Addressing People in Public is really that scary?

People who speak confidently in public are not without fear. They just do it in spite of the fear I wasn't so surprised, last week, to read the results of a poll revealing that people feared public speaking more than they feared being buried alive. Sure, I thought. Because being buried alive at least would be private. No audience to watch you writhe.

Jerry Seinfeld once defined people like me, neatly, as those who would be "better off in the casket than doing the eulogy" and I was touched that (according to One Poll's findings) more than half of us feel this way. Yes, public speaking is "really that scary" if you consider the forced attention of a crowd a punishment and not a prize. I can't have been the only one to shiver when Lauren Laverne – a pro! – muddled her last speech at the Mercury awards on Wednesday, announcing that the winner was James Blunt, not James Blake. What chance does the amateur have of making it through an address without humiliation?

Everyone's fears are personal, particular and (I suspect) quietly cherished. When you're a kid a fear is almost a badge of honour; it helps you begin to define yourself. I can still list my earliest friends and what they were afraid of: heights, spiders, Ursula from The Little Mermaid.

At that age my stated fear was sharks, and public speaking was easy. I wanted the speaking parts in school plays and then suddenly – puberty – it became unthinkable to stand up and say words in front of an audience. For a clear 15 years, from barmitzvah to marriage, I managed to avoid it. Two years ago, at my wedding, I gave as much of my brain as I feasibly could to feelings of joy, and love of my wife, and the rest, I'm afraid, was lost to terror about the speech.

You mean you couldn't even get it together to give a speech at your own wedding? Man up! Or are you saying you gave such a bad speech that it was just blubbing? Because that can often be the best kind of speech. I want video evidence.

Like anyone who performs stand-up comedy, I get so tired of the "Oooh, that must be sooo scary" thing. Yes, it is. But if it's what you want to do, you get on and do it. I saw Jason Manford live at the Hammersmith Apollo last week. He told the 3,000 people there that he has terrible trouble with his nerves. Most standups pace backstage. Even Michael McIntyre does. I've seen one comic almost have an asthma attack in the wings and then morph into Frank Sinatra as soon as he got under the spotlight. It's all smoke and mirrors.

Funny you should mention sharks. I am about to teach a workshop called How to Do Stand-Up and Never Be Afraid of Anything Ever Again (Within Reason, Does Not Include Shark Attacks) – at the end of the month. You are the ideal student. The thing is, the more you practise, the less the fear gets in the way. People who speak confidently in public are not without fear. They just do it in spite of the fear and with plenty of respect for it – because it's normal and natural. You learn to work with it.

I note that weird things appeared on the list of phobias in the poll. Men with beards. Wooden lollipop sticks. If we all gave into our fears, we'd never leave the house for fear of encountering Brian Blessed or the remains of a Mini Milk. Fight the fear, Tom!

 Comedians choose to do it. They're answering a need to get up in front of people and gab. What I feel (and what I assume the rest of the bury-me-alive brigade feels) is a need to never do any such thing. I'd also suggest you're not experiencing fear – not really – if it serves as a sort of zingy bit of seasoning to an evening's standup.

What's cruel about public speaking, and why it weighs on so many, is that it tends to be forced on you (work, weddings, birthdays). Worse, it tends to get booked in way in advance. Today you might get set upon by a serial killer or a velociraptor, which would be terrible, but at least it would happen without warning. No sleep lost.

A speech looms. It creeps closer, often over months, nerves piling on nerves. You worry about blanking. You worry about that awful, shifty stir around a room that has not been made to laugh or applaud or say "ah" at a scripted moment. You worry about spontaneously passing out, or being sick, or doing something that will be remembered by everybody present forever. Far scarier than Brian Blessed.

 Ah, Tom. Bless you and your velociraptor fantasies! I wish I could wave a magic wand and have people who hate public speaking never ever have to go through with it. It's true that frequently people have to "perform" against their will and standups generally don't. Although sometimes you don't want to when you see the crowd. Or lack thereof.

The thing is, comics worry about all of these things too: dry mouth, forgetting punchlines, tumbleweed, hecklers. And these worries are not unfounded. These things actually happen on stage all the time.

What you learn when you choose to put yourself in this position is that when the dreaded, self-imposed serial killer pounces, it can be awful. But you will not actually physically die as a result of public speaking. You may "die" on stage, though, and that is what you are afraid of, I think. This is really about control. Let go, man!

What's crucial in your fear is this: "Something that will be remembered by everybody present forever." I wish we were all so important to other people. We're not. You, just like the people in this survey, are not afraid of public speaking. You are afraid of what other people think of you. Let me assure you, they do not give a lollipop stick. They are focused on themselves. By the way, I think you should do improv, like Whose Line Is It Anyway? There's no warning when you do that. It will set you free.

 I can see that it might be reassuring, if a little depressing, to inch through a speech by reminding yourself that nobody cares. Am I way off in thinking, though, that people quite enjoy seeing a public-speaking train-wreck? Have you ever seen that look that comes over a crowd when they chant "Speech, speech, speech!" at someone who patently isn't equipped for it? They look hungry.

I'll leave you with a thought for poor Rick Perry, the American politician who'll forever be remembered for torpedoing his run at the presidency, last year, when he blanked on some learned-by-heart facts at the height of a televised debate. In front of millions he ummed, patted his temple, and finally gave in with an "Oops". I thought: that's exactly what would happen if I ran for president. A ballsed-up speech, and infamy. Bury me alive first.

 I watched the Rick Perry thing. He was on autopilot – not talking from the heart but from an internal autocue written by a spin doctor. When it malfunctioned he was lost. But we got to see the real him: a blushing, silly little boy who was a much more interesting person than the smooth politician he was pretending to be. That moment was much more human and real than anything else he tried to show in that debate.

That's what people are thinking when they chant, "Speech, speech." Yeah, OK, a little bit of: "Give me blood." But also: "Let me see the real you, even if it's flawed and you make mistakes." And, most importantly of all: "Thank God it's not me up there." Sometimes it's your turn to be in that place and you just have to suck it up and do your best. Invite me to your wedding anniversary.