On my way to record the links for the David Hasselhoff documentary (it will be broadcast in November on Radio 2) I was walking up to the tube. I was very tired and grumpy and weighted down with all the things I have to get done this week. I saw a charity mugger heading towards me. I neither had the time, nor the patience for this and resent this method of raising funds, which uses unreasonable coercion in my view and antagonises people. Obviously it works or it wouldn't proliferate, but I don't want anything to do with it. Much as I hate to talk about it, I already do a fair bit for charity. So I carried on walking and without even looking at the unfortunate guy whose job it was to hassle strangers I growled, "Don't even think about it," like some kind of uncharitable Clint Eastwood.
"But I know you," said the chugger, "I gigged with you at the Free Beer Show!"
It was a hard gear shift to go from the impolite and vaguely angry man I had just been to being friendly and I didn't make it all the way, ending up in neutral, saying something like "Oh right, did you? Hi!" but in an only halfway friendly manner. I felt bad about it though, partly because I had shown myself up to be an ungracious dick to someone who vaguely knew me. But I didn't stop to chat. I didn't think the fact he knew me made any difference. I don't like the manner of this approach. But I still felt like a bit of a prick afterwards. And I am sure he thought I was a prick too. But I haven't changed my mind about chugging.
After the voice over I rushed over Hammersmith to see
Comedians at the Lyric starring Reece Shearsmith, Matthew Kelly and my arch-enemy Uncool Ceith Allen. I had been looking forward to a rare night off and my first time at the theatre for quite some time. I hadn't really thought it through of course, because the play is unsurprisingly about comedians and the middle third is them all doing their acts. It was not much of a break from my regular routine.
But I still enjoyed the play overall.
Ceith Allen, was,
as you'd expect, awful.
I am, of course, just repeating his review of the 1988 Oxford Revue. It's taken over twenty years, but revenge is sweet. In actual fact he was pretty good. But then I extended the politeness to him of not turning up pissed, staying for more than the first five minutes and not jumping up on stage and moving his props around. There was a point where I thought about just running up there and kicking his chair away from him, or stealing his pad, or punching him in the face and shouting "Act now, you fucker" but I thought that I might blot my copy book with the Lyric and that Reece Shearsmith might not want to be my friend any more. So I left that particular revenge in my imagination.
The play was surprisingly relevant and given that it was written in the early seventies included some unexpected details. Matthew Kelly's character was intent on getting his proteges to reveal the truth and to veer away from stereotypes and one of the acts goes on to give an avant garde and strange theatrical performance, the like of which I had foolishly assumed did not come into vogue until the alternative comedy boom of the eighties. Ceith Allen's character wanted to book comedians who were just funny, regardless of any worth to their act or any worry about racism or sexism, funnily enough espousing Max Bygraves as the epitome of the art from (I believe that Uncool Ceith once did an almost cool thing when he was a stage hand at a Bygraves show, when he walked behind him fully nude - shame that Max Bygraves didn't choose tonight to exact his revenge).
It's an interesting play with some enjoyable performances, making some interesting points. I bought the script afterwards so I could have another look over it. It's a rare thing for a dramatist to capture what it means to be a comedian, or to be able to write believable routines, but Trevor Griffiths managed it.
And if you want to see some real comedians at the Lyric then the next comedy night is on the 25th. We've got Stephen Merchant, Tim Key, Paul Sinha and Doc Brown. There are only 125 tickets left so
book now if you want to come.
Probably uniquely in the packed audience tonight, I had to leave the aftershow party (where I could have been mingling with stars like Lily Allen and Alison Steadman) to rush back to Shepherd's Bush to do a gig. After that dissection of the art form it was a bit unsettling to have to step on stage and do my own act. I pretended to be cross to have been dragged away (especially given the fact that the reason I was dashing about was because of a mistake by the promoter who had booked me for tomorrow) and shouted at the audience for not enjoying my Mars Bar bit enough. But I was just experimenting, like the avant garde character in the play I had just seen. I left the audience similarly confused perhaps and managed to let out a little genuine anger at the inconvenience I had been put to on what should have been a rare night off. But at least by being whisked away I had avoided a confrontation with uncool Ceith. Though maybe that would have been a good thing.
