-week.
At a time when certain things are coming to an end (such as playing sport seriously and getting out of a chair without grunting), comedy improv gives you new experiences and skills. When your world is in danger of getting smaller, comedy improv opens it up again to new people and friends.
The improv community is culturally and ethnically diverse with people from across all age groups, genders, and backgrounds. You will meet lots of interesting people that you would not otherwise meet if you just go with golf club membership. All those people – including you – are united by talent, creativity, collaboration, and laughter.
This is especially the case recently, during the pandemic and Zoom explosion, when one could find oneself playing scenes with lovely and clever people from Mumbai, California, Munich, Brussels and even deepest darkest North Wales.
I suppose what I am taking ages to say, is that if you start to find really long hairs in your ears, or you have asked a wedding DJ if he could turn down the music, or you have an overwhelming sense of relief when you unwrap a pair of socks on Christmas morning – do not panic! Simply click on this link HERE and get into comedy improv. It is considerably cheaper than golf membership, sports cars and two weeks in a three-star Lithuanian hotel.
The Oickers 