Andy Richardson: Facing the fear and talking the talk

My business partner and I had been called upon to say a few thanks at the launch of a festival in our home town. Responsibly, we'd agreed.

"We could just do it here," I said, surveying our ground floor vantage point. We were partially hidden behind tables and boxes.

"Nah, nobody would be able to see us," she answered.

"Great."

It wasn't the attitude she was looking for.

So we ascended a flight of stairs to a first floor galley that gave us elevation. My business partner – we'll call her Mrs Star – nudged me. "Go on then, say something." I stifled a laugh. "Broccoli."

"No, say something to them. . ." She pointed to the audience, ignoring my broccoli joke.

When it comes to going out, Mrs Star and I are chalk and cheese. My idea of a great night out is a great night in. Give me a Helen Macdonald novel, a Clint Mansell CD and a room full of nobody and I'm in heaven. If it's a night of outrageous rock'n'roll behaviour, I might hit the cave-aged cheddar. No pickles, of course. I like to keep it classy.

Her idea of a great night out is a 72-hour weekender in London that involves a cast of thousands and gallons of cocktails. We're introvert vs extrovert. Self-assured vs needs reassurance. Self-fuelled vs fuelled by others.

And yet when it comes to speaking in public, our roles are reversed. I'm unphased by the prospect of talking to a showroom full of people while she – who ought to delight in it – recoils. And so we ascended to floor one, gazed down at the 100 or so guests and cleared our throats.

My uncle would have done it far better. Bilston Dave, as I call him, puts all the right words in all the right places. He'd have said something like: 'Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking. . .' and everyone would have laughed straight into their Prosecco. They'd have been putty in his hands, oohing and aahing at his every quip.

An elbow clattered into my right flank. It was Mrs Star. "Oh my God," she said. "I've forgotten to put my shoes on." She was right. She was shoeless. Her immaculate toes were on display through the glass partition. God bless her for spending hours painting her nails. I wondered how anyone could forget a pair of shoes and thought about making a Cinderella joke. But the clatter of her elbow was fresh in my mind and a bruise was starting to form.

"Ladies and gentleman," I began. The guitarist in the corner stopped playing Bob Dylan songs and looked up. I gave it my best totally-unrehearsed-but-reasonably-friendly-chat and the audience half laughed at my half jokes. Mrs Star looked on, realised how easy it was and did what she always does: took over and made sure everyone loved her, not me. And I kinda like her for that.

Later that night, we tuned into Twitter. And there we were, the anti-Bonnie and Clyde. We were standing on the mezzanine, shoeless and gormless, for all the world to see. My right eye had glazed over, like a crocodile's might if he was emerging from a swamp. My hair looked like a balding Boris Johnson as if he'd been dragged through privet hedge. Mrs Star had the moribund expression of a humanities graduate who'd been asked to sit through a lecture by Japanese mathematician Shinichi Mochizuki. Thankfully, the lady who'd taken the picture hadn't taken a selfie. The camera never lies. Lord knows what her visage might have told us.

Public speaking is listed by many as their number one fear. Though how speaking in front of a room full of people can be more scary than being conscripted by ISIS, forced to sit through episodes of Game of Thrones or eating a cold tin of Heinz beans with pork sausages is anyone's guess. I get more than my fair share each year when I lecture part-time at a university in Birmingham.

As the semester wears on, the smiles on the students' faces wear off. Not that their lack of chirp is troubling. The disproportionately high number of firsts that they achieve each year must mean something's going right. But I digress.

There's an art to public speaking. Gratitude is important, leading with your best stuff is key and actively respecting your audience is a killer blow. Planning your finish is wise, making eye contact one by one is smart, ignoring the naysayers is essential and turning nervousness into excitement will win people over every time.

There's one other thing that I've always found really important, too. And it's this: Always remember your shoes – even if you've got beautifully painted toenails.