People often say to me: "You used to be a lawyer. Does that make your job as a comedian easier?" Yes, if my gigs comprised of questioning the audience about their whereabouts on a particular date. I'm not entirely sure my knowledge of the loi Badinter (French traffic law) will ever help me, unless I'm heckled in French by someone commenting on my driving.
When I was studying law, I worked on death row for a summer in North Carolina. So does the fact that I used to interview serial killers help me when I'm telling jokes? Not really, although I find I'm comfortable in tense situations; and if someone insists I perform behind a reinforced perspex screen, it's totally cool with me.
I also had a gun pointed at me in the US. I was in a roadhouse in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, interviewing a prison officer. I asked what I thought was a fairly innocuous question and she said: "I have a loaded gun under the table. And it's pointed at you." It was a short interview – and one that makes heckling seem a lot less frightening.
The one thing my past career did give me, though, is experience in negotiating. Almost every gig is a bit of give and take, like drawing up a contract. The audience comes in with their attitude, either up for it or not, and the comedian comes to the table with their terms – that people should laugh. Sometimes the negotiation is quick and everyone agrees to the terms immediately; sometimes the two sides are so entrenched it's like trying to organise the coalition's Christmas party.
The other thing law has helped me with is spotting bullshit. It's the first thing you learn as a lawyer and in comedy it's as common as drunks round a kebab shop. Whenever anyone says "I loved your show", I ask: "Really, which bit did you like best?" When they look confused, I say: "Was it the bit where I pretend to be a rhino mating with an aubergine?" And if they nod, I smile. Because I don't do that. It would be stupid to pretend to be a rhino. I'm too little. I actually pretend to be a badger.
