We comedy critics become used to attempts to influence our reviews, writes Phil Daoust. Although offers of cash and sex are almost unknown (a shame since most of us are broke and frustrated), we do find plenty of pushy PRs clustering around us during shows and wetting themselves at their client's every joke. But performers are not afraid to take a more direct approach.
So far this festival, Tim Minchin has jokingly threatened to "lay hands" on us if we give him the slagging-off he so richly deserves, and even the talented Ben Willbond has turned to hypnosis, repeating "Critics, this is a five-star show!" as the audience files out.
For me, the nobbling reached its nadir when a female double-act spotted my notepad during their performance. Having established that I'm single, friendless and spend too much time in solitary pursuits, they commanded me to "stop playing with yourself" and give them the five stars they supposedly deserved.
If I do get round to reviewing them, I'll be more likely to bear in mind the audience member who recognised me as I queued for another show a few days later. "What did you think of them?" he asked. When I bounced the question back at him, just in case he was one of their relatives, he didn't hesitate: "They were terrible."
Vox populi, vox Dei.
