In a spirit of comedic exaggeration, I underestimated how many gigs MJ Hibbett has done when writing up our show last week.

I said he’d done 873. He emailed me to say he’s since checked his spreadsheet of rock.

It’s actually 997.

On Tuesday, six days after my debut, I performed my own personal gig #2. The venue was the World’s End pub on London Road.

The sign in the window that had lured me in said Tuesday was open mic night. This was misleading, like the term “friendly fire” or the Tax Payer’s Alliance.

You instead had to sign up on notorious boomer-radicalising walled garden Facebook, in advance.

This seems to be a recurring issue for lots of Brighton comedy and music nights, and so far I have resisted setting up an account just for gigging purposes. Open mic nights should be open.

I got to play anyway, by asking the nice man, rendering the above rant unnecessary.

I befriended a lovely Belgian called Lionel, who played Hurt by Johnny Cash and Knocking On Heaven’s Door. And a very nice man called Lot, who looked like he could be in Slayer but sang and played like Martin Carthy.

I was up last, and didn’t feel very nervous. I made some jokes, much to the delight of my two new friends and the three or four other people listening.

My set:

The Fish Are Now English

First Dog In Space

All My Little Words (Magnetic Fields cover)

It might have been the practice. It might have been the ability to sit down. It might have been the beer.

But I was so much looser than last week, more confident, and less forgetful of my own lyrics. The Fish Are Now English, in particular, sounded really good, at least in my mind.

I am going to try and gig once a week, and maybe even write some new songs.