Greg Davies: Firing Cheeseballs at a Dog

This programme contains strong language

This programme contains adult humour

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage Greg Davies.

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

How lovely. Thank you very much.

Hello, hello, hello, all right? Hello. ALL: Hello.

Thanks for coming, nice to be here.

Um... Yes, well, there we are.

A quick flash through my childhood

and there is the horrific up-to-date specimen.

Nice to have this immortalised.

Hello. ALL: Hello.

I'll apologise, before we start, for this shirt.

As you can see, it is clearly for a man three feet shorter than me.

I thought I'd got away with it because I've done

that classic fat-man thing of combining an ill-fitting shirt

with a T-shirt,

not realising that this clearly also doesn't fit me.

I can only apologise to you and the people at home, indeed.

As I get more animated during the show, as I surely will...

I don't know what that was.

..you're going to see a lot more of me than you bargained for.

I'm very sorry. The only thing I can offer to put ladies at ease

is that I am of no sexual threat whatsoever.

I'm 42 years of age, I literally have to hit it with nettles.

Sex with me these days is akin to thumbing marshmallows

into the anus of a cat.

Thought I'd start low, build it up.

There's kind of two versions of the show - clean and dirty.

I'm going to go with dirty, based on that reaction.

My show, ladies and gentlemen, is called Firing Cheeseballs At A Dog.

Why is that, Greg? Why is that, Greg? I'll tell you.

I went on holiday last year with a friend and colleague of mine,

Marek Larwood. Yay! He's a small bald man. There we are.

Some people know him, he's hilarious. We decided...

And this is an insult to every person in the country with a job.

We decided, last year,

that through our work, we had become incredibly stressed.

Now, look at what I do for a living. It's not hard work, right?

We thought we were terribly stressed.

"We will have to go and discover ourselves!"

We hired a remote cottage on a mountainside in Andalucia in Spain.

Two things happened in the remote hideaway

that gave the show its title.

Number one, day one, I almost died. Right?

QUIET LAUGHTER Thank you.

I got electrocuted. I genuinely got electrocuted.

I picked up a wire in this cottage,

thinking it was just an innocent wire. It was live.

I took 300 volts through my fat carcass,

I danced off the end of that wire

like an out-of-shape epileptic Michael Flatley.

It was one of the more humiliating sights you will ever see -

a 6'8", 20-stone man screaming like a child.

I was going, "No, please! Please! Let me live, let me live!"

I finally freed myself from the thing,

I ran round to find Marek.

I went, "Did you not hear me?" He went, "What?"

I said, "Did you not hear me screaming?

"I've just been electrocuted!" This is a side point, really.

He said, "Yes, I heard you screaming.

"I just thought you'd seen a spider."

To make me scream like that,

it would have to have been a giant spider

with Peter Mandelson on its back, wanking.

I managed to calm myself down and waited for what I think is

a God-given right for anyone who's almost died -

I waited for my epiphany.

The moment where I would understand life,

cos if you almost die, that's what happens, right?

You suddenly understand life better.

I waited for ten hours. I gave up in the end and fell asleep.

Day two, incident two,

Marek and I came down the little winding concrete track

from the house on the hill in our hire car to buy provisions

for the whole week away.

Now, I am an adult, right? I am 42 years of age, hard to believe.

LAUGHTER

Marek is an adult.

After one hour of shopping for seven days away,

we returned up the mountain track with two things.

I had bought a massive bag of these - Cheeseballs.

They are a round, Wotsit-like snack, they are nutrition-free,

they will sustain a human being for six fucking seconds.

If you think THAT'S pathetic, Marek had bought a catapult.

That's it, right? For a whole week away.

We were driving back up the mountain track going,

"Yeah, that'll do! We'll survive on that for a whole week!"

When we met the first character of my story,

we met this character here. A dog. It was the dog.

It was sitting in the middle of the track,

blocking the path of the hire car.

If I'm honest with you, it pissed me off straight away.

I gave it a little beep on the horn. In my mind, the dog did this.

What the fuck is this?

I gave him another little beep and in my mind, the dog did this.

Oh, my God.

So I gave him a third beep and in my mind, the dog did this.

("MEXICAN" ACCENT) "Yes! Yes, my friend!

"I block your path!

"I will...

"I will not move for you!

"And yes, that's right - I am a Mexican dog!"

"You weren't expecting THAT in Spain, were you?

"If any of the other shows on my tour are anything to go by,

"I could become French in a minute!"

("FRENCH" ACCENT) "I will not move for you!" I'm pretty French already.

"I will not move for you!

"I will block your path!

"And I will flagrantly lick my penis and testicles,

"without so much of a hint of a bad back..."

(NORMAL VOICE) "Unlike you when you were 14...

"and you only managed to get the tip in." Right.

Deal with it, it happened.

It wasn't going to move. It wasn't going to move.

Then we realised... we had everything we needed.

I got the massive bag of Cheeseballs out. Marek got the catapult out.

Not a word went between us. We knelt down and, one by one,

we fired a whole family bag of snacks

into that arrogant prick's face.

Ladies and gentlemen, I laughed my bollocks off.

That's when it happened.

That's when I got the epiphany that I should have had 24 hours earlier,

because, as I fired crisps into that confused animal's face,

I thought, "Oh, my God,

"this is as good as life gets."

Because when I was firing crisps into a dog's face,

I wasn't worried about my past, I wasn't worried about the present,

about health, about my parents, about the future.

I would just thinking, "If I hit him in the nose often enough,

"it will turn orange."

It was liberating.

I was laughing for an hour afterwards.

After one hour I was still, "Hee-hee-hee!"

Two hours, "Ooh-ha-ha-ha!"

On hour three, I thought, "This isn't normal.

"You shouldn't be laughing at this any more. It's not that funny."

So I did bit of psychoanalysis on myself and I worked it out.

I've worked out that I inherited two things off my mum.

Number one, massive tits.

Number two, a glass-is-half-empty approach to life.

Whatever I'm doing, I think it's going to go wrong.

Whatever I'm looking forward to,

I think it's going to get cancelled and someone is going to die.

It is the worst way to live your life,

because you are never truly present.

You are never just DOING something, you're thinking outside it,

worrying about what's happened or what's about to happen.

For once, when I was firing crisps at a dog,

I was just DOING something, right?

I thought, this is how I want to remember my life.

I want to look back on my life and remember only the times

where I was lost in time, just doing something.

I thought, I wonder if I can sustain a whole life story

using that system. You'd think no. Yes!

Let's crack on with the main narrative.

Years one to ten. I will cover years one to ten in one incident.

I will summarise that incident with the word AWKWARD.

Because I want to remember the first time ever

that I was lost in space just doing something.

I've remembered it, it's my first memory.

I was three years of age, I was sitting in a pram

outside a supermarket, waiting for my mum to do her shopping.

She'd left me outside, on my own at three years of age.

It would appear, in the early 1970s, there weren't any paedophiles.

I'll do a little diagram of this for you.

I was sitting in a pram, here's the pram. Yes, there it is.

Here's the little wheels. Look, there they are. Yes.

Here's little Greg.

Little three-year-old Greg, smiling away. There he is. Nice.

Here's his legs.

Here's his fucking arms, look.

It looked like someone had tried to Sellotape

a spider monkey into an egg cup.

I've seen the pictures, humiliating. Half child, half mutant octopus.

I was sitting there minding my own business

when a little old lady came up.

She put an ice pop in my hand and I remember like it was yesterday.

I took it off her, I started eating the ice pop,

I didn't give a shit who she was,

I didn't give a shit where my mum had gone.

I was just eating an ice pop. I was just there, in time. Nice memory.

I thought! Until I told my mum about it.

She said, "I remember that, love.

"There's something about that you don't remember."

I went, "I'm sorry?"

She said, "I came out of the supermarket, love,

"and that old lady was still there and you are eating your ice pop

"and she looked down at you and when she realised I was your mum,

"she looked up at me and said only these words..."

This is a real quote.

"Oh, I'm so sorry for you. THAT is a shame."

What the fuck is that?

That is an adult saying to my mother,

"I am so sorry that your foetid vagina

"threw up this aborted Mr Tickle.

"Take it home and stamp it to death."

They're not all going to be happy memories, that's my point.

11 to 18, secondary school, formative years.

I was quite bullied in secondary school,

but I won't mention that because this is a comedy show.

Instead, I will just mention a man first of all. This man here.

FAT CHAN!

Here he is. Yes, please.

Fat Chan was the name of the head teacher at my school.

Obviously, not his real name. It was a nickname we gave him.

It was a nickname, ladies and gentlemen,

that was 50% accurate.

Fat Chan, as you can see from my diagram, was certainly fat.

Tick.

He wasn't, however, of a racially Oriental background.

We called him Fat Chan

because he had slightly slittier eyes than an average person.

Let me tell you, in 1980s Shropshire,

that kind of racism was entirely acceptable.

Names.

I was shitting myself about being bullied when I went to school.

My mother pulled me to one side and she said this.

She said, "You listen to me, Greg Davies.

"The bullies, yeah?

(LISPING) "They can take your sweets, they can take your..."

I'm sorry, I've no idea why my mum sounds like a camp man.

(CAMPLY) "They can take your sweets."

She was wearing a ruffled shirt.

She said, "They can take your sweets.

"They can take your dinner money.

"They can take your clothes..." Which was a strange one.

She said, "..but I'll tell you

"what they can't take off you, Greg Davies.

"They can never take your name. We gave you that.

"No-one can take your name off you. That's yours for ever."

Well, ladies and gentlemen, that, of course, is horseshit, isn't it?

As I think I have already proved with Fat Chan.

Children can take your name in a heartbeat with no reason,

with no reason.

I can prove it. I've prepared some for you.

These are all genuine nicknames from my year group at school.

Not even my whole school. This is my year group. They are all real.

Feast your eyes on these.

I've not made any of them up. Tell me how fair you think they are.

Badback, boy in my year.

I'll throw this in for you, a bit of side fun.

He was round at my mum's house a couple of weeks ago,

fitting a new shower.

Badback was called Badback for five school years

because on ONE DAY,

he had a bad back.

It wasn't a re-occurring injury.

He came in one day and went,

"I've got a bit of a bad back today, lads."

We went, "Right, that's you fucked for five years. Lovely."

Polly, slightly more sinister.

He had a nasty burn down one of his arms.

It would appear on that occasion, Polly...

put the kettle on his arm, so that's...

Don't shoot the messenger!

Spunk Eye AKA Popeye.

Two nicknames, one boy, Stephen Jenkins,

let me tell you how Stephen got those nicknames

using only the facts.

Because I was there, this is what happened, ready?

Stephen Jenkins was in a science lesson.

He rubbed his eye...

It went a little bit red.

There are NO MORE FACTS associated with either of those names.

Within 24 hours, everyone was calling him Popeye,

because the rumour went round that he had rubbed his eye so hard

it had popped out onto his cheek!

And he chased everyone round like a Doctor Who monster.

A work of fiction, right?

Then someone overheard him in the corridor say

"I quite like the nickname Popeye"

and a whole school year went, "Well, that's not fucking happening!"

So, a new rumour went round that we all believed.

That Stephen Jenkins was in a science lesson,

POWER-WANKING...

and a jet of teenage spunk

had flew out of the end of his cannon-like penis,

knocked his eye out of his head,

and it flew out of a window and into the playground.

A total work of fiction.

A nice short one this, he was a boy called Kevin

and he had long hair. Lovely.

This is my favourite, Baghdad. I still know this man.

David. He's a friend of mine.

He's still called Baghdad.

He's 43 years of age, he is a father of three,

he has his own business...

He got it at age 11 and you might be thinking,

"Well, maybe it was some clever connection with the Middle East?"

"Oh, that's why David got the name Baghdad!

"That's clever!" No.

David was called Baghdad after the first summer of school,

because he came in with a new bag...

..that he informed us...

had been bought for him...

..by his dad!

30 years!

30 years I've been laughing at that!

And here's the best bit. His kids call him Baghdad!

So, I've been kind of gathering nicknames on my tour so far.

My favourite audience suggestions are as follows.

That one made me laugh...

That one pleased me...

And this last one I think is the greatest nickname of all time.

Arrogant statement, but I'll prove it.

I think this gentleman was in Birmingham, he was a lovely,

very camp 18-year-old who was sitting in the front.

I went, "What's your nickname?" and he said, "It is Gandhi still."

I said, "Why're you called Gandhi?" "Because I'm Andy,

"and I'm gay and they just..."

Think this was in Scotland. He'd had half an ear bitten off in a fight

and I went, "Right 18 months, why?"

And he said, "Oh, ear and a half." Lovely!

In my opinion, the greatest nickname of all time, Mumbo.

And the reason I think that is because he was fucked off still.

He was about 45 and he was angry.

I saw him out of the corner of my eye, his friends were going, "Tell him yours!"

He was going, "Fuck off!"

I went, "Go on, mate! Tell us! It's only a bit of a laugh!"

He says, "OK. It was Mumbo, all right?"

I went, "OK, it's fine, it was a long time ago!"

"Why were you called Mumbo?" And this is how he said it.

He goes, "Well, because apparently my mum's got BO!"

Not even anything he'd done!

He just had a stinky fucking mum!

21 to 33. The dark years!

And I made the worst decision of my entire life.

I decided at 21 it would be a good idea to become a teacher.

Not a pretend telly teacher, a real teacher.

I did the hard yards for that fucking part!

Any teachers here?

Awesome! Primary or secondary. Primary?

Not really teaching, is it?

I'm joking, of course!

I think teachers are amazing and I shouldn't be taking the piss

out of a primary school teacher, because I used to teach drama!

I say teach... "What are we doing today, Sir?"

"Make up a play, see you in an hour!"

"What about homelessness?" Whatever!

The one thing that got me through it was the kids.

Because kids' behaviour, and even parents will agree with me on this,

kids behaviour is all of the following things -

it is wonderful, it is horrific

and it is - my favourite - really fucking odd.

I taught a group of children in North London.

They are the strangest group of human beings

I have ever seen assembled in one place together, right?

You can all relax, they weren't special needs!

I'll talk you through some of them.

There was a child called Marwood in that group.

Never believed that was his real name.

He was the king of the weirdos and I'll prove it with one description.

I once said to him, "Hey, Marwood, what you going to do when you leave school?"

No hesitation. He goes, "I'm going to be one of two things, sir.

"I'm going to be a train driver or a gynaecologist."

I said, "They're rather contrasting professions, Marwood."

He didn't pause, he went, "No, you're right, sir. They are.

"I suppose, at the end of the day, I just like tunnels!"

Ginger Pete. Naughtiest child I ever taught.

This kid, he was in trouble 20 times a day, serious trouble,

he had one redeeming feature.

He admitted to anything he'd done straight away.

We didn't have to waterboard Ginger Pete, he'd just tell you.

And I'll prove it.

I once came to my drama studio and in big letters on the door, a child had written this.

"Mr Davies is a bellend."

And I went in and I went "Eh? Sorry?!

"Has anyone seem what's been written on my door?

"Because I actually find that very offensive."

And they all went... HE MUMBLES

I went, "Seriously, who's written "Mr Davies is a bellend" on the door?"

This is what Ginger Pete did. "Oh, yeah, that was me, sir!"

I forgave him 90% there and then. I forgave him 100% when I realised

he'd included the word Mr. Mr Bellend, that's respect!

There was a child called Gavin in the group.

When you were at school, any of you,

and you didn't believe something that someone was saying to you,

how many of you here would use this physical motion?

Now, at my school, we used to say "chinny reckon".

To this day, I don't know what "chinny reckon" means.

I've discovered that around the country,

people had different ones, so what did you say?

-Jimmy Hill.

-Jimmy Hill! Old school!

-Nice! It's the chin...

-Desperate Dan.

Desperate Dan, that's lovely! Even older school! Anyone else? What?

-Arsehole.

-What?

-Arsehole.

-Arsehole. Seriously? Arsehole?

Is that honestly what you said? Arsehole? You went to a convent?

Well, that explains it!

I heard one the other day that I've never heard before,

which I think is amazing. Tutankhamen, which is lovely.

If it's a really big lie, Tutankhamen all the way to the moon.

At the school I taught at, it was just the word beard, that's it.

Beard. Don't believe you, beard. Beard.

But Gavin hadn't been through puberty yet, so he said it like this.

(HIGH-PITCHED) Beard! Beard!

I would go, "Gavin, how are you today?" "Beard!"

"No, I said how are you today?" "Beard!" "Gavin, how are you today?"

"Beard!" And then for the whole lesson. "You're not in our group." "Beard!"

"Gavin, stop messing around!" "Beard!" "Gavin, give me my coat back!" "Beard!"

"Gavin, get off the chair!" "Beard! Beard! Beard! Beard!"

50 times a lesson, every week, he was a fat prick!

There was a child that more than made up for him, though. Karen Powell.

My favourite pupil that I ever taught.

Karen was 11 years of age and she had two fascinating characteristics.

No!

Number one, her internal compass was fucked.

For some reason, she was 20 minutes late to every single lesson,

I don't know why. Number two, even though

she was 11, she spoke like a repressed 1940s housewife.

You will think I'm exaggerating this impression, I'm not.

This is how she spoke. "Hello, sir, how are you today?"

I'd be biting through my fucking lip trying not to laugh when she came in.

I would go, "I'm all right, thanks, Karen, yeah. How are you?"

She would say, "I'm very well!"

I'll give you an idea of her compass.

She once came to see me after a lesson and she went,

"Excuse me, sir, could I have a word with you, please?"

I went, "Always, Karen."

She said, "I just wanted to say something to you.

"I thought that my performance in your lesson today was a little below par."

"I thought you were excellent." "That's very kind. That's very kind. No, but no...

"No, I thought my characterisation was paper thin,

"my use of space was appalling and my group work was an abomination.

"And if you would permit me, I would like to offer you my most humble of apologies."

I said, "You listen to me, Karen Powell.

"You never need to apologise to me, young lady.

"You are my favourite pupil.

"Because you make me laugh my fucking head off."

"Now go outside and enjoy your lunch time. You've deserved it.

She said, "Do you know what, sir? I think I will."

Now, at the time, I was depressed. I didn't want to be there.

I blamed them for trapping me there.

And one of the worst things - any teacher will tell you -

is the amount of paperwork we have to do.

You have to do a thing called a scheme of work.

You have to plan, for years, for all year groups, for all ability groups,

take into consideration pupils' personalities, everything.

Takes hours, weeks.

I didn't want to do any of that, cos I was depressed and I hated them.

So I created one lesson

for all children.

It was called

CLOSE UP TO MIC: Space Mission.

And it was a clinically depressed man reading from an empty book,

it was blank, I used to read out this space mission,

they would act it out in shuttle groups around the room,

they'd act it out in silence, I'd make it up as I was going along,

at the end of the lesson, I'd fuck off, that was it, right?

The only mistake I made was that they loved it.

I didn't want them to, I hated them. But they loved it.

So I would be sitting in between lessons like this.

"Kill me, please." And they would come into my lesson like this.

"Can we come in, sir?

"Can we come in?

And I go, "Yes. Come in."

They'd go, "Oh! Are we doing Space Mission again?

"Are we doing Space Mission today?"

And I'd go, "Yes, we're doing Space Mission. Get into your shuttles.

SHOUTING: "Get into your shuttles!"

And they'd go running into their little shuttles.

I'd go, "All right, yes, calm down.

"Right, where were we last week?" All the hands.

"Yes, Alan, where were we?"

"Sir, we were on the surface of a dangerous planet."

"We were, weren't we, Alan? I'm glad you told me, because I can't fucking remember.

"And how were we feeling? Sophie?"

"Oh, we were nervous, we were nervous and excited!"

"We were, weren't we, Sophie? We were so nervous, so excited.

"And what did the commander of all the shuttles say?"

I let Marwood answer this. This is a real conversation with me and that boy.

"Yes, Marwood. What did the commander of the shuttle say?"

"Oh, no, sir, I want to ask you a question."

I went, "OK, fine, thanks." He said, "Can you do the lambada?"

I said, "No, I can't." He went, "OK. Thanks, carry on."

I'd start the lesson, right.

I used to have a mic in my hand, pathetic, just to make myself laugh.

Control of the drama studio lights. I'd go, "Right, let's start."

CLOSE UP INTO MIC: "Space Mission.

"Episode 143."

"And so, our brave warriors were on the surface of the dangerous planet.

"They were all very, very frightened."

"Beard!" "Yes, they were, Gavin!" INAUDIBLE

"They decide...

"They decided they would take off from the dangerous planet,

"so they strapped themselves in."

Then the door would open. CREAKING "I'm sorry I'm late, sir."

"That's fine, Karen. Go and join Ginger Pete's group."

"They fired the boosters."

All of them shaking, they were convinced they were taking off.

"Oh! We're taking off!" On their little stools, and I'd look at them and I'd think,

"I want you all fucking dead."

So I'd change the story just to piss them off.

I'd go, "And then something awful happened." "Ah! What happened?"

"The power failed."

I'd go to red.

They would shit themselves.

And I'd go, "Yes!"

"Yes, my little friends. The power failed.

"And each of them thought about their mummies and daddies..."

"..who they'd never see again."

"And one by one, each of the astronauts thought, 'Oh, God.'"

"'How did I get here?'"

"'In this little, dark space with these people.'"

"'I mean, I worked so hard at school.'"

"'They said at college I'd definitely get acting work.

"'Just because I was tall, they said.

"'And yet here I am.

"'Trapped with these little rats, eating my soul from inside.

"'It's like the slowest death of all time.

"'It's awful. It's fu...'"

"Excuse me, sir? Is this part of the story?"

"No, it's not, Karen, I do apologise."

"And then, in the darkness, they heard footsteps." "Ah!"

"No!" "Yes!"

"Oh, Sir! What is it?"

"Fuck knows!"

"And then, just for a second,

"the whole window was filled with one giant set of teeth!"

I go to blackout, they'd go mental.

I'd put the lights back on, and I go,

"Yep, well, that's it for this lesson, kids.

"Find out what happens next time." And they'd all go,

"Ah! He's the greatest teacher of all time!

"He's the greatest teacher of all time."

And I'd go out to the back of the drama studio and smoke and cry.

On that particular occasion, Karen Powell made me laugh harder than I think I can ever remember laughing.

She walked past me and I went, "See you next lesson, Karen."

And she went, "Perhaps."

I said, "Perhaps? Did you not enjoy that?"

She goes, "No, I didn't, actually." I said, "But you love drama."

She goes, "Yes, but I didn't enjoy that very much."

I said, "Why not?" She said, "I'll tell you."

"I'm pretty sure that during that blackout, yeah?

"Pretty sure, not 100%,

"I'm pretty sure that someone tried to pull my trousers and pants down."

And I went, "Who the hell did that?"

And Ginger Pete went, "That was me, sir!"

I thought I was going to laugh in her face.

I managed to stop myself by bollocking him,

full-on bollocking, and he stopped me and said -

the greatest quote I think I've ever heard -

"Hang on, Sir, sorry. I feel awful, I'm really sorry. I feel really guilty about Karen.

"I just thought it was the opportunity of a lifetime."

33 to present day, the home stretch. SHOUTS: Old!

Not quite in keeping with the rest of the show, this.

I do try and keep it light.

But I find the aging process extremely difficult.

The build up to being 40 is horrific.

A lot of middle-aged men get very angry with young people.

I'm not one of those men. I love seeing the kids have a nice time.

Some lovely young, fresh faces here. It's nice.

Just prove it to you now.

Hello. Hello. What's your name?

-Lucy.

-Hello, Lucy. Welcome to the show.

APPLAUSE

-And tell me, Lucy. How old are you?

-21.

-21.

Do you like being 21, Lucy?

Course you do, it's amazing.

It's amazing, isn't it? Lucy...

Do you know what happens when you get to 42?

I'll tell you. Look at me.

You walk past a nightclub, Lucy,

no-one offers you a flyer.

APPLAUSE AND CHEERING

What the fuck is that?

Like I don't want to throw some shapes.

Like I don't know exactly who the renegade master is.

D for Damage, with the ill behaviour.

Erm, you know...

You know when I knew I was officially middle-aged? Hang on.

Well, here's one of the moments.

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE Don't! Don't patronise me.

You know when I knew I was officially middle-aged?

I was in a shop called FCUK about three months ago.

I shouldn't have been in there, Lucy. Look at the fucking state of me.

But I was in there,

and I was feeling pretty depressed about none of the clothes fitting,

me being too old or too fat or too tall for them.

I was feeling pretty low, when I realised in the background there was

a song playing from my youth, and it made me happy in an instant, right?

It was a song by a band called Dead Or Alive.

Who remembers Dead Or Alive? CHEERING

What was their biggest hit? SHOUTS FROM THE AUDIENCE

You Spin Me Round. You Spin Me Round, Lucy.

A 1984 classic slice of high-energy, gay pop disco.

In 1984 I had one thing on my mind, right?

It was a girl I was totally in love with, called Nicola Francis.

I was absolutely obsessed with her, right? Totally besotted by her.

And just for a side note, again, for you,

I saw her about three months ago for the first time in all those years.

Lucky escape.

Erm... Munter. Munter.

Er... HE CHUCKLES

Says me!

At the time I loved her, you know?

And every time I walked past her, for some reason,

that song seemed to be playing in the background, summing up my feelings, right.

It's not Shakespeare, Lucy. It's a simple sentiment.

"You spin me right round, baby, right round, like record, baby."

That's a music storage system.

"Like a record, baby, right round." Here's the twist - "round, round."

Not Shakespeare, but it reminds me of a happy time, of a simple time.

So it made me happy.

Until I realised I wasn't listening to the original.

I was listening to a cover version by a gentleman called Flo Rida.

Some of the young people may be familiar with Flo's work.

Flo's taken a bit of artistic licence with a dance classic

and reworded it in the following way.

And this is when I knew I was officially middle-aged,

cos I promise you, I heard that lyric

and out loud in a shop I reacted like this...

"Oh, no!"

I thought, "Can we not have ONE song?!

"One song in the hit parade that doesn't allude

"to munching away on each other's private parts?!"

I'll tell you something else, Lucy, maybe I shouldn't,

maybe this is inappropriate but I'm going to...

At 42, I don't make the effort to go down very often these days.

If it's a special occasion - a birthday, something like that...

I'll tell you kids what I don't want to look up and see,

and that's someone's fucking head spinning round.

Like a massive owl!

SHOUTS: Is that what you want, you young people?!

To see me, a 42-year-old man, licking the vagina of a massive owl?!

LAUGHTER

A man old enough to be Lucy's father,

lapping away at the soft folds of a seven-foot hooting bird?!

You can't even get owls that big!

It would have to be the owl from Jason And The Argonauts!

"Oh, Jason the Mighty Owl doth block our path."

"Bring forth Gregious of Shropshire,

"he will move the beast by lapping away at its feathery growler!"

You are fucking sick, you children.

Warning...

Warning is a poem that I used to do with the kids

when I was briefly an English teacher before I was...discovered.

It's a nice poem, you know. It's by a woman called...

HE LAUGHS I've just realised this...

Look at this device that they've used to hide my water.

LAUGHTER Why?

Why? Were you all going to go, "Look at that water, it's disgusting!

"Fucking water on stage!" There.

"I don't want to look at a fresh bottle of water! Fuck!"

I mean, what were you thinking?

Did you think it would be a magic trick halfway through?

I'm quite thirsty, ah!

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

That's right, I reached into the darkness and I had water.

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

I like the poem. This young woman says she wants to become a pensioner

and the reason is she thinks that her youth has been boring.

She thinks that she's wasted those golden years

by being sober,

she says she wants to make up for the sobriety of her youth,

it's a nice sentiment.

I like it because it tells young people to stop messing about,

get on with life, and it also paints an incredible picture of old age, I think.

"If we're all heading towards a period where at last

"we're ourselves and we're free, then bring on old age,"

is what I thought when I first read the poem.

However...

If Jenny Joseph met my dad...

..and saw the way that he's been behaving for the last few years,

she would rip her poem up and put it in the bin

because he - has gone - too - far.

He said to me, two years ago, before Christmas, this.

"Son, I'm 72."

I said, "I'm aware of that." He said, "Yes.

"I've decided that from now on I should behave exactly as I see fit."

I thought of Jenny Joseph straight away and I said, "I would welcome that, Dad."

He said, "Well, I'm glad you agree because this year,

"when you come home for Christmas, I shall be wearing a festive outfit."

I went, "All right, then."

I got home for Christmas, he was wearing his festive outfit.

I swear to you, it was one giant pair of white underpants

that stretched from his knees to just below his nipples.

Just BELOW his nipples.

So much more offensive than just above,

and a novelty Santa hat with a flashing bulb on the end.

And he came downstairs, and this is a quote, "D'you like?"

I said, "I find it a bit challenging."

He said, "I don't give a shit what you think."

Then he went off to eat some cheese.

This is where it gets weird.

I went out that night with some of the people in my home town.

Midnight, in our home town,

my mother tells me in anticipation of me coming home he did this.

He went upstairs in his Panta outfit...

He went to my mother's sheet drawer,

he took out a double white sheet, he placed that over his head,

he went out into their garden and he hid in a bush.

With a view to giving me, his then 40-year-old son,

a bit of a scare!

Now, presumably, my mother is so sick of his shit,

that she decided not to tell him

something that she full well knew - that on that occasion,

I'd stayed over at a friend's house.

And she left a 72-year-old fat man with a sheet on his fucking head

in a bush for two hours.

There's no punchline.

My mum just felt guilty,

after two hours, put her arm around him and went, "Come in, love.

"He's not coming home."

And he apparently got to the front door and said, "Oh, thank you, love.

"I was starting to get dreadfully chilly."

I've been trying to work out what's wrong with him for years.

I got my answer one year later.

We were sitting around the Christmas table,

my sister had come home with her baby and my brother-in-law

was looking after little Lucy in the other room, right?

We're sitting round the table, Dad was reading a broadsheet newspaper for all of Christmas lunch,

the only reason we knew it was him

was cos we could see his flashing Santa hat around the table.

My sister made up for being pregnant for the last year by drinking

nearly three bottles of wine to herself

and on Christmas Day she was, in old-fashioned parlance, shit-faced!

She said a word that rather put the cat amongst the pigeons.

She said the word "blow job."

Now, maybe your mums would be cool with that,

my mother is a very naive 67-year-old.

Lovely lady, but fiercely naive.

She heard the word "blow job" and this is how she reacted.

"I'm sorry, love, what was that word?"

My sister went, "Oh, God, I'm sorry, Mum. I'm drunk, I didn't mean to."

She goes, "It's fine, you say what you want around this house.

"You know that. This is your home.

"I just need you to explain to me

"EXACTLY WHAT A BLOW JOB IS."

My sister sobered up like this, right?

And then she started to panic and she went, "Seriously, Mum.

"It doesn't matter, I'm just drunk."

I went back 30 years in time, I went,

SHOUTS: "Yes, it does matter, Sharon!

"Yes, it does matter!"

"We can't be using words that Mum doesn't understand."

Mum went, "I would like to know what it means."

I said, "You've got every right to know what it means!

"What does it mean, Sharon?"

My sister was shuffling like a dog on parquet flooring.

I have never seen a woman look that uncomfortable.

I thought I would puke my liver up laughing.

I was hooting like an animal.

I stopped laughing when my sister made her decision,

which was to explain that particular sex act to my mum,

using the almost forgotten art of mime.

LAUGHTER

So... So she started going, "It's kind of a sexual thing, Mum."

I thought, "This is horrendous!"

And then it got 400 times worse,

cos my mum, to try and understand what was going on over here -

you're ahead of me already - decided that she would copy the mime.

So, I don't know how bad your Christmases have been in recent years,

but that one for me consisted of watching my mother and my sister

pumping air-cock in front of my face.

It was the most disturbing image I've ever seen,

and I've seen someone kill a pony with a golf club.

So my mum's going, "I don't know what this is at all, love.

"I don't know what any of these movements are. I don't know what any of this means.

"Why am I tickling under here? I don't know what that is"

Yes, it would appear my sister is... rather good.

LAUGHTER

She was in mid-mime, my mum, when she realised what she was doing. This image is burned on my mind.

"I don't know what any of this..." She was really going for it, she was properly wanking.

"I don't know what any of this is.

"I don't know what any of these movements are. What are they?

"I don't know any of these movements." Then she realised.

"I don't know any of these..."

"Oh, God.

"Oh, good God, no!"

And then she said something that I think many women in this room

might identify with.

She went, "Oh, no, love. Oh, no, no, no.

"No, I find it hard enough to touch one of those things,

"let alone put it in my mouth."

At which point, my dad summed up 40 years of marriage

and all of his weird behaviour with one look

from behind a newspaper that I will now demonstrate to you.

"Oh, no, love. Oh, God, no, no.

"I find it hard enough to touch one of those things,

"let alone put it in my mouth."

To his own fucking children!

Before I let you go home, the last section of my show

is called Selfish Mum.

Not for the reasons I've just outlined!

That'd be awful! "Come on, Mum, make an effort."

It's called Selfish Mum because at this point in the story,

my mum forces me to tell you something serious. I promised at the beginning of the show

that I wouldn't - you know, that it would just be moments in time.

But to get to where I want to get

before we all go out of here, I have to tell you something serious.

But I don't want you to think

that this is me hijacking the end of the show for some emotional...

where we all get to sing We Are The World, right?

There's no emotional... There's no sad end to this.

I'll ruin the story for you now by telling you that my mum is fine.

Everything I'm about to tell you, she got through, all right?

However...

..a year after "Blow-job-gate"...

..my mother ruined Christmas by having a massive heart attack.

It was horrible. It was horrific. Of course it was horrific.

My sister was looking after her now two children,

so she couldn't go home.

My mum was having an operation to essentially save her life,

so my dad was on his own, so I went home to see him.

Now, you've probably got an idea of my dad. He's brilliant.

He's a brilliant dad

and he's dealt with every crisis we've ever had with humour, right?

So when I went into the kitchen, where he always sits,

on his little stool, I went in expecting to find the sheet man

dealing with the situation by making us all laugh.

And on this occasion, I went into the kitchen and I found,

sitting on the stool, a little old frightened man that I didn't recognise.

Just to be clear...

it WAS my dad.

And I went in and I went, "You all right?" And he went, "No."

And I went, "Eh?" He went, "No, I'm not all right."

And I went, "Oh, she'll be fine. She's in good hands. She'll be fine."

And he said...

Now, look, this is the worst thing anyone's ever said to me.

I know loads of you will have heard worse but this is the worst thing

another human being's ever said to me. He said,

"I hope you're right, love, because without your mother I am nothing." And I went...

"Er...

"Do I have to look after YOU now?"

"Cos I'm pretty sure you're the parent here."

But he was inconsolable.

And I tried to cheer him up, and I failed.

I tried to make him laugh - I failed. I put my arm around him,

I told him that whatever happened we'd be all right as a family, you know?

All of the things you'd say to your loved ones - like anyone would say. Nothing worked.

I made him a cup of tea.

In the end, I just...

You know, I walked him upstairs to bed and I tucked him into bed.

Ever tucked your dad in? Weird!

And, er... And I sat with him till he fell asleep.

And I went back to my bed and I...

I felt sorry for three people.

I felt sorry for her, obviously, I felt sorry for him,

and I felt sorry for myself.

If this hasn't happened to you, it will happen to you - sorry -

and it is the realisation that your parents are not superhuman.

It came to me fairly late in life but it's like somebody telling you,

"That's the end of childhood, officially."

Bang! Right?

So I went to sleep that night feeling pretty...

miserable.

Then...

..in the middle of the night...

..something happened to kind of make things a bit better.

Cos as I slept in the middle of the night, in my new role, I suppose,

as, sort of, head of the family, I suppose, I...

..did a massive shit in my pants.

Not a little shit. I mean, it was horrendous!

It was like someone had gone through there with an industrial crop spreader.

It was fucking awful. I had to peel the shitty sheet off my bed at six in the morning,

trying to keep as much of it in as I could,

and I snuck downstairs, hoping to avoid Dad,

with this shit vol-au-vent in my hand,

and he was up at six in the morning in the kitchen.

I went, "All right?" And he went, "Morning, love!"

I went, "Are you all right?"

"More than all right - I've spoken to the hospital. Your mum's fine."

I said, "Oh, that's brilliant. That's brilliant. I'm just going to go to the toilet."

And he went, "Er... I want a word with you."

I went, "I'm... I just need to pop to the..."

He went, "I need to speak to you now."

"I just need to pop to the toilet." "I need to speak to you NOW!"

I went, "OK."

He said, "Thanks for last night." I said, "That's my pleasure."

He said, "You were amazing."

I said, "That's fine, Dad. I'm just going to pop to..." He goes, "I haven't finished."

He said, "I'm so proud of you."

I said, "Are you?"

He said, "Yes, I am.

"I remember when you were my weak little asthmatic boy.

"Now look at you. A man!"

"Big, strong man, looking after his dad in the hard times.

"So strong. So brave."

And I went, "Dad..." He went, "Yeah?"

I said, "I'm really sorry about this.

"I appear to have done a massive shit in the bed."

Ladies and gentleman, he took that sheet out of my hand without a word.

He went into our washroom, he pushed it into a washing machine.

He looked up at me and he said the most beautiful thing that anyone's ever said to me.

He said, "You, son, are a fucking knob."

Kind of like getting a bit of childhood back -

d'you know what I mean?

Being the kid again, being the idiot. I loved it.

So we went to see Mum in hospital.

She was sitting upright in bed after a horrific operation like that.

God bless the NHS and those fucking miracle workers, you know?

You'd think nothing had happened to her. She was sitting up.

I did the obvious thing - threw my arms around her,

told her how great she looked.

My dad - slightly less conventional -

told her how angry he was with me for having ruined his ghost outfit.

Then he went off to get some teas.

As soon as he'd gone, my mum said, "Can I have a word with you?" And I went, "Of course."

She goes, "I want to speak to you while your dad's not here." And I said, "Anything. Of course."

She said, "I've woken up from the anaesthetic thinking something stupid and I've got to ask you."

And I went, "What?" She said,

"Do you still talk about me and your dad when you do your shows?"

And I said...

"Are you fucking joking?! You're 90% of my material."

And she said, "Oh, thank God." I said, "Thank God"? She goes, "Thank God!"

I said, "Why do you say that?"

She said...

"You'll think I'm a stupid old woman

"but I woke up from the anaesthetic, just with this thought going through my head.

"I thought, er, 'What if I died?

" 'Maybe he would stop talking about me.' "

And I went, "What?"

She said, "I just thought... that if I wasn't here,

"you wouldn't feel comfortable talking about me."

I said, "Of course I would. Don't be so stupid.

"I'm not going to erase you cos you're not here any more, am I?"

And she went, "Good, love. I really don't want you to stop it."

And I went, "I would never do that."

She said, "Even the awful stuff, love.

"Even that awful blow-job story. Keep telling that.

"You promise me you'll keep telling that?" I said, "You have my word!

"In the event of your death, I'll keep telling the United Kingdom you don't like sucking cock."

And she said, "Oh, thank you, that means a lot to me,"

which, in itself, was a strange thing to say.

And then, she said something that,

of all the things I've shared with you tonight,

it is the single best example

of a moment in time where I had to exist just in the moment

and then move on with my life,

and I think you'll see why when I tell you.

And you... Look, you'll think this isn't the end of the show.

It is, right? It's just this line and then I'm out of here.

You'll think it's a strange choice but, honestly, you'll see why it's the best example.

If you know anything about comedy,

you'll know what I'm doing now - dragging out the build-up to a punchline - is suicide.

Cos it can't possibly be good enough. But I honestly think this is.

To the extent...

..I'm going to drag it out a bit more.

She said, "Er...

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you about that story, love.

I went, "Oh, yeah?" She goes, "Yeah. It's not 100% accurate."

I said, "Well, I want it to be, cos all of my stories are true."

And they are, you know - with the exception of me having seen someone kill a pony with a golf club.

But they are true. I said, "I want to get it right - what have I got wrong?"

"It's only a little detail." "Well, what is it, Mum?"

Here it comes.

She said, "Er..."

"Well, listen, love.

"I never told you I haven't sucked a penis.

"I just told you I've never sucked your dad's!"

LAUGHTER

Er, look, it's been really nice. Thanks for coming.

I will leave you on a moving piece of music - something for the kids.

For Lucy and for all the young people in the room, I hope,

maybe emotionally you'll learn something on the way out, OK?

You can probably play that in now...

MUSIC: "You Spin Me Round (Like A Record)" by Dead Or Alive

Lyrically it's lovely, I think. Try and listen to it. It's been a real pleasure.

Thank you so much. Thanks for coming. I really appreciate it. Thank you!

CHEERING

CHEERING

Subtitles by Red Bee Media Ltd