With Improv the most difficult thing you can be asked to do is be yourself. Which for me was the problem.

At the start of my first workshop, surrounded by strangers, I looked at the exit. Should I just leave? I wasn’t sure I could do it. 

What if I opened up and they didn’t like me?

But surely it’s more embarrassing to go than stay, I surmised?

When did I accept I couldn’t be silly anymore? At school? It was cooler not to join in, apparently.

And yet, I used to take part in Christmas shows, doing Harry Enfield sketches. I did one-man Blackadder shows for my family.

I loved farting about.

At uni, I took drama as an elective subject behind Art and English, I didn’t know what else to do. I thought it would be like at school in year 9.

I felt out of my depth, and when I expressed that I felt uncomfortable, someone rolled his eyes and tutted. It was like a bullet to the heart.

I should have stayed and kicked his drama ass.

Those drama memories came back to me during my first Improv session.

But, while I was in a perpetual state of awkwardness, something happened…

Joy. I was having fun. Being silly. 

The reason I looked into Improv was due to a suggestion that it helped with ADHD symptoms.

You have to listen for it to work. You have to hear what your fellow performer says and work with their offers.

I’m easily distracted and it’s shown over the weeks. I forget what’s happening and I lose track.

This has got everyone laughing, and one person actually thought I was doing it deliberately. I wasn’t. I’d just forgotten what we were doing.

I’ve got better at listening.

Also, in life it’s not natural to embrace mistakes. To embrace failure. To let go of control. 

So often we deflect when we should be joining in because it matters what we have to say.

It’s also difficult to be present without worrying what comes next. 

Improv helps with all of this.

Naomi, our awesome American teacher, has created a safe space to play. She’s fantastic to be around and I hope we’ve given her lots of laughter too.

No one is there to show off, be the best… we are there to learn and to have fun.

Accidentally, maybe on purpose, we’ve created a comedy ensemble and we’re getting better.

The curious thing I’ve learned about myself is I am not the voice in my head. That guy is a joyless prick. I don’t have to listen to him anymore.

The real me keeps showing up, laughs at himself, and has a go. It shuts that little fucker up. 

I play. I am free. And, my face hurts from smiling. 

It’s a great way of getting out of my head as I shift focus from me to my partner.

There’s nothing better than the buzz knowing what you’ve done together has been pure joy for you and those watching.

There have been moments when I’ve felt desperate to be funny. I know this is when the ego is in control. It feels the need for validation. The desire to be good at it.

But what I understood from Naomi is when your brain says, ‘this needs to be funny’, you stop reacting and you start writing, killing all the spontaneity. 

It’s the quickest path to freezing. I did that one week in reply to a scene partner who asked a simple question. Instead of answering I tried to find a funny line.

The brain searches, it judges, it hits a dead end and… Blank. 

The scene ends before it has even started.

The laughs come from the situation and the circumstances. 

One week I was a vampire at a blood donor clinic. Hiding in plain sight. I didn’t have to try too hard for that to be funny.

Or, with another scene partner, figuring out we were divorced dads having forced fun in adult soft play. I’m trying to stop him from harming himself by drowning in a deep ball pool. Dark themes. But the absurdity of it got the laughs.

That’s the beauty of it all. You don’t know where it’s going to go.

I’ve always believed I wasn’t enough. I thought my physical clumsiness, my social discomfort, and my general twattery were weaknesses.

But, while my brain may sneer and try to stop me joining in, it turns out people actually like it. It’s my funny.

They like me. 

And, to quote John Candy – in Planes, Trains and Automobiles – I’m starting to ‘like me’.