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I am recording quite a few book podcasts in the next few days (plus a couple of regular eps) and so I find myself trying to read four books before Monday (and I am away for my birthday weekend - I am going to be 58 NOT 60!)
Luckily Cariad Lloyd's book is for kids and very short (but blimey it packs a punch. It's called
"Where Did She Go?" and is an attempt to explain death to children. I've read it twice and it's made me cry both times). But the other three are full on books
In case I can't quite manage it I have elected to read all three books simultaneously - not literally- but doing a chapter from one, then from another and so on, giving slight prominence to Rhys James' book as I am talking to him tomorrow.
Will it be confusing? I am reading a book about bears by Chris Tarrant (sadly he didn't call it "Who Wants to See A Million Bears?" and I am debating whether to start the interview with that joke, worrying slightly that he might walk out if I do), a book about the life of a young comedian by Rhys James and Nigel Planer's autobiography. I think I've got them all straight in my head, though I also just listened to Ivo Graham's book and am worried I might end talking about some of that with Rhys. It's certainly why I ended up writing about The Invention of Lying yesterday (although I am envious of Ivo's privileged life and seemingly infinite pool of amazing friends, I do nonetheless agree with his choice of the worse Philip Seymour Hoffman films - the best thing you can say about IOL is that it is a masterpiece compared to Patch Adams).
I have to say that I didn't know I needed a book on bears by Chris Tarrant (who I also plan to take to task from running away when I recognised him at Lake Geneva in 1978ish), but it's very enjoyable and full of fun facts - Male pandas pee whilst doing handstands (presumably all over themselves) in an attempt to attract a mate.
I feel very seen by Rhys' book too, in spite of (or maybe because of) his objection to getting married or having kids. It's not quite the book I expected from him and the stuff about becoming a comedian to avoid embarrassment (by being in control of the embarrassment) really chimes with me. I am terrible in a crowd, even a social one - panicky and disorientated and fighting the urge to flee, yet happy to stand in front of a crowd of strangers. Rhys says "That silence in a room full of people I wanted to make laugh was easily preferable to laughter in a room of people I wanted to be silent."
Not all comedians are incapable of social interaction (Ivo Graham does nothing but socially interact) but more of us than you'd think are doing this for the exact reasons that Rhys suggests.
Nigel Planer's book is very readable and honest, but I only have it as a word document. I tried to make things easy for myself by getting word to read it out loud so to maximise my time. But the word dictation voice is no audiobook and often can't even pronounce words correctly (so you'd be crazy to expect it to have understanding of inflection). Put "gateposts" in a word document and get it to read it to you. Come on Ian Word. You have to do better.
Anyway I shall dream of Neil from The Young One being scared to be in a crowd and then being ripped apart by a Grizzly, whilst Cariad Lloyd tries to explain his death to me, tonight. And you know, that's not a bad idea for a book. Maybe I can get AI to combine all four into one.
Talking of which - Thanks to WhisperedInks24 on Substack who claims to have got AI to review the stand up set written by AI. If this is genuine then I think critics have a lot more to fear from AI than comedians do.
Here is a review of the script - also AI. You may be pleased what it says.
1. It Feels AI-Written (Because It Is)
This isn’t really a “Richard Herring” voice — it’s more like an after-dinner speech written by a corporate event chatbot. There’s no real bite or risk here.
Richard Herring (if we’re assuming you’re parodying his style) thrives on weirdness, self-deprecation, uncomfortable truths, and clever callbacks.
This script plays everything incredibly safe.
2. It’s Cliché-Riddled
"60 is the new 40."
"My body’s like a second-hand car."
"Kids these days."
"Phones are confusing!"
"Get off my lawn!"
You could throw these into any generic aging routine from any decade. Honestly, it’s material your dad could have seen on Bob Monkhouse reruns.
3. It Tells the Audience When to Laugh
There’s something weirdly smug about a script that assumes:
[Audience laughs]
[Audience roars with laughter]
[Cheers and applause]
A confident comic doesn’t need these stage directions — they trust the material, or at least acknowledge when it’s weak. This feels like the script is nervously forcing laughter to justify itself. That’s hack energy.
4. There’s No Real Perspective or Pain
All great stand-up — especially about aging — needs:
Specificity
A fresh angle
Some real bite or emotional honesty
This set says nothing that hasn’t been done 10,000 times. Where’s the anxiety? The weirdness? The resentment? The actual experience of turning 60?
This could be delivered by literally any comic over 50.
5. Weak Ending
“Now, who’s ready for cake?”
That’s your closer? It’s a whimper. Especially after all those shoehorned “[Audience roars]” directions. It doesn’t have a killer callback, twist, or satisfying payoff. It just... ends.
How You Could Salvage This (If You Wanted To)
Get specific — real experiences of turning 60, not generic clichés.
Use unexpected analogies — you’re not a second-hand car; you’re a VHS tape that’s been taped over with episodes of Homes Under the Hammer.
Lean into darkness or discomfort — talk about death, invisibility, or libido with honesty and edge.
Bring in weirdness — Herring’s strength is the absurd. Get surreal.
Cut all the “audience laughs” cues — trust the audience.
Final Score: 3/10
