Diary of a stand-up comedian

“What you reading?

Hey John, what’s the book?”

Pete had been moaning about it being boring between gigs. He doesn’t read, nap or go to the gym.

He had forgotten the power supply for his games machine and was filling his time annoying us.

Twenty-four hours later it was 86 degrees and I was standing next to an airplane on the runway.

Beside me a row of planes costing millions of pounds gleamed in the heat.

A row of men strode purposefully toward us.

The sun reflected off their glasses and Karen the tour manager nearly fainted at the sight of them.

These highly-trained pilots stopped and smiled at us. We followed them to the briefing room and watched as they went through their pre-flight chat.

They are a group of nine planes that perform stunts, tricks and death-defying manoeuvres at high speeds in the air. The slightest mistake and they are dead.

Whilst most pilots rarely get to do anything more exciting that fly the same old routes, these Red Arrow lads never know what will happen next. It must be just about the most exciting thing ever.

Just listening to them talking about today’s exercise was making me nervous.

It was our day off in the middle of a week of gigs. Our plan had been to spend the day playing pool and doing some shopping. Karen had nearly passed out giving us the news that we were to have a ‘special’ day out.

Despite repeated questioning she would not reveal the secret location or the activity. We arrived at the airport and were told that “the surprise is over there”.

Looking out the window we saw nine gleaming planes, the Red Arrows. My heart stopped for a second when Pete asked “can we go up in them?” My prayers were answered when the RAF man said “no”. I was never happier.

The idea of hurtling through the air at hundreds of miles an hour doing loop the loops, twirls and dives fills me with more dread than a Latin Mass at Easter.

Pete was disappointed, I was elated.

He explained that he loves flying, loves thrills and would give an arm to go up in one of the jets.

Just in case the RAF man even considered it for a moment I chipped in.

I told him that I would cry, vomit and wet myself. I would also probably have a panic attack and start pushing buttons. Pete told me I was a baby; I explained that I am a coward who has a fear of hitting the ground at 500mph.

We went to meet the pilots and I thought they would all be like superman. I don’t know why but I figured that they would all be very posh and a bit aloof. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

They were from all sorts of backgrounds and were a really nice bunch of lads. Pete wanted them to get into the planes and “do your stuff!” They politely explained that it takes several hours to prepare the flying machines.

Their display was one of the most incredible things I ever witnessed. They zoomed about with the grace of ballet dancers. It was like watching a dance routine as they all flipped, rose and fell across the sky.

The whole thing was accompanied by different coloured smoke coming out of the engines.

One minute the sky was filled with a blue jet stream before it turned red then white.

I couldn’t help but think that this is the way they should elect a new pope. Instead of stuffing the voting papers into a furnace, the Catholic Church could hire the Red Arrows to announce the result to the world in a big display over St. Peters.

I sat on a big rock watching it all. I was like a dog staring at a TV — I knew there was something going on but I just couldn’t fathom how they were doing it all.

It occurred to me that everyone gets bored in their job at some stage. I couldn’t see how that could ever happen to this lot and only hoped that Pete might join them and leave me alone.