Years ago, when I was no taller than a giraffe with no knees and a broken neck, I wanted to be Spike Milligan. My Dad immersed me in Goon show after Goon show. Then, I wanted to be Barry Took. My Dad immersed me in Round The Horne after Round The Horne. I grew a few inches, and became a recovering giraffe, whilst wanting to be Fry or Laurie. I didn’t much care which. Oddly, I never wanted to be Monty Python. Perhaps because there were too many of them to choose from and two of them were already giraffes. In my recovering giraffe years, I wanted to be Douglas Adams. But, when I became a fully-fledged giraffe, I wanted to be ME.

Please excuse the giraffes, I just use them as an example of someone sticking their neck out. Maybe. Perhaps. Probably not.

Why am I telling you this? Well, I don’t know. I think my point was that we’re all influenced and inspired by different things and different people. I used to half-inch a lot of material from all the above when I was a young ‘un. And link it with snippets of my own inferior writing. But then the snippets of my own writing would eventually outweigh the stolen material from other (better) writers. Soon, I was writing everything myself. Which was quite an achievement when I hadn’t even decided on what signature to use when I became famous.

The sound of laughter is addictive. It’s like a drug. Once a joke that you created gets a laugh from an audience of people, you can never go back. Never go back, ladies & gentlemen. Never go back. Laughter – in the purest form – is like being given a shot in the arm of adrenaline. Subsequently, if laughter isn’t forthcoming, it’s one of the most depressing things in the world. Comedy writing is a serious business.

It’s easy to write seriously. I know. I’ve won awards for writing serious stuff. But, every time I write something serious, I always see the comic potential in the plot, the character, the dialogue I’m writing. I feel I’m cheating. It’s like writing a comedy with all the good jokes taken out. But, writing a comedy is torturous. There are flows and ebbs, highs and lows, pauses and run-ons. You’ve got to hit it perfectly, you’ve got to get a rhythm, or you become like a fish out of water. Flapping around helplessly, with everyone watching you and wondering what the hell you’re doing.

My most recent bit of comedy writing was ‘DALEK RE:PLAY’ (a full-length play, performed at ‘Dr Who And The Daleks’ – a Liverpool Dr Who Convention, March 6^th-7^th 2004). In it, I spoofed every Dalek story every shown. Yes, even the Peter Cushing movies. This, I have to say, went down a storm. You never know what an audience is going to be like until they react to the first joke. It makes or breaks a performance. Luckily, we had an audience who got every tiny joke (however obscure). That is rare. I wish I could have bottled them and taken them home with me.

To finish, before I’ve even started, these columns (as tall as giraffes but not quite as graceful), will regurgitate over 12 months of writing comedy Doctor Who, and share some of my experiences of getting what I had on the page to what was seen on the stage. I hope it will be of interest. Even if it’s just read by my Mum, and a small Irish lady from Dublin called Bridgette.

http://www.offstagetheatregroup.co.uk/