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A couple of days of actual TV work this week, which aren’t a result of Taskmaster as they were in the diary before then. I’m back in the big time. It couldn’t get much nicer than today’s job, except, I suppose if I was hosting the show (but then it wouldn’t be such an amazing job). I was a guest on Gone Fishing with Bob Mortimer and Paul Whitehouse. And we were filming in an amazing cottage in the impossibly beautiful grounds of an extraordinary stately home.
Paul and Bob clearly love each other and the crew all love them too. I couldn’t believe I got to visit them from a couple of hours and it seemed none of them could believe that this was their job. It was painfully pleasant. Bob had kindly asked me on to talk a little bit about the last year and what men can do to take care of their balls - not in a fishing sense, though I imagine testicles might act as great bait for some bigger fish. Though only the most dedicated fishermen might be prepared to risk them. Bob cooked a meal and we sat by the river and ate it. I have bumped into Paul Whitehouse a couple of times (once back in the mid-nineties on the escalator at HMV) but don’t know him well. Both these fellas are just as you’d expect them to be and being on Gone Fishing is just as relaxing an experience as watching it. I would say they were lucky to have this job, but it’s nothing to do with luck. They are two of the most naturally talented comedians working in the world today.
Ted the dog, however, is nothing like he appears on screen and is the biggest prima donna I have worked with.
I am joking, of course. Even Ted is a delight and patiently put up with being dressed up and sat next to me.
I might have persuaded Paul to come on the podcast too (or rather Bob might have - I was too nervous to ask).
Obviously these men deserve everything they get, and whilst I might feel the slight pang of regret that my own career has not (as yet) led me to the level where I can get my crazy ideas on TV or where I could have a dream job like this, it’s impossible (and would be ludicrous) to begrudge them. And I know that I am not on their level and that I am amazingly fortunate that I get to step into their world, even for a fleeting visit. Joking about balls with Paul Whitehouse whilst eating butterbeans cooked for you by Bob Mortimer…. There’s only one lucky man in this situation.
Even my daughter couldn’t add “of losers†to end of this little big time.
I got home just in time to put my daughter to bed and she was keen to come up with a special secret handshake that we could share. I can not tell you what the handshake is, because it’s secret, but it’s pretty spectacular and it means a stupidly awful amount to me that she wanted to have one with me. She is resistant to showing me affection or admitting that she might love me (even though we both knows she does because I am awesome), so something like this is extra meaningful to me. She shows her love in different ways, one of which is telling me that she doesn’t love me. As much as I’d love a hug from her, she gets me. I am not sure I’ve ever had a secret handshake with anyone (never having joined the Masons), so that was a lovely topping on a ridiculous dessert of a day. I hope we can do the secret handshake for the rest of our lives.
RHLSTP with Alan Davies is now up here. It's very funny, but also pretty serious too. One of the best ones we've done.
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