Magician Laurence Abel has plenty of tricks

Multi-faceted Shropshire student Laurence Abel is hoping for a career as a magician, or a comedian, or a journalist . . . he's not sure which. He combines his three passions here, as he describes the terror of stand-up comedy and magic.

It was nine years ago, aged 15, that I first took to a stage and uttered the words: "Good evening, my name's Laurence and I'm your magician for the evening".

Then . . . nothing. Silence. The words I'd planned left my head and a lifetime passed.

Eventually, they returned. "We all play the lottery..." and the show went on.

Every performer, at one point or another, has to face stage fright: at the age of 15, I was unprepared for its paralysing effects.

I'd be ready to force a card on someone, show the top two cards of the deck as one and conceal a five metre ball of rainbow-coloured tissue in my hand during my dramatic finale. I was not prepared, however, for the dry mouth, memory loss and belief that everyone in that room was there to prove that magic was just an immature hobby.

The strange thing about stage fright is the only way to combat it is to go on stage over and over again. It's like having a fear of dying and being told the only way to get over it is to die every night.

I have never been lost for words since that fateful first performance at Shrewsbury's Lord Hill Hotel in early May 2003, but apprehension towards a performance is something that will never go away. It stems from a feeling of the unknown and with a trade such a magic, when audience participation is so important, there will always be a fear that an audience will be non-responsive or too rowdy.

The best way to describe the feeling before a show is to explain the journey. All day is spent preparing, the box is full of stainless steel rings, handkerchiefs, scissors, hammers, cards, padlocks, chains and confetti. Every pocket is stuffed with something that the audience hopefully won't see.

The worst part is the car ride, there is no going back when you're in the car. I always wish the journey to never end, not because I don't want to perform, but because there is such a need to impress and always a fear that I will not live up to the expectations of the audience.

The great thing about being based in Shropshire is also the worst – unpredictability. In Shropshire, seven days could mean seven totally different shows; I could be performing in a field at The West Mid Show, a comedy tent at a booze filled festival, a medieval fun day at Hawkstone Park and Follies, table magic to diners at the Golden Cross Hotel, little Billy's 4th birthday party, a 50th birthday party and a comedy club all in one week.

The answer to combating fear is confidence, and the way to gain confidence is to be ready for every possibility. What if I'm prepared for a theatre show to 200, and there is only five people sat around a small table in a pub? What if I'm expecting 80 per cent children and on arrival there are 80 per cent adults? It is this not knowing that makes it very hard to relax before a show, the only way is to have too much stuff.

I was at Hawkstone Park and Follies one bank holiday afternoon, when I realised the importance of having every act ready all the time. After a day of performing tricks to children all day, a group of 20 adults arrived all doting on one child. They wanted a show; I couldn't perform the children's show because the adults would be bored, and luckily I had 20 minutes of material that would suit all ages.

I altered the patter accordingly, so that all were entertained and when I linked my final steel ring onto the chain of six, cries of encore broke out. Now that, while it boosted my ego, was a complete nightmare – they wanted more, I had no more but I was being paid to please. I looked down into my case and all I saw was a packet of modelling balloons. A plan entered my mind. I'd make the child, a boy called Peter, a giraffe from my balloon. It would be the perfect end to a nice afternoon for my audience.

"I will mould this into any animal Peter names," I exclaimed, a rather stupid thing to announce as I can only make giraffes or dogs.

"A griffin" is the response. Now I'm panicking; I've lured everyone into a false sense that I can do anything and have no idea what a griffin is.

"Are you sure you don't want a snake" I say. "Griffin" replies the Peter. "A worm, caterpillar how about an electric eel" I plead. "I want a griffin and I want it NOW" Peter screams. I decide to make Peter a griffin dressed as a giraffe and send him on his way, he is unsure, but the adults find it hilarious.

On the way home in the car, I feel undefeatable. I thought on my feet and came up with a fantastic routine, never again do I need to feel nervous. Then I remember something horrible, that completely original idea of dressing a Griffin as a Giraffe to save my bacon wasn't quite as original as I thought.

It came from my dentist. As if by magic, that apprehensive feeling comes back.

* Laurence is a former student of Coleham County Primary School, Wakeman School and Shrewsbury College. As well as his magic act, he works as a cameraman for Southampton football club, and will be volunteering as a press officer at the Olympics for the beach volley ball events. You can follow Laurence on Twitter @gibbonsgob, or email kaneandabel@live.co.uk