Stand-up: A GP Walks Into a Bar…

…and nobody wanted to say how many units he’d had.

By day, I’m a GP. By night, I’m a GP out of Hours because my wife has expensive tastes.

I occasionally stand under a spotlight, trying to make people laugh without ruining my career.

Yes, I am a Quack - said Dave

Yes, I’m that Dr. Dave Wandless (don’t pretend you actually know) — bottled maniac, chronic over-sharer, and inexplicably allowed near both syringes and microphones. Honestly, no one is more surprised than me.

The fact that I do stand-up and medicine isn’t some grand career strategy. It’s more that I never really learned how to shut up, and someone gave me a microphone and encouraged my glory-seeking validation loving ass.

So far, it’s going… reasonably.

But as it turns out, trying to make people laugh while also trying to maintain patient trust is… tricky.

Here’s what I’ve learned (so far) about walking that very weird, very wobbly line between comedy and clinical credibility.

Don’t Chuck It for a Laugh

Working as a GP is fundamentally about trust.

Patients come to you when they’re scared, vulnerable, or trying to figure out what the hell is going on with their body — or life. And they need to believe that you’re safe. That you’re listening. That you’re not going to make them feel worse.

The GMC’s Good Medical Practice guidance doesn’t go on pause just because I’m clutching a duck in one hand and a mic in the other (sadly, neither are mine). That, coupled with the general distrust in Doctors and intellectuals societally it makes the need to distinct yourself as a performer here essential.

It’s not that I think I’m important as a comic. I don’t. I really don't.

But the job is.

So when I’m on stage, I try to remember:

• Would I be okay with a patient hearing this?

• Would I be okay with the GMC hearing this?

• Would I be okay hearing this again in a complaints meeting at 3PM on a Tuesday?

• Would your wife/kids be ok with this - swearing aside

If the answer’s no — I bin the joke. Any borderlines get the Wife test because comedy is about being at the edge but I’m more round-down than round up on that; because the tide of humour generally is shifting that way anyway.

Comedy Needs Boundaries (Turns Out, So Do I)

I’ve made peace with the fact that I’m not edgy. Not really. Way too much white, Cis, middle class energy for that.

I don’t do patient stories really - or at least not a real patients - though when I do skirt close to reality it's twisted around and not punching down.

Some of the best are absurdities more than insults, quirks of people generally - like how Wives turn on their Husbands the moment they refuse to acknowledge how much of a pain in the arse they’ve been.

Because being sick is a universal - it’s a leveller. It’s also a universal platform to write; a subject that can be referential, abusurdist, one-liner, storytelling, dark, light, blue, clean - all without much work at all to stay relevant.

I don’t do material that takes swipes at specific conditions or diagnoses. And no, that’s not me trying to be noble — I’m just very aware that medicine is full of real suffering, and I’d rather not be the one turning someone’s personal nightmare into a five-minute bit at the club.

When I do reference a condition, it’s usually in context of something grander. Like the delirious lady who looked like a sweetheart till she grabbed my stethoscope and licked me - she had no control or insight but it doesn’t stop me being completely unable to smell fixodent without gagging.

Even digital humour or advocacy by doctors - like what you’re reading IRL - has its professional boundaries. Comedy is no exception.

If It’s Public, It’s Professional

Stand-up isn’t private. Even if you’re just testing jokes in a pub basement, it’s still a public act. People can film it. People can share it. And sometimes (god help you), your patients will show up.

It’s very hard to stay cool when someone you’ve just referred to gynae is sitting front row with a double gin and shouting “Tell us a joke, doc!” (And you now know they were lying about being tee-total). There’s an unwritten rule to never acknowledge someone in that scenario which can annoy them even more.

I’ve had situations where angry or aggrieved patients have found my public facing profiles and gone to town trolling them - sometimes with real specifics about where I work, what room I work in, what days I work.

That’s when it hits home: this isn’t just comedy. This is public perception management. And no matter how separate I try to keep my “funny” self from my “serious GP” self, they’re still wearing the same face.

No matter how you slice it, even if it’s not real - you have the potential for it to be true, and so people believe that it is true.

It’s a catch 22 - you need it to feel at least believable to work, but too believable and it’s real no matter what you’re saying.

Patient Complaints Are No Laughing Matter

I haven’t had one yet — but that doesn’t mean I won’t.

If a patient ever takes offense to something I say on stage (even if it wasn’t about them), that could turn into a real issue. And defense organizations like the one I subscribe to MDDUS are clear: they’ll look at it, but if it’s not clinical work, they might not cover it.

That’s fair. But it’s also a bit terrifying.

It makes me sound very self assured, naiive or downright careless to carry on at that point - after all you don’t bite the hand that feeds, not even play chicken with its jaws a little.

Medicine is, broadly speaking, hard to get outright sacked for clinical issues, but politics loves a martyr and there’s no bloodier altar than jokes gone wrong and offense being taken.

So I try to stay in the safer lanes — self-deprecating stuff, stories that only punch upwards, and jokes that don’t make anyone else the punchline (unless it’s me).

Your Colleagues Deserve a Heads-Up

I told my partners I was doing comedy pretty early on. Not because I thought they’d want front row seats — but because patients talk.

They came. They saw. They allowed without endorsement or affiliation. Best workplace ever.

Not only is it important that people realise you’re doing something front facing to distance themselves a bit from it, but if something I say in a verbal vomit gets misunderstood I’d rather they weren’t blindsided.

I don’t want my weird side hustle to splash mud on people who didn’t ask for it.

Can You Be a GP and a Comedian?

Honestly? I don’t know. I’m still figuring that out.

I love comedy. I love medicine. And I’m doing my best to make the two play nice without setting fire to either.

So far, the way through has been:

• Keep it honest

• Keep it kind

• Punch yourself, not others

• Remember that trust is earned, not assumed

• Ask yourself: is this joke worth it?

Sometimes, I still don’t get it right. Sometimes I overthink it. Sometimes I panic and end up telling a 10-minute story about a lasagne that somehow ends with an existential crisis. But I’m trying.

Final Thoughts/Evidence for the Prosecution

This job is hard. Life is hard. And sometimes making people laugh — gently, kindly — is a way to stay afloat. If comedy keeps you human, brilliant. Just don’t forget the humans you’re doing it for.

If you’re in the same weird boat — doctor, comedian, speaker, TikToker, whatever — and you’re wondering how to make it work, start with the GMC guidance and work outwards. Talk to your partners. Talk to your defense body. Ask yourself hard questions before the crowd gets a chance to.

And if you need a cautionary tale? Well — that’s what I’m here for. Just not yet.

Stay Laughing

--DW