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Last night I thought I might be getting better, but things were still a bit dodgy this morning. I tired to relax as much as possible, but touring is unrelenting and I needed to get to Peterborough. But at least I had had a decent sleep and the drive was OK. Perhaps my fragility was apparent though. They played “Three Lions†on 6Music and it almost made me cry. Not because I like football or even because I was excited about the Euros, but because it took me back to 1996. First I remembered hearing the song for the first time, before any of you did. Stewart Lee and me had an office in the Avalon offices in Leicester Square who also represented Baddiel and Skinner. We heard the song playing in an adjacent office and we were dismissive. Especially Stew who said, “It sounds like the fucking Wombles†(a line I later used in my play Punk’s Not Dead). We were both convinced it would sink without trace.
We were both wrong and I think it’s fair to say that it’s not only the most successful football anthem ever, but has more or less made other football anthem obsolete. And consequently, as my near tears in the car were showing, it’s very evocative and representative of 1996. I was emotional because so much time has passed and because the boy I was then was so full of hope and expectation and the man I am now has not fulfilled those hopes (though that’s not exactly a bad thing in many ways). It also made me think of Punk’s Not Dead, which as I have mentioned featured the song and also neatly captured the mood that summer, taking place in the optimistic days where England were through to the semi-final but hadn’t yet been knocked out. What a summer that was both for the country and for me. Again the nostalgia was tinged with regret. Punk’s Not Dead might be the best thing I ever wrote and yet (aside from the occasional amateur staging of it) nothing really happened with it. And now 20 years have gone by and it seems unlikely that I will become the writer that I hoped to be back then.
So feeling a bit poorly and reflective, I drove through the pouring rain experiencing that bitter sweet sensation that increasingly fills you when you get older and look back.
How can it be 20 years though? Come on.
Luckily I felt less ill by the time I got to the theatre and was able to represent myself well in front of a small, but enthusiastic Peterborough audience - I ever got a partial standing ovation at the end. It was only one group of people, but in an audience of this size that was a significant percentage.
We couldn't do the Scope collection tonight (I vented my mild annoyance at this - it's because the theatre is a charity and charities must not be allowed to help each other as they are all vying to destroy the other charities so they can be the only one). If you were there (or even if you weren't) and want to give a quid or two for your programme head to the Happy Now? Just Giving page.
The drive home was easier than I had feared it would be. I was not as wiped out as I had been last night. I flicked through the radio stations and hit Radio 4 Extra where I recognised Armando Iannucci’s voice. I realised this was one of his early 1990s shows, which I occasionally appeared on. And as he discussed going over to backstage at a fashion show a tiny bell was rung. Indeed there I was, playing Naomi Campbell (as a man with a gruff cockney accent) in a sketch that I had pretty much completely forgotten. In fact I couldn’t really remember anything about these shows beyond the fact that they were live and lots to it was ad-libbed. So this was another strange nostalgic experience, as I listened to me from another time, a time when Radio Rentals and double fronted tape decks still existed.
I don’t know if I really liked my old self too much. He sounded a bit over confident and I wasn’t too impressed with his acting (though the character of a pompous reviewer who gets everything objectively wrong almost didn’t sound like me). I know that I wasn’t over confident. This was a time that I doubted myself as a performer more than at any other time in my life and I was actually quite surprised to find out that Armando had had the confidence in me to let me “act†in the skits. I would never have been able to imagine that this show would be being broadcast a quarter of a century after we did it, but although it’s a bit ramshackle and weird (with some borderline embarrassing bits involving fans - and a refreshed Stewart Lee- ringing in) and though there are some dodgy bits about Fred West and female priests. But the rawness and danger of it is exciting and we were young and finding our way and it’s still packed with ideas and has an amazing line-up of Armando, Rebecca Front, Peter Baynham and David Schneider.
So weird to go back even further in my life and have the younger me communicate with me from the past. Tragically what he really needs is for me to be able to communicate with him, but he couldn’t hear me, no matter how much I shouted at him to shut the fuck up. Why can’t we send radio signals back through time? It would be so much better.
So odd to be randomly presented with your younger self. Neither pleasant or unpleasant overall. Just a mindfuck and timequake all in one.
But it was pretty much all new to me and I really enjoyed listening to the show. And what a load of amazing stuff the contributors would go on to create. What a powerhouse of UK comedy came out of those early 1990s radio shows.
But only one of the contributors was playing to 100 people in Peterborough tonight, so I think we know who the winner is.
I am kidding. I am obviously the best one. One day the world will catch up. Steve Whoogan? That’s what the people will be saying in 25 years.
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