Jürgen of all trades, Meister of none!

Written by: Jürgen Strack
Published: Monday 25th November 2024

Back in 2016, we asked Jürgen Strack, a UK-based German-born comedian who was just starting out on his stand-up journey, to write a blog for us about his experiences. Eight years on, it's time to get an update from Jürgen. As you'll read, he has been through a rollercoaster of personal lows but comedy highs since his last update.

In 2019, my life changed forever when I made the fateful decision to confront my toxic employer in court. I initiated proceedings online through ACAS (the Advisory, Conciliation, and Arbitration Service), hit send, unknowingly triggering a gruelling two-year legal battle. Having endured relentless bullying, including resource siphoning, and other forms of unchecked abusive behaviour and intimidation, I found myself isolated and othered, facing a David vs. Goliath scenario, representing myself in court. Twice, I faced my employer and their legal team, carefully tiptoeing through a legal minefield. Against all odds, I emerged victorious as they settled out of court.

But this hard-won victory came at a devastating cost. I lost everything I held dear - my job, my sales career, and the collapse of my 37-year marriage marked the end of life as I knew it.

In that incredibly challenging time, I struggled to make sense of it all. I embarked on a journey of self-discovery and renewal, turning to practices like guided Buddhist meditation for forgiveness and embracing the Wim Hof Method - a breathing technique paired with cold exposure - to begin healing. During the pandemic, I hiked the iconic Camino de Santiago. I often think of the film The Way, which features Martin Sheen on a journey not unlike my own. For two months, I traversed mountains, trekked through the Meseta desert, and covered over 1,000 kilometers across northern Spain in all kinds of weather.

Along the way, I met many fellow pilgrims - beautiful strangers who opened their hearts, sharing their innermost thoughts and feelings, thus forging connections that transcended our struggles. As they say, no one walks the Camino without a reason.

When the Camino ended, I wasn't ready to go home - not to the daily grind, not to the rat race. Being a pilgrim had become my new way of life - getting up in the morning, walking as far as my legs could carry me, eating a menu de peregrino (a simple 3-course pilgrim's meal), socialising, sleeping, and repeating. It felt like freedom. Walking in and out of towns, watching people go about their daily routines, I felt strangely disconnected, as if they were stuck in a rut, while I'd cracked the code. It made me realise that we don't need much - a home full of stuff - but only what fits in a backpack. But I had the excitement of writing my book, being a writer, to look forward to.

After triumphing in court, I felt invincible... until I remembered I was still just a bloke schlepping a rucksack across Spain. Seeking a fresh start after my divorce, I relocated to Dundee and found solace in writing about my experiences, even as I tried, in vain, to make a new relationship work. I finished my first manuscript, provisionally titled Corporate Eejits - a tongue-in-cheek Scottish term for idiots. I can also see it being adapted into a play. Currently under review by a London agent, the book explores the toxic culture of workplace bullying, a silent epidemic in many organisations, hoping to give a voice to those who suffer in silence.

Having immersed myself in literature on corporate psychopathy, such as Hare's Snakes in Suits and Kathi Elster's Working for You Isn't Working for Me, I began to see that many bullies have traits strikingly similar to psychopaths. The courtrooms are awash with cases - and the pressure was to get it heard by a judge to hold them to account. So many victims suffer in silence. As I share my story, I urge employers to wake up and smell the coffee. In recounting these physical and spiritual adventures, I'm reminded of German philosopher Nietzsche's words: "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger", or as I nearly found... gives you PTSD.

Acting actually

I got wind... of an audition notice from the Leicester Drama Society for 'Allo 'Allo! and, to my surprise, I landed the role of Monsieur Roger LeClerc - his famous catchphrase, "It is I, LeClerc!" (accompanied by raising his spectacles). I had aimed for a German part, but couldn't cut it, so I embraced the chance to play an eccentric Frenchman working for the résistance in Nazi-occupied France during WW2. Serious self-deprecation, that! Et voilà!

Amidst weeks of intense preparation, I was bitten by the acting bug. It was a feeling; a sudden, strong realisation that what I was doing, the techniques I was trying to master, could impact and connect with an audience powerfully. The thought and satisfaction of getting to grips with a role like LeClerc excited me. So did the anticipation of performing in the main auditorium, which seats 349. Then it happened! A slip of the tongue nearly halted the entire production.

During the final dress rehearsals, I accidentally uttered the word 'bastard' on stage, eliciting a collective gasp from the cast and crew. The director, looking bemused, pulled me aside, "You know what I'm going to say, don't you?" I nodded. After a pregnant pause, she said, "Ok, let's crack on." This experience taught me a valuable lesson about the difference between stand-up - where it's all about you - and theatre acting, where you blend in.

At the themed after-show party, audience members - dressed as their favourite 'Allo 'Allo! characters - mingled among cheeses, baguettes, and wine. Suddenly, an unsavoury aroma of freshly minced garlic wafted my way, and a theatregoer approached, saying, "Yours was a small part but impactful!" I chuckled internally, thinking, "Jah," in my best German accent.

It was seven sell-out shows at the historic Little Theatre in Leicester, where Richard Attenborough first trod the boards (not the bards!). I thought, if it's good enough for him...

Landing the role of LeClerc ignited my passion for theatre and left me wanting to explore this art form further. So I signed up with a casting agency. Soon after, I got a call from them about a potential role as an extra on ITV's new drama, Wild Bill, starring Rob Lowe. And the rumour was he might be on set. Wow! The catch? I was needed on a beach in Lincolnshire 'on spec' and couldn't get time off my temp job, screwing together office chairs. I was 'latching' onto this opportunity, but the timing was, well, less than ideal. Bye bye Rob Lowe, hello Sister Boniface!

Luckily, my TV acting debut soon followed in a BBC production of Sister Boniface, where I was cast as a German soldier (no typecasting here) - and a speaking part, no less! I was ecstatic to film at a grand country estate after driving all night from Dundee. But, on arrival, I discovered I had Covid! I was gutted; my big break had gone for a Burton. It reminded me of the age-old adage: It's better to have loved (acting) and lost than never to have loved at all.

This experience prompted me to reflect on a heartfelt request my late mum made: never to portray a German soldier. This plea stemmed from her traumatic experiences during Nazi Germany, especially the stories of Jewish business owners she witnessed suffering as a child. For me, it was an internal dilemma: pursuing my passion for acting while grappling with the weight of my mother's memories. I wanted to honour her wishes, yet the allure of the role was strong. 'Es hat nicht sollen sein.' It wasn't meant to be.

I kept the casting agency's email as a souvenir: "This is to confirm your booking (up to 12 hours per day) as a supporting artist on the following production: BBC: Sister Boniface." It was a bittersweet reminder of how close I had come - more like egg on my Boniface. And just the start of a series of unpredictable events.

Funny twists & turns: A bit sketchy actually...

I was on a short break in Scotland, exhausted from hiking the West Highland Way under the hot sun, and enjoying whisky tasting en route at Glengoyne Distillery. I collapsed into my seat on the train at Milngavie (pronounced "mill guy" - I didnae see one. I mean a mill guy, not a train. They have those in Scotland. Both!).

That's when, out of the blue, I saw a message on my phone that had fallen through the cracks. Curious, I tapped on the screen. It was a potential audition invitation for a BBC Scotland sketch comedy show - though I didn't yet know which one! CRIKEY! I took a moment to grasp its significance. The next day, an email from the Glasgow-based production company confirmed the invitation. Banijay's Comedy Unit, the studio behind the project, outlined a few logistical details, and I felt both excited and a little apprehensive.

Its timing posed a challenge: receiving it late on a Friday before a bank holiday weekend meant my reply wouldn't be seen until Tuesday. They suggested an in-person audition for Tuesday or Wednesday, which freaked me out as I was in Leicester, far from Glasgow. The idea of another long train journey so soon made me queasy, and I hadn't even seen the script. I needed time to process.

Sensing this could be my Andy Warhol moment, I quickly scanned travel and accommodation options, but the logistics were overwhelming. Very reluctantly, I nearly begged them to reschedule my audition for Thursday, praying that I hadn't blown my chances.

Right on cue, the reply came: "We didn't know you weren't based in Scotland." Despite the surprise, I was offered a remote audition via Zoom for Thursday. But the date and time were moved forward twice, settling on that Tuesday afternoon. Caught off guard, I found myself in town coming out of lunchtime meditation and without having read the audition script. With only two hours and 50 minutes to prepare, I made a split-second decision to go for it, balancing the audition with doing stand-up that night at a Tiki Bar in Leighton Buzzard. I rushed home, read the two-page script, and frantically made notes. In my shared accommodation, I worried about interruptions. So, I barricaded myself in, whipped my bedroom into a makeshift green room atmosphere, and began rehearsing.

At 3pm, the Zoom link arrived, and after some initial setup, I auditioned and was offered the role the next day. I jumped for joy. I got the gig! I made the cast! It felt like a validation of my comedy career, a real milestone. A paid acting gig meant a lot. The production company took care of all the arrangements, making me feel like a VIP.

After arriving in Glasgow the evening before filming, exhausted from train delays and missed connections, I quickly checked into my hotel. I had a late dinner and then studied the shooting script until well past midnight, gearing up for an early 7:30am start.

After a wee blether with the Glaswegian taxi driver, your classic salt-of-the-earth type, I arrived at the filming site, humming, 'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again...' As I stepped inside, I was greeted by a staircase (a first for me) adorned with pictures of all the Scottish comedy shows I loved when I lived in Dundee. I felt like Jürgen in Wonderland, and it suddenly hit me - OMG! I was part of it all. Soon, I'd meet the team, get topped and tailed, suited and booted for the day's filming.

Imagine my surprise when, during a break, I found myself face-to-face with Ford Kiernan, the man behind 'Jack' from the legendary sitcom Still Game. Having admired him only from the screen, you can imagine my complete surprise! But Ford quickly put me at ease when I told him I was a rookie. Over tea and broken biscuits, he generously shared some invaluable insights into acting that helped me that day. I could not believe I was laughing along with one of Scotland's most iconic comedians. And yes - I even got to witness his famous middle finger gesture 😊.

On set for my professional acting debut, I was introduced to my sketch partner, the charismatic Jack Docherty - better known as Chief of Police Cameron Miekelson from Scot Squad. His character was making an ambassadorial visit to Germany for the Euros tournament, while I played his opposite number, the German Chief of Police in charge of security. We had a bowl of Chicken Korma for lunch, but I could barely taste it through my nerves and excitement. Everything was happening pretty fast - this was my big moment, and the pressure was on. Then came the shout: "Action!" I nearly choked. Jack and I launched into our roles. When "Cut" was called, panic set in - had I done alright? But to my relief, the crew burst into laughter, and the production manager offered positive feedback, putting me at ease. After that, we reset and did another take, and another... until they had enough footage and were satisfied.

After filming, I asked Jack to tell me straight if I was shite, but he said, "You were great!" I was over the moon. Instead of going straight to my hotel, I asked the taxi driver to take me to a pub. I had decided to spend an extra day in Glasgow at my own expense to savor the afterglow and process what had happened. I don't know if anyone who hasn't been in my situation can truly appreciate this experience, but it was a whirlwind of emotion and excitement!

Meanwhile, back home in Leicester, as Friday afternoon unfolded, my anticipation for the Euro Special airing on Sunday brewed within me. I had just polished off a whole chicken when Banijay's email arrived, delivering unexpected news that triggered an involuntary physical reaction. It felt like the moment in Dumb & Dumber when Lloyd Christmas realises his friend Harry unintentionally ruined his romantic chances with Mary - a mix of disbelief and comedic despair.

In football terms, it was like dribbling the ball up to the goal line, only for it to not fully cross it. Where was VAR when you needed it? I had made the cutting floor, as the saying goes. Later, I learned my footage had made the "rough edit". But it was cold comfort; I had to take the rough (edit) with the smooth. This school of hard knocks taught me that you can experience both very high highs and low lows. But it gave me a taste, and now I want more.

Although my sketch didn't make the final cut, the experience of being cast and performing well reinforced my belief in my abilities. Working on a professional set with a renowned production company gave me firsthand experience of the industry's demands, teaching me to perform under pressure, adapt quickly, and learn new techniques on the fly.

At the tender age of 56, my first foray into filming was not just a milestone; it was a personal triumph that reminded me that it's never too late to chase dreams. Each experience, from community theatre to BBC sets, has enriched my journey, reinforcing the idea that passion knows no age limit. As long as you are willing to make a fool of yourself of course. But don't worry, it comes naturally.

Clowning around

A hallmark of my stand-up - a passion of mine since 2005 - is my roly-poly stage entrance. Fellow comics often say, "Do clowning!" This piqued my interest. Like acting, I felt intuitively that clowning could expand my understanding of humour and connection with audiences. I noticed some friends I admire had studied at École Philippe Gaulier (EPG) - the clowning school run by a French master clown with a fearsome reputation. So, in the summer of '23, I ventured to Étampes, just an hour outside Paris, curious to experience first-hand the master's legendarily terrifying teaching style.

My anticipation turned to reality in Le Jeu - 20 hours of movement and improvisation classes. The school's only strict entry requirement? You must not be boring! During these classes, which were like gong shows at The Comedy Store; someone would come on stage, not even utter a single word, and be ordered off stage! If you're looking for validation here, think again!

The atmosphere shifted dramatically when Gaulier entered the rehearsal studio, like a cat among the pigeons. We engaged in a lively game of Simon Says to the beat of his drum. Naively, I immediately made a mistake, triggering his assistant, nicknamed The Punisher, who administered a correction. I got kicked in the backside and pinched repeatedly. It hurt, but I thought it must be war reparations. Despite the discomfort, Gaulier ridiculed my beard - bear in mind he looks like Dumbledore - and ordered me to kiss a fellow student. His wife and colleague, Michiko, was present. They are yin and yang. I kissed someone on the forehead. Gaulier looked at Mich and said, "He is courageous, no?" She nodded, and the game resumed. I thought, "Did he just compliment me? It can't be!"

As the week came to a close, something magical happened. I took to the stage one last time with nothing in my head... Gaulier banged his drum three times, I threw myself down on the stage, rapidly rolled 15 metres or so to his feet, everyone else looking on, then started spinning on the floor like a helicopter, calling out, "I miss my wife. Where is my wife?" She (a fellow student) wouldn't come out on stage, so I just kept introducing her. When she finally joined me under the spotlight, we engaged in random dances, frolics - anything. Gaulier wouldn't let us off stage, giving instructions like "more delicate", "you look like you're going to kill her", and "don't leave everything on the floor." I have no clue where any of what we were doing came from; we were just playing. Dripping in sweat, we heard "enough!". A pause... A standing ovation from the class. Gaulier remarked about our complicité - togetherness, as being unusual. We were happy bunnies. The next day, I nursed a nosebleed.

I'm excited to share a short documentary just released directed by Fraser Jones that gives a glimpse into the unique atmosphere of Philippe Gaulier's clown school. Everything you see reflects my own experience, showing the challenges and rewards of the training I underwent. You can watch The Kingdom of Humor and Fun on YouTube

Inspired by my own experience in Le Jeu, I decided to delve deeper into the world of clowning. I signed up for EPG's Master Course in Clown - a 40-hour immersion in movement and improvisation classes - this past January. While my time in Le Jeu felt liberating and chaotic: the Master Course plunged me into a different kind of struggle - one that demanded I confront both my fears and identity head-on. A whirlwind awaited. My foolish decision to go running in freezing temperatures before the first day of class, wearing nothing but shorts and a t-shirt, made me feel ill for the rest of the week but I didn't skip class.

The calibre of my peers was impressively high, with many established in the global theatre scene - clowns, actors, acrobats, dancers, and comedians performing in prestigious productions like Stamptown, Cirque du Soleil, and countless other productions. Among these was my fellow student Abby Wambaugh, who would go on to win Best Newcomer at the Edinburgh Fringe for her show, The First 3 Minutes of 17 Shows. Yet, amidst all this talent, I found myself grappling with the emotional turmoil of yet another breakup - the fifth in just two years with the same partner. Each time felt like mourning her loss anew. Trapped in a cycle of heartache, each separation ripped open wounds that had barely healed. C'est la vie, as they say. Coupled with the demands of the course, waves of sadness washed over me, and self-doubt distracted me from fully enjoying the experience, trying as I was, in vain, to recreate the highs of Le Jeu. On the second day, I had to sing a lullaby reconnecting me with my 7-year-old self. This felt like a beautiful freeze-frame moment. Despite thoughts of leaving the school, camaraderie, and bonding moments encouraged me to continue the journey of self-discovery the course promised.

Then, a pivotal moment came when Gaulier summoned us all, to be assigned our clown personas. We were filled with anticipation. Gaulier heard I'm German and, in front of the assembled class, without any hesitation - publicly declared something that stays with me -

"Never in history a German clown fucking exist!" (sounded great in his l'accent français)

It wasn't quite the motivational speech I was expecting. I thought to say I'll be the first one but I kept shtum, let it wash over me. And then, so out of character, he followed it up with an apology. I'm sure he didn't mean it (...the apology 😊). Next, I braced myself for his verdict, to be designated - wait for it, a 'German Alcoholic Killer!' I was perplexed spending the weekend mulling over how to embody this 'gift'. And Gaulier's directive echoed in my ears - 'Get blood!' - as I set out on a mission to bring the killer to life. A long leather trenchcoat, a pilot hat, and a prop gun became instruments of transformation. Many of us ventured to Paris to scour for more costume pieces, take in the Louvre, and enjoy a cool Cirque d'Hiver Bouglione show.

For some time, I wrestled with what it meant to be German at EPG clown school. As the course progressed, I struggled to reconcile my understanding of humour with his teachings. And the pressure to perform in front of such a demanding audience of peers and mentors grew. In fact, not a day passed when I went back to my digs thinking I'd cracked it.

That said, I developed a deep respect for the art of clowning... playing for the flop, seeing what can be borne out of failure, and understanding the meaning of a fixed point. Je ne sais pas. On the flip side (pun intended), I discovered a knack for vaulting over objects, a skill I later showcased at the Altitude Comedy Festival. Since then, my work has been described as avant-garde by some, pushing the boundaries of traditional storytelling and performance.

Hand on heart? I went to see the Philippe Gaulier show to get a piece of his éminence. He didn't disappoint! I met a man with a caustic exterior, and brutal honesty, fiercely interested in helping you find 'your idiot', as he calls it, 'is the essence of clowning.' I saw a caring, shades of endearing side too even when I bore the brunt, was the butt of the joke, and let's call it what it is - got publicly humiliated. You can get away with more in the EU than in the UK. I see stuff on French or German TV that you couldn't do in the UK. But if you've grown up in that environment, which I have, the cultural differences and nuances can present a certain challenge. Yet, when I hold the UK up as a beacon, I think 'wasn't Little Britain bad though?'.

After class, we'd unwind at Café du Depart, a cozy spot run by the charming couple Jean Isden and his wife, located bang opposite wee Étampes train station. Clowns' photos adorn the cafe walls, reflecting its long association with the school. It became our refuge, a cherished routine, where we bonded over the day's challenges, trying to make sense of each day. On the final night, Jean locked the doors, turned up the music, and spun the disco ball for a private celebration.

As I immersed myself in the world of clowning, I made some great new friends. And I found many talented people had walked the same path here - stars like Sacha Baron Cohen, Zach Zucker, Viggo Venn, and many others. In conclusion, you know what I'm going to say, don't you? If it's good enough for them...

I'm back for Bouffon.

Get up, stand up, stay up

2023 was the year my comedy balls finally dropped! With my debut comedy show at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe no less, called ACHTUNG!! The Germans are Coming! as part of the PBH Free Fringe. I was extremely grateful to have some incredible pro acts whom I admire - Vittorio Angelone, Alexis Dubus, Krystal Evans, Jin Hao Li, and others -perform on my very first show. It raised eyebrows as I stood atop the Royal Mile, draped in a German flag and party hat, beating a certain Austrian known for his extreme views and distinctive moustache to the chase. The stars aligned, and thank God, I had a bumper Fringe, so I was back this year with ACHTUNG!! The Germans are Coming! Das Second Coming, again with PBH. Luckily, I emulated last year's success with another fantastic full run.

I enjoy giving diverse guest acts from around the world opportunities to perform, and the added benefit is that every show is different. And since not many German comedians could be found (not through lack of trying), I'm introducing new characters like the charmingly chaotic Helga Towel and hapless Lil Norman. "Necessity is the mutter of all invention". My vision is to tour the show globally - possibly a parody in the vein of The Producers. As Mr Bialystock would say, 'Go big or go home!'.

German national radio interview

Also during the Edinburgh Festival, I was excited to be interviewed by German national radio, ARD, in a feature highlighting German comedians at the Fringe. I was delighted to be featured alongside Paco Erhard, now based in New York City, as the only two German comedians selected for the programme. You can listen to the interview online. The opportunity to be heard on German radio made me feel a sense of pride, and slightly amused knowing that I might be better known in Germany even without ever having performed there.

Flyering adventures at the Fringe

Years of flyering for Fringe acts preceded this - up to eight shows a day, every day, for comedians, magicians, dance troops - you name it. Each with unique stories and aspirations. I watched their shows, started to pick up a few spots here and there, and lost pounds running across town from end to end to make my slots, shouting, "flying flyerer coming through - make way!".

I got to know every damn nook and cranny of the sodden Scottish capital, every cobbled stone, and every Greggs. I worked for names too, sometimes alone or in a team, like Laura Lexx and Glenn Wool et al. I couldn't believe it when I bumped into Ed Byrne, and he said, "I hear you're a flyerer extraordinaire!" - then didn't hire me! You could spot me in my yellow high-viz and blue hard hat; some punters remember me to this day, saying, "You flyered me five years ago!" One of the best compliments came from a free fringe performer who said that getting bums on seats meant they had a Fringe. Wow! It comes naturally and doesn't feel like work. These days, I flyer for myself - you might hear me humming, "Come flyer with me, let's flyer..."

Edinburgh is my spiritual home, and in August, I couldn't think of anywhere else I'd rather be - well, maybe somewhere warmer. It's a place of endless variety. I got to be on Alex Leam's Improv Provocateur, as well as An Awkward Question Time with Robin Ince and improvise with Mike McShane. This year, I had the absolute pleasure of featuring twice in Sam van Kempen's cabaret shows at The Three Sisters Live Room. A big thank you also to Masai Graham and Kirsty Munro for the hatful of gigs at their Aaaargh! It's the Monster Stand-up Show in Leicester and Edinburgh. Same goes to Chris O'Neill for giving me spots on A Comedy Tapas and The Full Irish and A Political Breakfast. I also want to give a shout-out to Giulia Galastro's fantastic award-winning Open Comedy in Edinburgh, which has a special vibe. I apologise if I've missed anyone who deserves recognition.

While the Fringe is a magical experience, it also has its fair share of unexpected challenges - or it wouldn't be the Fringe, right? One such incident involved a particularly unfortunate encounter with a questionable chicken dinner and a pair of Lederhosen. After this dodgy meal at my digs, I headed out for the evening, wrapped up in my full Oktoberfest attire - camouflaged under a few extra layers, of course, because Edinburgh. About halfway down Cowgate, my stomach suddenly turned into what felt like a whingeing hyena. I thought, 'No worries, just a bit of pre-show nerves.' A miscalculated step later, and I came a crapper: I had shat myself in my suede Lederhosen.

Panic set in, but I managed a stumbly retreat back to my digs, showered off the mishap, and prayed my Oktoberfest outfit would survive another go. Steeling myself for round two, I returned to Cowgate, Dioralyte at the ready, determined not to miss my slot. And the show went on, though the next three days had me dehydrated and emitting enough wind to sail a small ship. The magic of the Fringe, eh?

I plan to be back in 2025 with ACHTUNG!! The Germans Are Coming! Das Third Reach, for another helping of schnitzel schwitzen!

Meanwhile, I continued to 'German it up' and was asked to headline Laughtoberfest in Hammersmith - a fun gig and my first-ever paid headliner spot! Though the audience was quite small, their enthusiasm made it a memorable night, and I'm grateful for the opportunity. What greater heights...?

Altitude Comedy Festival

At last year's Fringe, I saw phone booth decals of 'ALTITUDE - The World's No. 1 Alpine Comedy Festival'. I got FOMO. I asked the universe, and it said yes. So, this April, I travelled to Mayrhofen, a mountain village resort set against the majestic Austrian Alps. It would be the ultimate test of my comedic compass and skiing skills. I was in dizzying heights and company - comedians from off the telly; Mock The Week, Live At The Apollo, and more; some British household names and global successes. Boy, it took some getting used to. Suddenly, I felt like I might be completely out of my depth, wondering what the pros might think of me. But, knowing and trusting I'm funny, I eagerly anticipated my performances alongside these esteemed comics.

Then it kicked off in style with three shows daily for five days. It started with an afternoon apres ski one featuring the Improv All-Stars, followed by the Gala Show at 8pm in the Europahaus and closed with the 11:15pm late show in The Arena, a purpose-built nightclub nestled in the bowels of the famed Strass Hotel.

Lo and behold, before taking to the stage, I found myself entangled in a slippery slope misadventure. I took part in the scary Clown Hill Race. After a crash course in skiing, I boarded a gondola - a ride more expensive than my flights - heading up an unfamiliar mountain. "Spectacles, testicles, wallet, and watch." My heart was racing as I lined up to 'race'. Some of the comics looked like pros with their snowboards, funky gear, and poise. I managed to stay on my feet for the first hill. But as I hurtled down the second, I glimpsed the sight of a 2000-metre drop into Mayrhofen village square. I let out a primal scream and threw myself to the ground, desperate to halt my descent. I even considered hitching a ride with a passing hang glider! I'm sure he winked at me. I'm glad I took out the winter sport insurance.

I crossed the finish line, but my valiant effort went unnoticed; everyone had fecked off. I had come in last - psst! But I proudly reflected on the Olympic spirit - it's not always about winning, but about taking part. And I felt a kinship with legend Eddy the Eagle Edwards, himself a former participant in the Altitude Comedy Festival. I hear you say, if it's good enough for him...

Meanwhile, back at the strass, I needed to come down from the adrenaline rush of slope survival, so I hit the nude sauna and took a nap, visualising the excitement of my opening at The Arena later that night. When the moment came, I kicked off The Arena Wednesday Late Show, hosted by the brilliant Kai Humphries, alongside acts like Nina Gilligan, Rob Rouse, Jack Gleadow and Emmanuel Sonubi, who closed the show. I gave it everything I had left in the panzer; emptied both barrels, and socked it to them. Running on stage from behind an unsuspecting audience, dressed in Lederhosen and draped in my German flag, I shouted, 'Achtung, raus, the Germans are coming!' - something that had never been done in Austria before. Not even during the Anschluss! It went down well - the promoter even said, 'You are the happiest guy in Mayrhofen tonight.' I was!

In Friday's Gala Show - Who's In The Clown Hole?, I donned a Strass fluffy white bathrobe to ramp up the madness, asking fellow comics to lie down on stage. I leapt over Rob Rouse, Mark Nelson, Brian from the audience and Paul Smith to the crowd's absolute delight. The night epitomised Altitude's spirit - spontaneous, uproarious, unforgettable - a tribute, too, to the great late Andy Smart.

As the festival came to a close, I had the privilege of connecting with fellow comedians, including the red-hot Egyptian-American Tamer Kattan. He had kind words of encouragement, saying, "your playfulness onstage inspired quite a few of us in the green room." This unexpected feedback meant a lot to me. Tamer suggested I rebrand as an 'alternative comedian with a German background' rather than just a 'wacky German comedian'. Then, he compared me to the legend Andy Kaufman, which was both surprising and incredibly flattering - it's not every day you receive such a compliment!

In hindsight, Altitude was more than just a comedy festival. I felt privileged to be there, in awe of the talent around me, seeing their work, the camaraderie, and the supportive albeit challenging environment - all thanks in part to Brett Vincent of Get Comedy, who made it possible. It was family-centric too, as I saw comedians travelling with their families, kids and kin. And the audience was a comedy-savvy crowd that appreciated the nuances of our performances. It had given me a taste of what life on the road could be like. Yet, I had given it the Jürgen factor, taken some insane risks, and let my clown out. It's a sense of quiet pride, a contentment that comes from putting your heart into your journey and feeling like you've done it justice. Wurst Käse scenario, do you think Gaulier would approve?

Before Altitude, I was part of some brand new concept shows; including Scramble, a comedy variety night in London where I shared the stage with the incredibly talented Julia Masli. And as Mr Towel at Lose your Marbles in Maida Vale. Despite the passage of time, I'm proud to say I was a finalist in this year's Leicester Comedy Festival Silver Stand Up competition, sold out my solo show there, and had a fantastic run at the Glasgow International Comedy Festival.

As I look ahead and continue to rebuild my life, after a few years in Scotland, I decided to move back to England to live closer to my sons and pursue new opportunities in comedy. I'm also working the comedy and festival circuits, and preparing for another long-distance hike. This time, the Sultans, Appalachian (AT), or Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) awaits.

Reflecting on my comedy journey, I've found that growth often happens outside our comfort zones. I'm embracing feedback like, "You're a funny guy" and "Get more gigs." Comedy is subjective and feels rule-free, but each performance brings new insights and a chance to improve. Alongside lessons from talents like Adam Bloom, Logan Murray (MCing), Mike Gunn and Dec Munro I've come to see comedy as an ongoing journey of both art and craft.

This year, I even took a Bollywood dance class in Leicester. Afterward, a group of women came up to me, one saying, "You're inspirational!" I thought, "Ta, but I felt more marshmallo' than Chammak Challo." Now, I'm chomping at the bit to join Around The World in 80 Square Miles, an exciting new online series for UK viewers celebrating London's diverse cultures without ever leaving the capital. I'm thrilled to have been selected for the German leg, bringing authentic German antics to the screen. They say they want the "real" me, and I'm eagerly awaiting the filming date. Third time lucky, maybe?

Next up

Looking ahead, 2024 promises to go out with a bang!

I had a fantastic time performing at The Stand in Newcastle on 9th October, Jimmy Nail-ed it, raising the roof to 300 people. Club's feedback: "Jurgen was the standout of the night. His eccentricity shone through in a bold and witty performance, delivering material in a truly unique way." Auf Wiedersehen, Pet!

I also loved playing the Laughienda in Manchester on 14th November ("One of the most unique and memorable acts we've ever had! Jürgen delivers alternative German comedy at its best.")

Up next, I'm excited to take the stage at The Stand in Glasgow on Tuesday 26th November and in Edinburgh on Monday 16th December. I'm also thrilled to return to Monkey Barrel Comedy in Edinburgh on Wednesday 27th November. To round things off, I'll be performing a couple of shows with Funhouse Comedy in December.

In February 2025, I'll be back at the Leicester Comedy Festival with two shows: ACHTUNG!! The Germans are Coming! Das Second Coming, an hour-long compilation show that I host, on the 8th and 15th, 9pm at the King Richard III Visitor Centre. Plus, I'll co-host Funny Foreigners, a new collaborative project with Stefania Licari, at the same venue on Saturday 22nd at 7:30pm.

Every comedian has their own unique path, and so have I! And I know my journey is just beginning: from courtroom battles to comedy stages and mountain ranges, from the Camino de Santiago to Philippe Gaulier, brushes with the BBC, and into the exciting world of TV comedy sketch shows with Scot Squad. See? It's been a rollercoaster ride! And through it all, my passion for storytelling, holding up a mirror, and making people laugh drives me. I often wonder what I could do next to fail spectacularly because they say Britain loves a trier! And you can't keep a good Jürgen down, can you? - be that a Klinsmann, a Klopp, or a Strack. Who knows? Maybe in another eight years, I'll be back with new stories. Will you still need me, will you still read me, when I'm sixty-four?

And as for love? There's a new lady in my life. Her name is Comedy...

I'll close now. As we say in Germany, alles hat ein Ende, nur die Wurst hat zwei (everything has an end, only the sausage has two).

If you've read this far and have any opportunities for work or collaboration, I'd love to hear from you. Let's create something amazing together! And hey, Greg Davies, or Adam Hills, if you're listening...

Want more of Jurgen? Listen to him on Pitch It Good via Spotify