When it comes to origin stories, comedians have some of the strangest – from performing for a £5 bet to getting back at their boss to making an unlikely pact with a friendNot all standup comedians wake up one day and decide to be funny for a living.That wasn’t the case for John Bishop, anyway.He took up comedy to avoid paying a bar’s cover charge and to escape his failing marriage – a story that inspired Bradley Cooper’s new film, Is This Thing On? And Bishop is not the only comic with an unusual origin story.From impressing girlfriends to losing their voices, brain tumours to bad bosses – or not wanting to lose a £5 bet – British comics told us the reasons they became standup comedians and the lengths to which they went to get on stage for the first time.The first time I had an inkling I wanted to be a standup was at 14, in the school canteen, when my friend Tom and I were talking about what we thought we’d be when we grew up.

Entirely out of the blue, he said: “You would make a good standup comedian.” It stuck with me.After I graduated from drama school in 2020, I formed a disabled-led theatre company called FlawBored with Sam Brewer and Chloe Palmer.We wrote and performed our debut theatre show, It’s a Motherf**king Pleasure, a multi-award-winning, scathing satire on the monetisation of identity politics.The show was a hit: in 2023, it won the Untapped award at the Edinburgh fringe and went on to tour the UK and internationally.

Then, in 2024, my life completely changed,At the start of the year, we took our show to New York for a three-week off-Broadway run,Four days after we got back, I became very ill,I was bed-bound, throwing up three or four times a day,Long story short, it turned out I had brain cancer.

The doctors said the tumour was 8cm and there was a very high chance I wouldn’t survive.I was meant to have one brain operation; I ended up having five in five days.Before the surgery, the only thing I cared about was my legacy.I wanted to be remembered for my work.My theatre show was a success, but was that enough? Had I made enough of an impact? Had I said what I wanted to say? I decided, right then: “As soon as I get out of hospital, as soon as I’m able to, I’m going into standup comedy!” That will mean, whether I live or die, that I will have done something that is just me, that I’ve given my all to, that somebody might remember.

Obviously, I didn’t die.After surgery, I had six weeks of daily proton beam therapy, followed by six months of chemotherapy.By October 2024, before my treatment was due to finish, I received a development commission from the Lowry theatre.I was going to make my first standup show, which would premiere at the Edinburgh fringe in 2026.A month later, I did my first gig in between my chemo sessions in London.

It was bringer night – when comedy promoters ask you to bring someone, helping to create a cheap and easy audience – and my friends Hannah and Jim came along for support.Before I went on, I had never been more scared of anything in my life.I’d done big theatre stages and major auditions, but I felt these sudden nerves for only 50 people in the back of a pub.I went on stage utterly terrified.Then I got my first laugh, and suddenly I was loving every moment.

I sat down afterwards and thought: This is what I am meant to do.I love this.I love this feeling.At the end of the show, they do a “clap off” of the funniest comic – whoever gets the biggest clap wins.I got the biggest clap and received a mini plastic trophy.

I left that gig thinking it was the best feeling ever,Since then, I have been on a high with comedy, even when I have shit gigs,Oh, and I’ve finished my treatment,My prognosis is good, so Edinburgh fringe, here I come,Standup comedy didn’t feel like an option, so it never really occurred to me to try.

Then a friend suggested I give it a go.He basically said: “You’re funny, you should try standup,” as if the fact that I literally couldn’t speak was a minor technical detail.From my point of view, standup comedy was built around quick talking and crowd interaction – things I assumed automatically ruled me out.He didn’t argue with me.He just planted the idea and left it there, which somehow made it harder to dismiss.

What stuck with me wasn’t anything profound he had said, but the fact that he didn’t treat my disability as the main issue.He talked about comedy as if it were something I might enjoy, not something I should be protected from.My first gig was in Sunderland.I was very nervous beforehand because I didn’t know how it would go.I type the material into my iPad before a show, then play it on stage through the automated voice.

I was worried people wouldn’t understand me, and I’d be standing there telling jokes to myself via an iPad.But once my first few jokes were out of the way, I began to relax and enjoy myself.By the time I walked off stage, I didn’t want it to end.I was on a massive high for the rest of the night.I didn’t get any sleep because I was still so excited.

I couldn’t wait to get up on stage again.I genuinely didn’t know how people would react to a bloke with an iPad on stage, and that uncertainty shaped my approach from the beginning.I decided the best thing was to acknowledge the awkwardness immediately and take control of it, rather than let it hang in the room.That’s where the name Lost Voice Guy came from.The fact that I had to write and program every word in advance didn’t feel like a limitation; it felt like my version of the job.

For most of my life, I’ve been spoken for, spoken about or spoken over.Being on stage flips that completely.Suddenly, I’m the one setting the pace, deciding when the room goes quiet and when it erupts.That sense of being truly listened to is something I don’t take for granted.In a very real way, standup gave me a voice for the first time.

I grew up working class in Glasgow, in the areas of Easterhouse and “Crazy Ruchazie”,It was notorious for gang fights, addiction and deprivation but, despite that, it was a nice place to live as everyone looked out for each other,I wanted to do drama, but because of my background it never seemed like an option,I wanted to escape the council estate and was fortunate to get a sports scholarship at Glasgow School of Sport,That led me to university, where I studied politics and psychology.

The whole comedy thing never entered my head.I ended up in corporate sales for a big soft-drinks firm based in Scotland.I went for a promotion, but the person who got the job over me was a relative of someone on the board.I’m great with people and can chat to anyone, but, obviously, my manager had to give me some sort of feedback.He said I needed to improve my presentation skills.

So, in true Glaswegian style, I thought: “Is that fucking right?” I saw an advert for a comedy course called Ultra Comedy, the proceeds of which go to Cancer Research UK and you do a gig at the end.The course was taught by the incredible Viv Gee – a legend of the Scottish comedy scene.I was so scared before I picked up the mic, but once I got going, the nerves went away.All I was doing was talking about what I’d done at the weekend.It must have gone well because a comedy promoter was in and he offered me a paid professional gig.

I couldn’t believe somebody was willing to pay me £25 for a 10-minute set.I had to go away and write the other five minutes of material.It all happened really quickly.A year after my first gig, I was standing on stage at Glasgow’s Armadillo arena, in front of 3,000 people, telling my jokes.Coming from where I do forces you to appreciate laughter.

Humour’s the only thing you’ve got and, as a working-class person, sometimes it’s the only thing you can trade on.My comedy career was born from proving my boss wrong.The course was meant to be a one-off gig to get back at my boss, but it backfired.It’s essentially a joke that’s gone too far.In 2022, my friend and I made a short film together on the Isle of Wight.

When filming wrapped, we had a couple of drinks and both decided we wanted to do standup,We made a pact, betting each other a fiver that we’d each do a standup gig by the end of the year,I immediately signed up for a comedy course,After finishing it I suggested we all sign up for The Gong Show at the Comedy Store in London,A gong show is a live standup event at which comedians perform for five minutes but risk being cut short by a large gong if they fail to impress the audience or a panel of judges.

They’re brutal events, but I didn’t know this.My gig was on Halloween.The venue said there was a fancy-dress competition and a prize for the best dressed.I went dressed as a “sexy” clown, consisting of a big stripy ruffled top with a leather miniskirt and my face painted like Stephen King’s It.I arrived and hadn’t realised how absolutely massive the Comedy Store is.

I met the promoter, and he popped me in the first section.I stood at the edge of the stage, surprised to see more than 30 comics all with five minutes of jokes each.The show must be really long, I thought naively.I got chatting to a really nice comic, Ian Murphy.I told him it was my first gig.

I’ve never seen someone’s jaw drop so quickly.He explained the format of the night – which essentially is, you go on, try to be funny, and if they don’t like you, they raise a card.If you get three cards, you’re off the stage.Then I watched the other comics perform – I was horrified.Really talented and experienced comedians were getting “gonged” off in seconds.

I went on stage and immediately decided to do the opposite of what I’d planned, but I panicked and started talking too fast.I steamrolled through it.I heard one person laugh in the front row, which kept me going, but at 46 seconds, I got my three little cards and had to plod off stage.I watched the second half, and Ian, who had given me advice backstage, was on.A few audience members were being really awful, and he absolutely annihilated them.

He was amazing and lasted more than three minutes.Afterwards, he introduced me to the other standups, and they were so lovely and supportive.However, I had completely forgotten I was standing, taking serious career advice from seasoned comics at the famous Comedy Store, dressed as a sexy clown.Only one other comic had dressed up.She was dressed as a dinosaur, but somehow no one won the best-dressed prize