The opening night of the Robin Hood International Improv Festival (1 September 2026). I’m with my friends at the Malt Cross, in front of the world’s best improv performers and they’re loving what we’re doing. It’s so joyous. I can hear them laughing and it’s the biggest buzz. I feel like I belong here. I’m part of something. I’m accepted for who I am. It’s wonderful. 

The festival has finished for this year, and won’t return until 2028. It’s been amazing and I feel bereft that it’s over. I’ve seen 14 astonishing shows and some incredible performances. I’ve also made new friends and learned so much. It has marked the beginning for me in so many ways.

To my shame, despite living in Nottingham, I had no idea about the festival, which began in 2022. I think there’s a few reasons for this. Firstly, since leaving the BBC, and my avoidance of news, I have little idea of what’s going on in my city. The festival would have certainly been something I would have jumped on as a journalist. Secondly, improv wasn’t really on my radar. I knew about it, and as a kid I faithfully watched Whose Line Is It Anyway every Friday night, but that was pretty much all I knew. 

Despite everything I’ve learned in the classes I’ve taken this year, and the shows I’ve been in (a total of four now), the bit that was missing was seeing more performances. But not only the quantity, watching a diversity of shows was important too. It’s left me with a feeling of awe and appreciation for what can be created on stage. Out of nothing, pretty much, of course. Ideas have since been pinging off out of my brain like warm popcorn from a machine.

As a creative person nothing has been more exciting. I love art, I love writing, but with improv and performing, the possibilities feel endless. I don’t know who said it, but with improv you never ‘complete it’, you never master it, you’re never done. I think that’s why the art form is something that I’ll do for the rest of my life. And there’s never been a better time than here in Nottingham. While the festival, and its organisers, are taking a well earned break, there will be a focus next year on building on the work already taking place in the city. Developing performers, shows and teachers. It’s really exciting.

My biggest regret is that I didn’t start all this much sooner. I’m steaming towards 50. Not that it matters. Age isn’t an issue. It’s never too late. However, I do wonder where I’d be now. The sad thing is it’s always been there and for various reasons I’ve sat it out. I wonder what happened to the boy who performed on stage at the school Christmas show. The one who did all the Harry Enfield characters, without a shred of fear or what people would think. I was doing things like that all the time at home. Writing comedy, pretending to be Blackadder and Baldrick, making up plays… My sister and I used to improv being Radio DJs (although one particular show ended with us just farting down the mic – she was better at this than me and I so wish I still had the cassette tape).

In the 1990s, teenage working class boys didn’t do drama. They didn’t act. They didn’t perform. Especially in Hucknall. I wasn’t Billy Elliott or anything, but I would have benefitted from doing something in the performing arts sphere. If anything for my confidence and self-esteem. I survived at school because I liked football, playing and watching. An ‘acceptable’ hobby for a ‘lad’, but even then, I quit playing for school because I was fed up of being told I was shit. Largely during a match. We were on the same team, apparently.

I always chuckle when the ‘90s are held up as this golden age. Any little sign you were different, if you showed vulnerability, sensitivity, if you didn’t want to fight someone, or talk about girls in a derogatory way, you were not a lad or a ‘real man’ and was most probably gay. I didn’t fit the ‘mold’ of what a man apparently should be and there were times when I doubted my sexuality. There were also occasions when it was assumed I was a homosexual. (My best friend John, who is gay, would laugh here because he once said I’m the straightest person he knows). But I remember overhearing a conversation where someone confidently announced to those listening that I was gay. It shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did because it wasn’t true. 

The desire to perform continued at university. Ultimately I wanted to work in radio and TV, and so I did a combined honours degree in Art and Media Studies. In the first year you had to take two other subjects. I chose English and Drama. Drama because there was nothing else I fancied. I remembered those rare drama classes at school – once a month if you were lucky. (The performing arts weren’t exactly a priority for the government or the school). I always enjoyed them. They were fun and clearly lit something up inside. However, the reality of a drama class at university hit me within minutes and I wanted to escape. I was seriously out of my depth. Even the warm up was too much. When it was my turn to mime what I liked to do, I told the tutor I couldn’t do it. The embarrassment was overwhelming. Someone tutted. Others were more encouraging. There was an activity where you had to choose an emotion and say your name repeatedly, and I just wanted to die. Quickly. I survived the hour and then immediately went to swap subjects. I did Business Studies instead which did nothing for me, apart from make a few new friends. I should have stuck with drama.

I did get to work in the media. But not as a presenter. I did bits on the radio and TV and they were fairly well received. But I decided that being an online journalist was best for me. When no-one was looking (late shifts usually) I was writing sketches, characters and stories. Material that no-one else would read or act out. The kid that loved being on stage and making people laugh was in there somewhere. 

I’ve always suffered with low self-confidence. I’ve never felt comfortable in my own skin. What people have liked about me and found endearing, I have loathed at times. However, as I approach my sixth decade on the planet I’m feeling more like the person I want to be. Or, more importantly I accept who I am. 

It took a while, but it happened.