Yeah, I\u2019ve never done this before. I\u2018m fucking terrified. I was terrified before, for weeks, and I was terrified earlier, out the back, waiting, trying to relax. And I\u2019m terrified now, standing here on stage behind this mike. Holding on to this lectern as tightly as I can for courage and trying not to look any of you in the eye. In case I see your disgust, your anger. Your boredom. Or possibly worse, your delight and amusement. So I\u2019m going to concentrate as intently on my notes as I can, pick them up, and start to read.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, I\u2019ve never done this before,\u201d I read out loud, word for word from the page. \u201cSo, um, sorry. If it\u2019s, you know\u2026\u201d I give you an amiable shrug\u200a\u2014\u200aat least I hope it\u2019s amiable\u200a\u2014\u200aand then finish my sentence\u2026 \u201cif it\u2019s a bit shit.\u201d<\/p>\n
A couple of you laugh. Not many, and not for long. The audience equivalent of a polite smile.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo anyway,\u201d I say, \u201cI hope this is okay.\u201d A slight pause before the next line. \u201cI\u2019ve been dreading this all week.\u201d And I try to say that, I mean<\/em> to say that, with a laugh, but at best I manage a sort of forced unnatural looking smile.<\/p>\n Do I tell you, I\u2019m wondering, when I\u2019m practicing this at home, how at first, even in an empty room, I can\u2019t speak. That I\u2019m so self-conscious I can\u2019t even overcome the horror of public speaking in private, to no-one. And not just on the first day of practicing this performance, but every day. Every time. <\/p>\n But I decide it\u2019s probably best not to say a word of that to you. It\u2019d sound needy, pleading. So I go back instead to hoped-for charm of admitted first-time incompetence instead.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is\u2026\u201d I start, looking down at my script, flicking through the pages nervously before putting it back down. I start again: \u201cSorry, I should have said thank you all for coming. And I hope the book\u2019s not a disappointment. Well, I hope tonight\u2019s not a disappointment either, as you\u2019ve all made the effort to come down here and everything. But especially the book\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n Is this silence that follows as uncomfortable for you as it is for me? Is my voice as inflectionless, as emotionless, as I always fear? Does it sound as awful to you as it always sounds to me when I hear a snippet of it on tape, in the background of some video I\u2019ve recorded on my phone? Or in my dreams.<\/p>\n I read some advice somewhere about how it\u2019s best to never, ever, think about the sound of your voice, not when you\u2019re speaking, when you\u2019re giving a speech, but I\u2019ve started now and how to stop? It\u2019s like being told at the dentist or wherever not to swallow\u200a\u2014\u200ayou\u2019re told not to swallow and you think okay, I won\u2019t swallow, and then, only then, do you realise how desperate you are to swallow, how you\u2019ll choke if you don\u2019t, and you can feel your tongue absolutely huge in your month and if you don\u2019t swallow you\u2019ll fucking choke you\u2019ll choke on your own tongue you\u2019ll forget how to breathe you\u2019ll fucking die.<\/p>\n I\u2019m trying not to think of the true sound of my own voice and yet I have to speak. I have to just close my mind to it and carry on and read.<\/p>\n So I go back to my notes. I read. I speak.<\/p>\n \u201cThis first story\u200a\u2014\u200ait\u2019s not the first one in the book but it\u2019s the first one tonight\u200a\u2014\u200ait\u2019s called The Reading, or Performance Anxiety.\u201d<\/p>\n I\u2019ve printed these stories out quite big, so the letters are nice and distinct and the lines are all clearly separated and everything\u2019s nice and easy to read, but now this massive font I\u2019ve used gives all my words the appearance of a children\u2019s story, some sort of Ladybird learn to read book. Or the eyesight test lettering in the opticians.<\/p>\n Actually I think they probably most closely resemble the look of a note in a film, with everything printed in big sparse letters and held in shot long enough so even the slowest readers in the audience can read them. Now I\u2019ve seen this similarity I can\u2019t stop seeing it, and it gives my words a weird and unwanted sense of unreality and artifice, undermining everything I\u2019ve written.<\/p>\n And without belief in what you\u2019ve written your words are nothing.<\/p>\n But finally now I\u2019m on to the story, past all my introductory messages and the title and onto what you\u2019ve come for. Onto what you\u2019ve paid for. I discard the first page, place it neatly to the left, and find my place at the top of the second page. And finally now move onto the first story.<\/p>\n \u201cThe Reading, Or Performance Anxiety,\u201d I read out, word for word from the page. \u201cYeah, I\u2019ve never done this before. I\u2019m fucking terrified.\u201d<\/p>\n It all sounds so hollow, limp and dead on my tongue, disconnected from any real feeling. Not just from feeling but disconnected from each other as well, as if they weren\u2019t even sentences, but instead a collection of unconnected words in a line, and now, as I say them, everything begins to fall apart.<\/p>\n \u201cI was terrified before. For weeks. And I\u200a\u2014\u200asorry\u200a\u2014\u200aI was terrified\u2026 I was terrified earlier. Out the back. Waiting. To relax. Wait\u200a\u2014\u200aI was waiting, I was trying to relax. I\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n I turn the page and during this tiny pause someone shouts ou-<\/p>\n \t\u2014GET ON WITH IT!<\/em><\/p>\n Er, yeah, thanks, like that. Exactly like that.<\/p>\n So I say, \u201cYes,\u201d back to them. I say, \u201cSorry.\u201d<\/p>\n But now when I look back at the page I can\u2019t even read the words. My heart\u2019s pounding like I\u2019m afraid I\u2019m about to get hit. I can feel the tears at the edges of my eyes. Not quite tears actually, not yet, but that hot feeling across my face and that\u2026 that pricking sensation you get when you can tell that they\u2019re just about to form, when you know that you might still be able to hold them back but once they start they\u2019ll just flow and flow.<\/p>\n That shout, that one single shout.<\/p>\n It feels like being told off at school, never wanting to admit it hurts but it hurts. Being shouted at, being mocked, bullied, abused. And the years of hardening yourself to it, hardening your face so it\u2019s a case of studied blankness even though inside you\u2019re in fucking turmoil.<\/p>\n Please let me still have that control.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m. I\u2019m\u2026\u201d I stammer. \u201cAnd I\u2019m terrified now, standing here on this stage\u200a\u2014\u200a\u201d<\/p>\n \t\u2014 WELL GET THE FUCK OFF IT THEN!<\/em><\/p>\n You all laugh. I can hear it and I can see it and you don\u2019t even stop even though I\u2019m looking at you, pleading with you with my eyes, my face, my slumped shoulders, to just<\/p>\n not<\/p>\n laugh<\/p>\n \t\u2014 YOU\u2019RE FUCKING SHIT AT THIS YOU KNOW!<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry you think that,\u201d is my, well, my rather lame reply. I\u2019m defeated and I know it, but I try to hold it off, if only for a second. \u201cSorry, the lights\u200a\u2014\u200aI can\u2019t see anything\u200a\u2014\u200awho am I talking to here?\u201d<\/p>\n \t\u2014 EVERYONE!<\/em><\/p>\n You laugh and you laugh. The whole room full of you laughing, at him, at his words. And at me, and mine.<\/p>\n \u201cCan you just\u2026 Look, can\u2019t you just let me finish. Look, I\u2019m sorry, sorry everyone, maybe it\u2019ll be better if I start again.\u201d<\/p>\n I turn the page back.<\/p>\n \u201cThe Reading,\u201d I repeat. \u201cOr, Performance Anxiety.\u201d<\/p>\n I see him getting up, the heckler, out of the corner of my eye. Hopefully he\u2019s leaving and we can all get on with this.<\/p>\n Get through this.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, I\u2019ve never done this before. I\u2019m fucking terrified. I was terrified before, for weeks, and I was terrified earlier\u200a\u2014\u200a\u201d<\/p>\n \t\u2014 Give that here.<\/em><\/p>\n A hand – that hand, there, this hand, his hand – reaches over the lectern and grabs at my papers.<\/p>\n \t\u2014 I bet I can do this better than you anyway. I could hardly be worse, could I?<\/em><\/p>\n He laughs. You all laugh.<\/p>\n I look up. There\u2019s a spotlight\u200a\u2014\u200athat one there\u200a\u2014\u200athat\u2019s shining directly into my eyes and I can only see this person, this heckler, this intruder, I can only see him as a shadow. The audience, I can\u2019t see the audience anymore, I can\u2019t see them at all. It\u2019s only you now, whoever you are, you. A silhouette, a suggestion \u2014 you\u2019re everyone and no-one, you\u2019re looming aggression and dominance and contempt and<\/p>\n I shove him out of the way, two-handed in the chest and he stumbles backwards and, in his surprise, trips. People behind me cheer and I take his place on the stage, turn my back on him and turn round to the room and look at all of you here in the audience. I can see the relief on your faces. The anticipation, the strange vicarious joy.<\/p>\n I begin to flick through the pages of his story, discarding them one by one, passing through the words you\u2019ve already heard and the things you\u2019ve already seen, until on the fourth page I find my place, find the here and now.<\/p>\n I begin to read.<\/p>\n \u201cHe sits there at the back of the stage for a moment, too dazed to stand, and listens to me speak. I read his words, shout them out confidently as if they were my own. And I speak them with a clarity, with a conviction, that he could never match. As if the words are mine, now. As if they have always been mine, always will be mine.<\/p>\n \u201cHe can\u2019t bear to watch, can\u2019t bear to watch me, my performance, my\u2026 usurpation<\/strong>, and he crawls behind the curtains, gets up and stumbles his way down the passages to try and escape. To get away. Away from the stage. Away from all of us. Away from his embarrassment. His failures.<\/p>\n \u201cHe opens the fire escape and there\u2019s a sudden rush of silence as the freezing cold air hits his face and he imagines me stopping, triumphant, as I reach the end of his story. He pictures me bowing slightly, taking his applause, the pages of his words littering the stage around my feet. I step around the podium and I hold my arms wide and I bow again and smile and wave and your ovation grows and grows and then finally begins to subside.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd now his tears flow.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n __________<\/p>\n Notes:<\/p>\n 1. Written on March 19, 2016<\/em>
\n2. This was performed at a liars league<\/a> event in London on November 8th, 2016<\/a>.<\/em>
\n3. Where it was performed by the wonderful Peter Kenny<\/a>, as can be seen below:<\/em><\/p>\n