We did a run of our Byron and Shelley improv show last week for Oxfringe, although in a three man format with Joe taking the role of Byron as Jim was out of the country accidentally. Andy retained the role of Shelley and I continued as Maurice the boatman.

If you came to see it, thank you - I hope you enjoyed it. Overall, I thought the run was pretty good. I think on reflection I liked it more than our Burton Taylor run last October, but then again, I think my opinions of that were skewed by my own lack of personal enjoyment of those shows, rather than an assessment of the show as a collaborative effort. There were parts of the style of improv that we were shooting for - conversational, rather than plot-driven - which we managed on a couple of occasions, and there were other things which pleased me on a technical level, like the tying in of themes by the conclusion and what we call 'finding the game' of a scene. On the downside, I don't think we got the audience response that we wanted (crave, need, exist for, etc.). There was laughter, sure, and sometimes a lot of it, but it felt like hard work at times, which indicated to us that it wasn't the sort of free-flowing, uncontainable joy that we always picture it could be but something a lot more workmanlike.

In fact, the mood after the last show was very low-key and disappointed, followed by the saddest looking after show party you could possibly imagine: three guys sat around one full cider, one half beer and one Coke attempting to politely work out what went wrong and not apportion blame. Ultimately, however, we came to two conclusions. The first is that discussing what we would do next may largely be pointless - the four of us each have an increasing number of commitments, far more than we anticipated last June, and looking ahead seems to suggest that we will be quickly become even more geographically spread out over the coming six months. Realistically, another run of shows with the amount of rehearsal time we needed doesn't seem like an option.

The second was skirted around a lot more, but it came out implicitly: this show isn't working as we hoped. Maybe we have lofty expectations and are perfectionists, because friends and critical reception have always been positive (at least on balance), but I'm also sure that we should be having more fun. We discussed that before, but it seems that no number of directives and edicts ordering us to have fun with the show made that more likely.

I don't think we've canned it completely: it definitely feels like more of a shelving. It seems easier at this point to focus on point one and acknowledge the practical problems which mean that point two is somewhat moot. Given the opportunity, I think we would definitely come back to this project at another time and try and make it work, if only to be sure that we've done as much as we could. I hate giving up on something that I've spent so much time on. Sunk cost fallacy it may be, but it still feels no less of a failure.

Which is silly, if I think about it objectively. Financially, the two runs of shows and additional extra performances broke about even - the first made money, this one lost a little. I've gained a lot of experience from the technical and production side and, most importantly, I was involved in a hugely ambitious show which, to an acceptable standard, worked. People are generally amazed by the notion of improv in its short-form format, so the reaction to the risks a entirely improvised play receives are quite something. It's hard not to believe I'm not a better improviser now; I know for sure that I am.

And I've also learned a lot about what sort of things I want to do and am suited for. I think long-form improv is a niche performance type (at best) that I would dearly love to help push forward to wider recognition. I think I have a certain approach to improv which is useful to it: I actively look to spot themes and ideas that can brought back in again and again, I think I have a good eye for finding resolution to complicated narratives and I think the use of mime and physicality for establishing scenes is underutilised by most improvisers. Yet, if I am being honest, I have struggled with this particular format: I've felt hemmed in by a character that I never properly got into. I never felt at ease playing the straight man (and I have an immense amount of respect for anyone who can). Worst of all, I often felt superfluous to whatever stories have been developed by the others, especially in the first run of shows.

My approach to my comedy ventures has long been: I want to do things I enjoy, I want to try as hard as possible to be a success with it and if anything ever really works I'd be delighted. If not, I am fortunate to have plenty of career opportunities ahead of me and a comfortable existence. So, all of these lessons are good to know. There will be many more projects and experiments, no doubt, and I'm one step closer to working out which things I want to do and how I want to do them. And that is today's life lesson.