Tonight off to the Hackney Empire for the
Malcolm Hardee tribute show. It was a long old night and I was in the final section and the audience were drunk and restless in an entertaining and appropriate way, given the man we were celebrating.
Milton Jones did an amazing job of rousing the spirits of the mob with an assured and finely crafted set of brilliant one liners, but I had to immediately follow Otto Kuhlne who had been playing a gigantic Alpen horn.
I did OK. I thought I might fall victim to some of the braying mob at the back to begin with, but I managed to retain control and just about won everyone round. The mime of what the correct playground sign for homosexuality should have been got everyone laughing, which in a venue of this size was an enjoyable sound.
Steve Bennett's review on Chortle is pretty much on the money. But I was very glad to have got through it all unscathed.
The memories of playing Malcolm's club in the early 90s still hung around me like a bad fart. Maybe I am nearly at a point now where I have shaken this off, but it's taken a long time and the ghosts (fart ghosts) were certainly there tonight. The self-conscious Oxford Revue boy was looking over my shoulder and not totally without cause. Lovely Nick Wilty made a joke about having been at Cambridge with me after I had done my stuff. It wasn't malicious and aimed as much at himself as at me. But it wasn't something he said about Simon Munnery who actually did go to Cambridge unlike me. But brilliant Munnery has earned the respect he has in the comedy world and my paultry two years of stand-up means I still some distance from that kind of reception. Hopefully this tricky, but fun gig at least puts me a step closer to that.
I had thought about talking about Malcolm in the set, but luckily decided against it. The truth is that I don't have too many stories about him. He wasn't supportive towards me when I started out, because I think he correctly ascertained that I wasn't very good. I don't know if he remembered me as being the Oxford Revue boy that he had mocked on TV (I very much doubt it), but in any case I wasn't doing anything interesting and didn't really like stand up back then and so didn't deserve his patronage. Clearly his love of Munnery and Lee shows he didn't have a chip on his shoulder about the Oxbridge thing. I'm not saying this in a self pitying way. I am just trying to be honest.
I was going to talk about the only encounter with Malcolm that I really recall, to demonstrate to the audience that I didn't think Malcolm like me. One of the funny things he enjoyed doing was unexpectedly kneeing men in the testicles for no obvious (immediate) reason. Not lightly, but with real force. He supposedly did this to an unpopular and snide journalist on one occasion, causing him some physical damage. He attempted to do the same thing to me one time at the Glastonbury Festival. I can't quite remember the full details, but am pretty sure I managed to anticipate the move at the last minute and only got lightly injured. Whether he had selected me as someone who deserved this punishment, or whether it was random, I don't know. I was quite emotionally insecure at the time and it probably upset me a bit.
But I was going to say that I quite admired the policy, even if it was done vindictively, rather than as a piece of performance art. After all, it's a good way of ensuring that men you feel are not worthy do not go on to procreate. He was maybe attempting to provide a service to mankind. And to be honest he certainly got it right with the journalist, so maybe he had a point about me too. And I haven't procreated yet, so maybe the glancing blow did its job.
I was talking about this to Munnery and Lee the other day when we were talking about Ted Chippington and Simon said that it was odd that a man with such famously gigantic testicles would have so little regard for the testicles of others. You'd think the vulnerability of his own swinging McSquirter twins would have meant that he wouldn't have been so disrespectful to others. I thought it was an interesting and funny point and had considered making it on the night, but am pleased I didn't as it would have come across as self-pitying (which this isn't meant to be) and b) telling that audience that Malcolm hated me would surely have been enough to ensure that they hated me as well.
And I don't dislike Malcolm for these confusing actions and especially now I can understand much more what he was about. And whilst the 1990 Richard Herring didn't belong in his world, the 2007 Richard Herring just about does. And looking at the crazy, funny and unfunny things that were going on around me that made me feel pretty good.
My favourite moment was when MC Nick Wilty attempted to vault on to the stage from the audience whilst holding a pint of Guinness. Not only did he not make it, his pint went predictably flying all over him and the stage. It was the inevitability of that and the stupidity of trying that made it so perfect.
I left as naked men were standing on stage, making no attempt to cover their genitalia with balloons, which was the supposed point of their routine. Martin Soan mumbled into the microphone, his genitalia on display for all to see. It was a fitting tribute.
I was glad to be there and glad to help commemorate the man who possibly attempted to prevent the birth of my children. If I am father to the new Hitler, people are going to rue his failure.
