Matt Millz Stands Up!

by Harry Hill

  ‘Aren’t they a bit young?’ said the waitress.

  ‘We’re fine for drinks thanks, Mr Hart,’ chirped up Matt. ‘We need to be getting back soon anyway, school tomorrow and all that. Thanks for the tickets and laying on the car.’

  ‘Which part of the car did you lay on?’ chipped in Rob. ‘The roof or the bonnet?’

  ‘Eh?’ said Dickie. ‘What’s he talking about?’

  ‘He’s just very excited,’ said Matt. ‘We all are. Oh, I should introduce you to …’

  ‘I know who this is,’ said Dickie Hart with a self-satisfied grin. ‘Your eleven-year-old manager.’

  ‘That’s right, I am his manager, Mr Hart,’ piped up Kitty, standing her ground.

  ‘What work have you got in the pipeline for Matt then?’ he said.

  ‘Er … well … there’s a possible regular gig in a pub in Sossinghurst which would be great for …’ Kitty tailed off, realising, standing as they were in the O2, how small-time it sounded.

  Dickie Hart gave a dismissive snorted. ‘Hmm, well, good luck,’ he said. Then he leant in close again, only this time not even bothering to whisper.

  ‘You know we’d love to look after you at Excalibur Management, Matt. We could make you a big star, just like Russel here. We have our own production company, Excalibur TV, our own publicity company, Excalibur Promotions, a film company, Excalibur Motion Pictures … What’s your friend here got apart from a laptop and an iPhone?’

  ‘Low overheads,’ said Kitty stepping between them. She couldn’t believe this man was trying to poach Matt right from under her nose. Well, she wasn’t standing for that.

  ‘All your companies are taking a percentage off the top,’ she continued.

  ‘Really?’ said Russel looking more than a little startled.

  ‘Matt has representation, Mr Hart! Yes, he’s had a bit of attention, lots of shows would like him on the bill, but there’s no such thing as an overnight success. He needs to grow his act organically. It’s a marathon – not a sprint.’

  ‘She’s got a point,’ said Russel.

  ‘Who asked you?’ snapped Dickie. A spec of saliva landed on Matt’s glasses.

  ‘Sorry, Mr Hart,’ said Russel, looking wounded.

  ‘I suggest you go and sign some autographs. Do some networking.’

  ‘Yes, yes, good idea …’ said Russel and dived into the throng of people.

  ‘Well, I’m on the end of a phone day or night, Matt. Call me when – I mean if – you change your mind. But don’t leave it too long. Once your moment’s gone, that’s it. You only get one chance in this business. Right, well, I’ve got some important people to meet. Glad you could make it. Au revoir.’ With that he turned on his cuban heel and pushed through the crowd of people towards some men in suits.

  ‘Bye!’ said Matt sheepishly.

  ‘Auf wiedersehen,’ said Rob once he was out of earshot.

  ‘What a prat!’ said Ahmed, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Did you see the way he treated Russel? I mean, I’m no Anthony Joshua, bruv, but he needs to stand up to him.’

  ‘He’s scared,’ said Kitty with a frown.

  ‘Scared?’ said Matt.

  ‘Yes, he thinks he owes all his success to Dickie Hart and Excalibur Management, but it’s the other way round.’

  ‘Weird how no one was talking to Russ much, even though he was the whole reason they were all there …’ said Rob.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Matt. ‘It was like he was a guest at his own party!’

  As they walked across the O2 forecourt to Alf and the waiting Rolls Royce, Matt reflected on the whole experience. All in all, it had been a very weird night.

  12

  Kitty’s Master Plan

  The next day after school, it was just Kitty who greeted Matt in the DMC. She was sitting at one of the old discarded desks with some A4 sheets and a calendar.

  ‘Hi, Matt,’ she said.

  ‘Hi, Kit. Can’t wait to hear the plan,’ said Matt, noticing that her teeth were black from sucking the wrong end of a marker pen.

  ‘OK,’ began Kitty, with a slightly wary look in her eye. ‘The first thing you should know is that Stand-up at the Apollo have been in touch and they want you to appear on the show.’

  ‘YEEEESSSSSS!’ cried Matt, punching the air with his fist. ‘YES! Get in! Nice one!’ He then sprinted round the room and slid towards Kitty on his knees coming to rest at her feet.

  ‘But,’ said Kitty sternly, ‘… I don’t think you should do it!’

  ‘WHAT?!’ screamed Matt. ‘What do you mean you don’t think I should do it? I love that show! It’s the best stand-up show on TV! I haven’t missed a single episode! It’s the chance of a lifetime! I must do that show!’

  It was true, Matt had been an avid fan of the stand-up show since it had started three years previously, and it had not only entertained him, it had educated him too. Virtually anybody who was anybody in the world of stand-up comedy had appeared on it – from Al Murray’s Pub Landlord, to Joe Lycett, Sara Pascoe and beyond. It wasn’t that Matt loved every act that appeared on it – far from it. Often there were whole episodes where he felt like shouting ‘Get Off!’ at the TV screen – indeed sometimes he did exactly that. He almost enjoyed the acts he didn’t like as much as the acts that he did. He was constantly surprised at how some acts who he’d seen on TV panel shows and hadn’t been particularly impressed with were unexpectedly hilarious doing straight stand-up, while others just couldn’t cut the mustard when put under the spotlight of a twenty-minute set.

  He kept a list in the back of his little black book of the names of the acts he’d liked and examples of some of their best gags. By watching the show he’d started to get an idea of the sort of jokes and humour he liked and inevitably what sort of comic he hoped to become.

  ‘I know you love that show,’ said Kitty, ‘and listen, I want you to be on it just as much as you do, but hear me out. When you do it, and you will, we need to make sure that you are absolutely brilliant! My worry is that you’re not ready for it yet.’

  ‘But you saw them the other night – they lapped it up. And that was at the Apollo!’

  ‘Yes, but you tailored that for The T Factor audience. The crowd for the Stand-up show are very different, less forgiving, and there’ll be an expectation of you now …’

  ‘But …!’

  ‘AND you need to get some new gags don’t you?’

  ‘I’ve got loads of ideas!’ said Matt.

  ‘Ideas are not the same as tightly crafted routines and one-liners,’ said Kitty. ‘We need to get you match fit for that big gig and my plan, if you agree, will deliver that. My granddad Bernie—’

  ‘Ah the great Bernie Hopestein! I wondered how long it would be before you brought him up …’ said Matt testily, a sign of his mounting frustration.

  ‘Bernie used to say that a career in show business is a marathon, not a sprint,’ continued Kitty.

  ‘Yes well, it seems to me like you’re running in the opposite direction to the one I want to go in,’ said Matt.

  ‘Matt, just calm down for a sec and think this through properly. I’m not saying no to the Apollo, I’m saying we just put them off for the time being.’

  ‘My nan always said “Strike while the iron is hot!” and “Make hay while the sun shines!” What if they go cold on us?’

  ‘That’s a risk we have to take. What I do know is if you do that show and bomb then it will be very hard to recover.’

  Matt slumped down in one of the many old school chairs scattered throughout the dilapidated classroom and let what Kitty had said sink in. The idea of doing the Apollo show was utterly thrilling to him but he couldn’t argue with her logic.

  ‘So what you’re saying is, we won’t be saying no to Stand-up at the Apollo, just delaying it?’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Kitty.

  ‘OK, I’m cool with that,’ he said.

  ‘Great. I’m sure you won’t regret that decision …’

  ‘I cert
ainly hope not,’ said Matt.

  ‘Good, I’m glad I’ve got that out of the way – I’ve been worrying about how you’d react. So, I know you’re anxious to get some more gigs booked in but I don’t want you to do just any old stuff. I think it’s important we have a clear aim and something to work towards. Yes?’

  ‘Great, yes, Kit, I’m all ears,’ said Matt and as he said it an image flashed into his mind – a big ear with tiny legs and hands – All Ears. He filed it away and promised himself he’d stick it in his notebook later.

  ‘OK, so …’ said Kitty handing Matt a clear plastic folder containing two A4 sheets held together by a paper clip. ‘So what’s our aim?’ she said standing and pacing up and down.

  ‘Um … fame fortune and everything I ever dreamed of?’ smiled Matt with a twinkle.

  Kitty rolled her eyes. Sometimes Matt wondered if she actually had a sense of humour.

  ‘To make you a better comedian,’ said Kitty. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Matt standing to attention and saluting. Kitty ignored him and pressed on with her presentation.

  ‘So how best do we do that, given the amount of press attention you’ve been getting?’

  ‘National tour of arenas finishing with two nights at Wembley Stadium?’ said Matt, the more Kitty resisted his gags the more he loved bowling them back at her.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I was joking …’

  ‘I realise that, Matt.’

  ‘Well, try telling your face!’

  Kitty ignored him and pressed on.

  ‘Broadly the thing to avoid at this stage is overexposure …’

  ‘Bit late for that isn’t it? I’m everywhere!’ said Matt.

  ‘Ah yes, that’s true. You’ve had a lot of coverage for what you did on The T Factor, there’s interest in you, but there’s a huge amount of interest in what you’ll do next and believe me the knives will be out. There are certain sectors of the press that will be willing you to fail. For them it’s about selling papers. They build you up just to knock you down. So we need to make sure that when you do the next big, high-profile gig, it goes as well as if not better than The T Factor show.’

  Matt half closed his eyes and tried to imagine a gig going better than that night at the Apollo.

  ‘Impossible …’ he said with a distant look in his eye.

  ‘I know it seems like that now, but anyone can be brilliant on one night – the hard thing is to be consistently good, which means practice and new material.’

  Matt nodded. Suddenly her seriousness was starting to make him nervous. He knew that the only reason he’d done so well on that fateful night was because of all the hard work he and Kitty had put in beforehand.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So … what I’m planning is small gigs, scattered over a number of weeks to help you build up some new gags and routines …’

  ‘Small?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve persuaded Mick, the landlord of the Rose and Crown in Sossinghurst, to let you do every other Monday.’

  ‘Hmm. Not exactly Wembley Stadium …’ mused Matt.

  ‘No, but it’s a start. Plus I’ve agreed to Mr P’s idea to organise a gig at the school, for Children In Need.’

  ‘Great,’ said Matt nodding.

  ‘And …’ Kitty hesitated.

  ‘And what?’ said Matt suspiciously.

  ‘… we’re going back to the Cavendish Hotel in Frittledean!’

  ‘Woah!’ said Matt, remembering the night before The T Factor, when he’d played there and died on his elbow – he’d been pretty much booed off.

  ‘That hasn’t exactly been lucky for me. It’s a graveyard,’ he complained.

  ‘That was then,’ said Kitty, taking control. ‘The fact is it’s well set up as a venue, Barry the manager is keen to make it work and he’s said he’ll make sure there are no stag or hen parties this time.’ Matt nodded. He couldn’t really argue with that.

  ‘For both gigs I’ll put a bill together of some of my other acts.’

  ‘Neil?’

  ‘Yes, Neil will be one of them – he’s working on a new routine and wants to branch out into rap …’

  Matt raised an eyebrow. He was curious to see how a rap routine would go down in rural Frittledean. What would he be rapping about, he wondered. How busy the post office is on a Tuesday because it’s pension day? This time he couldn’t resist it – he reached for his notebook and jotted the idea down as Kitty continued to outline the shape of these new gigs.

  ‘I’ve got another couple of acts I’m looking at too – an older comic called Bobby Bath—’

  ‘Bobby? No, I don’t think I’ve heard of him,’ said Matt shaking his head. ‘Was he on one of the DVDs you sent me?’

  ‘Bobby was big back in the seventies but not for long. It’s an odd one really because I think he’s still really funny.’

  ‘That’s good enough for me,’ said Matt.

  ‘I’ve also discovered a new impressionist …’

  ‘Love impressionists!’ said Matt. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Her name is Alex. She’s in year nine at St Winifred’s.’

  St Winifred’s was the private school up the road. Matt had seen the kids about in their purple blazers.

  ‘A girl, eh?’ he said.

  ‘Yes – is that so strange?’ said Kitty giving him a withering look. ‘Some of the greatest comedians of all time have been women, thank you very much.’

  ‘I stand corrected,’ said Matt.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Kitty, ‘I’m organising a get-together on Friday after school so you can all get to know each other. I hope you’ll be able to make it,’ she said.

  Matt opened the envelope she handed him. It was an invitation.

  INVITATION

  THE KITTY HOPE COMEDY AGENCY

  INVITES MATT MILLZ PLUS 1

  TO A MEET-THE-TEAM PARTY

  AT THE DMC 5PM – 7PM

  R.S.V.P. KITTY@KITTYHOPECOMEDY.COM

  ‘Great,’ he said, tucking it into his blazer pocket.

  ‘OK, any questions?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, when’s my first gig?!’ said Matt impatiently.

  ‘A week on Monday – can you wait twelve days?’

  ‘Just about!’ said Matt.

  ‘Oh, and Matt?’ said his eleven-year-old comedy manager.

  ‘Yes?’ said Matt.

  ‘Thanks for trusting me.’

  Matt shrugged. ‘You’d better be right, Kit, cos’ if you’re not, with regret, you will be fired!’

  *

  That evening when Matt got home, Ian handed him a Jiffy bag with his name on it.

  ‘Kitty Hope dropped this round for you,’ he said. ‘Looks like it might be some more DVDs.’

  Matt tore open the Jiffy bag – Ian was right. Inside was a DVD with the words ‘Some of the Greatest Comedians of All Time’ written on it in marker pen in Kitty’s handwriting.

  ‘Shall we have a watch later on?’ said Ian. ‘Guess what I’m up to tomorrow night?’

  ‘Showing someone round a one-bedroom flat and trying to convince them it’s a castle?’ ventured Matt.

  ‘Ha, no. You’ll never guess, so I’ll tell you. I’m only getting the band back together!’

  ‘You’re kidding,’ laughed Matt.

  ‘No, the original line-up of Dead Toys – last gig 1978 – together at last! Jim the bass player’s wife’s left him so he’s got the house to himself. He’s only in Bromley. Can’t wait!’

  After the family had eaten, Matt and Ian sat down in front of the TV and Matt slipped the DVD into the player and loaded it up. It was divided into chapter headings each with the name of a different comedian. A different female comedian.

  Jo Brand, Joan Rivers, French and Saunders, Victoria Wood, Sara Pascoe, Bridget Christie, Sarah Millican … the list went on. Matt smiled to himself – they certainly broke the mould when they made his manager. He then spent the next hour and a half laughing his socks off. Kitty Hope had made her point
in the best way she possibly could, through laughter.

  13

  Bath from the Past

  ‘Where’s your plus-one, bruv?’ said Ahmed as Matt arrived at the DMC for Kitty’s party that Friday after school. She’d put some balloons up, pushed some desks together and covered them with throwaway paper tablecloths. There were slices of pizza, crisps, nuts, Wotsits, Hula Hoops, some sausage rolls – the usual party fare. Matt had racked his brains but hadn’t managed to come up with a ‘plus-one’. He looked across at Rob who of course was with Magda, who looked great, then back at Ahmed.

  ‘Same place as yours I think, Ahmed,’ he said.

  ‘Ah well, that’s where you’re wrong,’ said Ahmed with a smile. ‘I’ve asked Janine so … she should be here any minute.’

  A deep croaky voice came from somewhere above him. ‘Hi, Matt,’ it said. Matt turned to see Neil Trottman.

  ‘Wow! Neil! How you doing?’ Matt hadn’t seen Neil for a week and was surprised at the change in him.

  He had a couple of spots on his chin, a dark fuzz of hair on his top lip and he appeared to Matt to be a couple of inches taller.

  ‘Pretty good, you know …’ croaked Neil.

  ‘How are the routines coming along? What are you working on?’ asked Matt.

  ‘Neil’s not doing the body popping so much now,’ said Kitty, handing Matt a plastic tumbler of Coke and a paper plate with a slice of pizza on it.

  ‘Kitty’s right,’ croaked Neil. ‘I’m more interested in my music – well, rapping. My mum bought me some decks and I’ve been sampling stuff and mixing it down on my computer, so …’

  ‘Hmm, that’s good to hear,’ said Matt.

  ‘Yes,’ said Kitty. ‘We always knew Neil wouldn’t be able to do that same act once he got … er … a bit bigger … It’s just come along a little sooner than we thought.’