I love comedy and don’t want to do anything else, every penny I make I pour back into my next project. But four years of touring and four years of being up and down and up and down and with no savings in the bank to show for it just made me question all my choices up to this point.
I loved Debi, I loved Mick, I loved all the people I worked with, but I felt completely burnt out. I think the industry represented stress for me, so Debi just felt like stress too, even though she was my biggest supporter. I worked until I got sick and then worked again. I was emotionally drained, didn’t have much of a personal life, no love life and I was in desperate need of some emotional support. Something had to give. Debi, my promoter, my PR, I just wanted out from all of them. I was at my happiest in control and I felt that I had lost all of it.
‘Do you know what Luisa, I cannot work any harder for you, I’m done. If you’re not happy now, I don’t know what more you want. I am going to call everyone and let them know I am no longer representing you, OK? I’ll call them now. I’ve got to go, I’ve got clients to look after.’ And she put the phone down on me.
I cancelled my gigs that week and disappeared to my mum’s. I didn’t get out of bed or face the world and just watched Sons of Anarchy. There’s a blackbird perched outside my window, I hear him calling, I hear him sing. Juice liked singing. Then I self-harmed. Not with drugs, not with alcohol, not with blades; no, I did the modern-world version of self-flagellation and went on Juice’s social media. I shouldn’t have done that. He seemed so happy. Oh fuck. Stop crying Luisa; everything looks better on Instagram.
28.
MY MOTHER’S LOVE
I honestly believe that everything that happens to you happens for a reason. And whether you like it or not, when you go through a shit period and difficult times, maybe rather than berating yourself for it, it’s another opportunity to bring yourself closer to happiness.
Basically I had emotionally ruined myself. I was an emotional wreck and couldn’t handle all the good things that were in front of me. I had spent four years hustling and now it was time to stop and take a break, a proper one. I quickly developed a chest infection and my knees decided to buckle. I needed time out. What would Beyoncé do?!
My mum is amazing; she took such good care of me. There is no one in the world I love more, she is amazing and kind and creative and smart and hilarious and beautiful! Like the wisest owl! She is like the only person who can always fix me, whatever the problem, she treats me like a princess and makes me believe that I can achieve anything I set my mind to, I just have to be the best version of myself.
My pum-pum was annoyed at me. It hadn’t felt right since my night of hard-core sexy times with Larry, but I’d been gigging so much I’d just ignored it. I don’t know if it was angry at me because I had left it so long, or because I had managed to get an STD. Great, just my luck, no sex for years and then the one time I catch a dick I catch something.
I wanted to go and get checked out. I asked my mum if I could borrow her car. This is a good thing about being in the Midlands: I don’t know anyone, so the chances of bumping into a mate at the local STD clinic are slim.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Er I just need to pop out to the doctor’s.’
‘What for?’
‘Er my knees?’
‘You went yesterday for your knees.’
‘OK, I’m going to the walk-in clinic.’
‘Walk-in for your knees? That’s funny, get it, walk-in?’
‘Er yes, that not why I’m going.’
‘What? You said you were going to the walk-in.’
‘I am.’
‘OK, well why are you going if it’s not for your knees?’
‘Mum!!!! Fine, I’m just going to make sure that I haven’t got anything, you know *whispers*, down there.’
‘Oh, do you have problems?’ *Sips her tea*
‘No, I just want to make sure.’
‘I can drop you off.’
‘No honestly, I’m fine.’
‘You can’t drive Luisa, you’re not insured. I will drop you off.’
*Finishes her tea, puts it in the sink, washes the cup, puts it on the side, grabs the tea towel, dries the cup, puts it in the cupboard, wipes the table and then finally gets her car keys*
‘OK, thank you!’
So as she pulls up outside the STD clinic I give her a ‘well this isn’t awkward’ smile and she says, ‘I’m here now so I may as well come in with you. I’ve never been to one of these before.’ She parks up and jumps out.
Oh great, this is embarrassing, a family outing to the STD clinic.
First of all, why are the staff at the STD clinic always so cheery? They are so friendly and nice, and almost too friendly. You come in and cannot look at anyone. The scene needs Western film music. Everyone avoids eye contact: let’s just all pretend that none of us are in here. Deal, everyone? Deal! As we walk through the waiting room to the reception area, I judge everyone I walk past and I can see they are all judging me.
The nurse asks which one of us is here for a checkup, and my mum howls.
‘It’s not that funny.’
‘No, sorry, it’s just funny that, you know, I don’t have sex!’
OK Mum. We sit down and she starts reading a magazine. There are a couple of young men sat to my right.
‘You know this is probably not a bad place to meet someone. At least you know they are responsible.’
I can see the other guys heard her, as they go bright red and put their heads down. My mum is so embarrassing and hilarious. We both crack up laughing but have to be quiet as the atmosphere is intense.
My mum elbows me and whispers, ‘Hey Luisa, look, STD . . . what does it stand for? I know, Sex To Die for . . . get it?’
We both start quietly crying with laughter, trying to stifle our amusement.
The receptionist calls me over and offers me a tissue for my mum. I say, oh she’s not crying, she is just making up jokes. I love that I am sat in the STD clinic with my mum cracking jokes. I love having this relationship with her; no matter where I am, however I am feeling, she just makes everything better. Her love is the purest.
We are still giggling when I get a text message from Larry. I think you have ruined me, nothing is ever going to be as good. The message makes me so happy, I show it to my mum.
‘Ahh Mum, look, he says I was the best sex he ever had.’ I click my fingers and do a little victory dance.
My mum says, ‘Yes, very impressive, that’s why you are sat here.’
She keeps me in check.
It’s my turn to be seen and my mum asks if I want her to come in with me. I’m like, we don’t need to be that close. The nurse closes the door and asks me to get ready. I start praying to the STD angels, please just be thrush, please just be thrush.
Legs hoisted up in the stirrups and a woman with a torch looking deep into my vagina. ‘You look very tanned.’
‘Well you are quite close to my white bits.’
‘Have you been on holiday recently?’
Why do they ask these questions? You have my vagina in your face, I don’t want to be talking to you about my holidays, this really does not make me relax.
‘Er yeah, Thailand a few months ago.’
‘Oh Thailand, was it nice?’
‘Er yeah, lots of elephants.’
Lots of elephants? Why did I say that? I saw one elephant. I am failing this small talk and finding it really difficult to not get turned on. It’s not my fault I like fingering.
She looks up at my face. ‘Just relax, it’s nearly over. Ooh, what’s your badge say? ‘What Would Beyoncé Do?!’ Oh that’s funny, what would Beyoncé do?’
I laugh awkwardly. ‘Er yeah, I’m a comedian and it’s the title of one of my shows.’
‘A comedian! Oh wow, I don’t think I’ve had a comedian here before. Hey, I hope you’re not going to put this into your act.’
‘Er probably not, no.’
‘I
love Beyoncé.’
‘Yep, me too.’ My body swallowed the speculum.
Please be thrush, please be thrush, please be thrush.
Afterwards I see the doctor. ‘Nothing to worry about Luisa, just thrush.’ Wahoo! I have never been so excited to have ‘just thrush’ in my life. I come out and do another victory dance for my mum, who tells me I still have tissue hanging out my trousers and takes me to the car.
It felt so good to just kick back and be close to my mum. It’s important to listen to yourself when you are tired or depressed or hurting. Please reach out and just be with someone, just sit with people that love you, it’s good for the soul. It’s when we don’t listen to these little signposts that we get floored. There is a reason why you might be feeling tired and hurt and emotional and overwhelmed. I had been exhausted; I felt like my soul was tired. Oh well, at least I only had thrush. Win.
I spent most of Christmas either happy to be off and home with my mum or crying my eyes out feeling sorry for myself. With time on my hands, my brain would do this little trick where I would get anxious over my career. It was in the moments of being alone that self-doubt would come along and kick in.
Who do you think you are? Why should anyone pay you for comedy? Why are you trying to be a comedian? You know you’re gonna fail, right? You haven’t even finished your download yet, people are going to hate you. Why have you left Debi, even though she left you? What are you going to do now? Why can’t you just play by the rules? You didn’t have to record your stupid show. That’s why they don’t book you for Live at the Apollo, that’s why your agent dumped you, because you are not good enough. Sure you have moments, but are moments enough?
Why should anybody listen to what I have to say? Maybe my dad was right, I’m just a dumb bitch ranting.
Why aren’t I just plugged into the system and working? Having a normal life? Who do I think I am to stand out? I could go to DFS and buy a sofa, how nice would it be to buy a sofa, to paint my own walls and have a home, a routine. Wake up at 8 every morning and be in bed by 11 at night. Get up and go to work. Have a car and pay my car insurance and car tax on time. Drive to my job, which is 15 minutes down the road. Get into the office, put my bag down on the desk and make myself a cup of tea and have the usual banter with Kelly and Rachel about my weekend. Put my headset on, log in and start taking calls.
Have lunch in the staff room, take out my plastic lunch box and eat a boring salad. Only take half an hour because I feel bad and so I’m back at my desk by 1. Finish at 5.30 but to be honest it would be better if I stayed a little bit longer because I don’t want to look like the first person to leave. So at 6.10 eventually turn my computer off and tidy my desk, wash my mug in the sink, grab my coat and say goodbye to everyone, get in the car and head to the gym. I do a class there three times a week, sometimes boxercise, sometimes Zumba. Have a shower at the gym and drive back home where my partner is also back from work and has made dinner. My partner? I met him online, he actually went to the same school as my brother’s mate. We get on so well, he loves rugby (I have no interest in rugby). Eat dinner with a glass of wine and go to bed. We cuddle and have sex if we’re not too tired.
Wake up the next day and it’s pay day, I get paid at the same time of the month, every month, and have organised all my bills to come out the next day so I don’t need to worry about it. Council tax, telephone, internet, heating (finally!), electric, Sky subscription, mobile, gym. Monthly payment on the Peugeot because there is no way I can buy one outright, but this way it’s good because I have a nice car to drive. It’s only a couple of years old, plus the monthly repayment includes insurance. And then oops, I haven’t got much left over this month because there’s a friend’s wedding and we’re saving for our summer holiday, which means no going out for a few weeks, no cinema or restaurants, but I can invite the girls round and have a glass of wine or three, ooh cheeky! Book a doctor’s appointment for my bad knees, the doctor knows me, the neighbours know my name. Take my pet to the vet for its latest jabs. Oh no, and I’ve got a parking ticket for being parked outside the vet’s at 7.50 when free parking is from 8. That’s going to cost me even more money, right, definitely no eating out for the next few weeks. And repeat. For 40 years.
Why don’t I just have that life? Beyoncé doesn’t have that life. I bet Beyoncé doesn’t have to worry about getting car insurance or paying the bills on time or what she is going to cook for dinner. I bet Beyoncé wakes up and it’s like the opening credits to Grease and birds put her clothes on for her. I bet she doesn’t even need to wash or brush her teeth, she just ‘woke up like dis’.
I reckon Beyoncé has a gospel choir for an alarm clock who sing ‘Oh Happy Day’ from her balcony. Then her personal butler says, ‘Good morning Beyoncé, lovely to see you, we have everything laid out for you, when you are ready, please get into the car that is waiting for you.’ She’ll have some great sex with Jay, have a shower in her walk-in Thai-inspired bathroom, pick any outfit, because she is Beyoncé and they all look amazing, kiss Jay goodbye, sing to Blue and get into her chauffeur-driven car ready to take care of business.
Beyoncé’s people give her forms to sign, you know, to take care of the wi-fi bills; Yoncé is cool, she asks them to shop around and see if Sky is doing a better deal than TalkTalk. I bet they bloody answer the phone to Beyoncé when Beyoncé calls and complains that her wi-fi ALWAYS FUCKING DROPS! I bet she doesn’t have to be on hold for an hour. Imagine, I bet when Beyoncé goes on holiday she doesn’t even have to turn off her data settings, she just goes abroad and leaves her phone exactly as it is. I bet she doesn’t even put it on airplane mode, the rebel.
I bet they don’t even make Beyoncé take her shoes off at the airport.
Who am I kidding, she has her own airport, she can walk around barefoot if she wants to.
She isn’t using Uber on her iPhone and praying something sturdier than the van from Only Fools and Horses shows up. I mean she might use Uber, she is on Airbnb after all.
I bet when Beyoncé is sick, she doesn’t have to wait a week for an appointment and when she does go, she doesn’t have to wait 45 minutes in the waiting room surrounded by other sick people before risking it and running out of the surgery to put more money in the meter only to come back in and have missed her slot. I bet when the doctor does finally see her he doesn’t say, ‘Well, I get that you can’t breathe but it’s probably a chest infection, and yes, your knees keep giving in but you are probably just overweight. If it doesn’t get better in three weeks, come back.’
I bet Beyoncé doesn’t have to look for change for the bus only for the bus to leave as soon as she approaches the stop.
I bet Beyoncé doesn’t have guys who go ‘Look, I like you as a friend, I’m just not ready for a girlfriend’ and then dump her and get a girlfriend.
I bet Beyoncé doesn’t have to sleep in a coat and hat because the room she lives in is so fucking freezing.
I bet Beyoncé doesn’t make her own double glazing out of cling film.
I bet Beyoncé gets paid more than £31 for a show.
I bet Beyoncé doesn’t have to ask herself if she will die alone or wonder if she is weird because she hasn’t had sex in two years.
I bet Beyoncé doesn’t get thrush.
I bet Beyoncé can watch Sons of Anarchy all the way through without the internet connection dropping. Fucking wi-fi!
See, why can’t I just have that life? Why do I choose comedy? Comedy is hard. Actually that is a complete lie. Comedy is easy, the artform is easy; you just have to keep working at it. Comedy guides you, you can be up and down but it always guides you.
What is hard is the bullshit business around the artform. The UK comedy industry can feel pants for women; we all gotta be grateful and know our place and not rock the boat, not post anything public. Otherwise you get met with ‘Why are you complaining? You are doing well!’ Yes, because I have busted my ass. Mainstream-wise, it’s still a closed shop, unless they can box you. Are you a ‘
feminist comedian’? Well that’s political and hot right now so we can use you. We are all fucking feminists, mate. And it’s not just women but people from working-class backgrounds too. They will box you, on your race, on your sex, on your class. It’s still who you know and who you are with. It’s fine, the rest of just have to work harder.
But the shows, the shows I do leave me feeling elated. I get to travel the world; OK, so I cry all the way there and back, but I get to see the world. Doing the shows, I feel like I am part of something. Like I belong, like I have a voice. We all have a voice and I want to use mine. I want to perform and I want to earn a proper living for doing so, not 10 per cent of ticket sales. I want to feel like I am making something for myself, securing a future. I want my soul to sing.
That’s all I want. I want to make my soul sing, every day and for everything else to just take care of itself.
My mum wakes me up with a cup of tea and a plate of berries.
‘Luisa darling. Do you think Beyoncé has it easy? Of course not, she gets up and she works hard, she doesn’t quit. I bet she has so many people making demands on her and judging her. I bet it’s very difficult to balance her life and meet people’s expectations. I am sure Beyoncé is somewhere thinking, I wish, every once in a while, that I was just like any other normal girl, not in the public eye. I wish I could just have a day off and relax and cry. I bet Beyoncé can’t get the night bus home and sing the Sister Act selfie melody with Delia. I bet she can’t leave the house wearing her pyjamas and get away with not washing her hair for a week. I bet Beyoncé can’t sit on her bottom and watch Anarchic Sons—’
‘Sons of Anarchy, Mum.’
‘Whatever, for three days without anyone bothering her. I bet Beyoncé can’t go down to her local Chinese and just ask for a pot of hoisin sauce and prawn crackers and eat them on a park bench. I bet Beyoncé can’t have sex with a stranger in a hotel.’
What Would Beyoncé Do?! Page 25