Jack Whitehall Live

This programme contains some strong language

Good evening. I'm Michael White, Jack's dad.

I've been asked to make one or two announcements about this show,

so SIT DOWN!

Jack attracts the most terrible load of riff-raff, doesn't he?

Mobile phones, all off. My wife gave me a mobile phone recently.

It's absolutely outrageous. It goes off all the time.

We go to the theatre, it goes off. I don't know how to switch it off.

She doesn't know how to switch it off.

So, shut them down now and no flash photography, please.

No flash photography.

We don't want you downing your loads onto some Twatbook

or whatever it is because that's not permitted.

I've also been told to warn you that there will be a lot of bad

language in this show which is very depressing

because I always say to Jack, the more bad language he uses,

the more it makes him sound like a complete wanker.

There are also, as you would expect, adult themes of sex,

all that sort of stuff, which again is so classic of Jack. You know?

That's his audience, slags basically.

Anyway, when the show gets to its interval,

which I'm sure many of you will be looking forward to,

don't leave it too late to get to the bar

because there will be chaos out there.

So rush there, and don't go anywhere near the wine, which is ghastly.

Go for the gin and tonics, vodkas, that kind of stuff.

So enjoy the show. That's the end of my contribution.

And buy the DVD if you haven't already bought it.

But why you could conceivably think it was worth buying, I cannot think,

when there are so many good really good DVDs out there on the market.

I mean, you could buy the new re-release of Colditz, you could

go for The Forsyte Saga

or World At War, I see, has come out again on DVD.

The Onedin Line, with my dear friend, Anne Stallybrass.

Andrew Marr's new series about the Canals of Britain.

The original Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, which was, I tell you,

a hell of a lot better than the current one.

The Duchess of Duke Street...

To The Manor Born,

you could get that on DVD, with Penelope Keith and Peter Bowles.

Now, there's a comedian for you.

And of course, anything with Nigel Havers.

Horseman Riding By, the Cook Report, there's another show that...

Fantastic.

APPLAUSE

He's sold no albums.

He's not had a number one

and he's got a tiny little penis.

It's Jack Whitehall!

# Welcome to the Jungle

# We got fun and games

# We got everything you want

# Honey, we know the names

# We are the people that can find

# Whatever you may need

# If you got the money, honey

# We got your disease

# In the jungle

# Welcome to the jungle

# Watch it bring you to your sha-kn-kn-knees, knees

# I wanna watch you bleed

# Welcome to the jungle

# We take it day by day

# If you want it you're gonna bleed

# But it's the price you pay

# And you're a very sexy girl

# Who's very hard to please

# You can taste the bright lights

# But you won't get them for free

# In the jungle

# Welcome to the jungle

# Feel my, my... #

I saw Al Murray do that at the beginning of his DVD

and he made it look a lot easier.

Ladies and gentlemen,

good evening and welcome to the Hammersmith Apollo!

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

Ladies and gentlemen,

thank you so much for coming to Hammersmith in London.

My ends, oh, yeah.

Have we got anyone in from Hammersmith? Give me a cheer.

Yeah, a couple of you. I love Hammersmith.

Hammersmith is a great place. Great place to go out on a night out.

Hammersmith Palais,

one of my favourite nightclubs back in the day.

That's where the after party is tonight.

The only club in the country that makes Tiger Tiger look classy.

Anyone been to Hammersmith Palais? Of course he has, look at him.

He looks like a regular.

You look like you could spike a drink just by looking at it, mate.

I love it. Great drinks offers there as well.

You buy two Jagerbombs, you get the morning after pill free. Class.

So, let's find out about this beautiful audience that we have in tonight.

All the ladies, can you make some noise?

CHEERING

-Woo!

-Oh, lovely. Guys, give me a grr.

-ALL MEN:

-Grrr!

Oh, yeah. Yeah, we've got some guys in, some proper men.

Look at this fella in the front row.

Had to sit right down the front

just to accommodate the sheer size of your bollocks.

"Bought two tickets for tonight, one for me and one for the twins."

-What's your name, fella? You there.

-Darren.

-Darren, yeah.

Proper man's name.

I bet your dad named you that whilst he was pushing a plough

through a field with his dick. Nice.

Have you got a man's trade, Darren? What do you do?

I work in a factory, lifting.

You work in a factory, lifting shit! Oh, yes!

Darren, you've not let me down. And you're wearing a suit.

You've got a shaved head but you're still rocking the suit.

You look like a footballer on his way to court up on rape allegations.

I like it. A real man.

I would love to be like you, a real man, cos I love men...

That came out wrong.

No, I'd love to be like you, a real man, like Darren.

And my man here, lumberjack shirt, three buttons undone,

the chest is bursting out.

Real man like you, I'd love to be like you. A real man like you.

Because it's hard for us, isn't it, sir?

Camp men like ourselves, we get it tough.

You wouldn't know where to start with bleeding a radiator

but I bet you make an incredible bechamel sauce. Am I right? Yeah.

Stick a bay leaf in, I know your tricks.

So, I'm excited that all of the men

and all of the ladies are here tonight because this is my show.

I've been touring it all around the country. I went to Bristol.

That was the last stop on my tour. I went to the West Country.

I love the West Country. Yeah, anyone in from the West Country? Nice. Great.

Very laid-back pace of life there in the West Country.

Very different to London.

I had a bit of trouble getting down there, truth be told.

I was on the train, on my way to Bristol.

The train went through this place called Bedwin.

Not many of you will know Bedwin.

Bedwin is a tiny little rural village

right in the middle of Wiltshire.

The only time you might have heard of Bedwin

is it was once on an episode of Time Team.

Really good dig, actually.

I watched it. In one of the trenches,

Baldrick, right, he found the remains of a woman that had been

burnt as a witch... last March.

It's really backward.

So I'm in a little place, little Bedwin, on the train.

All of a sudden, the train stops and the PA system comes on.

It's the conductor.

He's like, "Ladies and gentlemen, unfortunately,

"this train is now being evacuated due to a terror alert."

I beg your pardon! We're in Bedwin.

I suspect Al-Qaeda might have slightly higher priorities

on their hit list than rural Wiltshire.

Also, I thought terrorism, that's done. We've dealt with that now.

It's not an issue any more. I watch the news. I listen to it.

There was a guy on the news recently,

an expert, and he genuinely said that apparently,

obesity is now a bigger threat to this country than Al-Qaeda.

I thought, it's definitely not.

What would you rather have sat opposite you

on the tube on the way home tonight?

Some mental guy with a beard and a hundred-yard stare with a backpack full of Semtex

or just a jolly little fat kid with a backpack full of Quavers?

I get confused when I see it. I went onto the plane recently

and they were still trying to take away my toiletries.

I mean, what is that is about? I was like, "Madam, have you not seen the news?

"Mr Bin Laden has been shot and dumped at sea.

"The War on Terror is won.

"There are now far more pressing issues at hand

"like the war on dry skin. This exfoliator is coming on, bitch."

You know what I'm talking about, eh? Clarins, the natural glow.

She didn't let me onto the plane.

So, we're carted out we're at Bedwin station.

We get carted out onto the station platform. It's freezing cold.

It's a Sunday night as well, to add insult to injury,

so we're all there, feeling pretty depressed, tutting away.

"Sunday night, I'm going to miss the X factor results show.

"This is so shit."

Not me, Darren. I was going to go home and watch something manly.

Turning on Bravo.

Danny Dyer's Top Ten Ways To Kick A Dog.

Yeah, naughty.

So, I'm there stood on the platform. I'm next to this big, posh guy as well.

This is the worst thing that's ever happened to him.

He's having like a tut fit. "It's absolutely outrageous. This country's gone to the dogs."

And I'm stood there, right, and the guy from National Rail comes

out to address the assembled crowd and I could tell

that he was excited. This was his big moment.

He had worked at Bedwin station for his entire life. He was pumped.

He walks out and he's trying to sound intimidating as well,

which simply doesn't work if you've got a West Country accent.

If you want proof of this,

watch that docu-drama they had on Fred West on ITV.

It documented the life of one of the most evil serial killers

this country has ever seen, but at no point were you ever scared

because of his voice.

"What did you do with her next, Mr West?"

-WEST COUNTRY ACCENT:

-"I chopped her up and I put her in a bin liner."

"What are you like?"

So out he comes, Mr National Rail.

He's ready for his moment. He clears his throat.

He's like, "Ladies and gentlemen, unfortunately,

"all of the trains from the station will now be delayed

"because I have personally spotted on Platform Two...

"..a suspicious package."

To which the massive posh guy next to me shouts back at him,

"Well, put it on the train to Swindon and we can all fuck off home."

I got there in the end. I got to Bristol in the end.

Bristol's a very cool place.

I went to a farmers' market in Bristol, but like a proper

farmers' market, not like the farmers' markets you get in London.

There's a farmers' market in Highgate I went to recently,

not a real farmers' market.

There's a woman called Arraminta who has a cheese stall. You go up,

"What would you care for today, sir?

"I have this goats' cheese from the scorched valleys of Tuscany

"or maybe you would prefer this Gruyere from the Alpine peaks."

I picked up a bit of cheese

at the Fish Ponds farmers' market in Bristol.

I asked the man where it was from. He went, "A FARM!"

That's a farmers' market.

That's not to say Bristol is a place that is not impervious to

a little bit of pretentiousness because Bristol, as we all know,

is the home of one of the worst breed of girls you will ever find,

because it has Bristol University,

and that girl is the Lesser Spotted Did I Tell You About My Gap Year?

I've been trapped by them a couple of times,

these girls that go off travelling in their year out

and the only reason they've done it

is so they can shove it down your fucking throats.

You go to the pub with them. "Oh, my God, where to start?"

"Preferably near the end."

"It was amazing.

"Me and my friend, Visciri, who's ethnic by the way, did I mention?

"And Cassandra, who didn't get into Leeds so she went to Liverpool

"which means she's so good with foreign languages now.

"We just tottered around Tibet

"smoking the most amazing Thai grass and felching lepers

"and we found the most wonderful little monastery

"on the foot of Mount Hiccha Piccha Naccha Focacia Arto.

"And we stayed there for weeks just helping the orphans."

I just think, "Haven't the orphans suffered enough?"

I'm not having a go at charity work, though, I'm not.

APPLAUSE

Look, I actually did some charity work when I left my school.

Like, I don't want to show off, but it was pretty amazing what I did, you know?

Just a couple of weeks' volunteer work in a special needs school

for children, just playing games with them, football, tennis,

and it does actually make you feel good inside...

because you always win.

They're shit.

So that was the West Country. I went to the West Country.

Where else did I...? I went to Scotland. I went to Glasgow.

Have we got any Glaswegians in?

Two? Well, that's enough for a fight.

I love Glasgow. Glasgow's a great place. Quite a tough city though.

Glasgow's the only place I've ever been where you see toddlers walking

around with muzzles on so they don't rip off Rottweilers' faces.

But I arrived in Glasgow and I decided what I needed, when I was in

Glasgow, was to go out and start my day by getting a proper breakfast.

I needed some energy, some food inside me.

So I set off into the centre of Glasgow and I found myself

a classic, sort of traditional greasy spoon Scottish cafe.

I walked in.

There was a dour looking Scottish waiter staring at me,

wishing that I was dead with every fibre of his being.

I sat down and I ordered myself a big,

big bowl of Bircher muesli with all the fruits.

And I took out my laptop and I started typing away,

just having a... Yeah, that's how I type.

It's a pedal-assisted laptop, and I was there...

..typing away, on my laptop and then I made the fatal error,

right, of asking my new-found Scottish chum, the waiter,

whether he had any Wi-Fi access.

To which he looked at me as if to say,

"I haven't even got access to my fucking kids."

I was like, "Oh, God."

So at this point, I wasn't feeling particularly well loved.

And then, thank God, the best thing that could possibly

happen in this situation then occurred.

An American couple walked in.

And all of a sudden I was no longer public enemy number one.

As soon as this woman waddled in the shop,

"Hey, Maury, come in here. They're definitely going to have waffles."

The waiter, he's clocked them. He's having

a xenophobic stroke in the corner. "Yankee doodle fucking bitch.

"She's as welcome in here as a bowl of couscous.

"I'm going to take a shit in her omelette."

She sits down. She's eating loudly. She's slurping on her coffee.

She gets the end of her coffee. She slams it down

and starts clicking at the waiter.

I'm like, "This shit's going to get messy".

She's like, "Sir, sir, sir. Come over here. I've finished my coffee.

"I will now have my free refill of coffee."

Oh, dear.

He did not like that.

He looked at her like she had just ordered dead baby soup or

something without batter.

He couldn't even formulate a response.

He wanted to say something but no sentences came out of his mouth.

After a minute of just aching and squealing, eventually,

he managed to shit out just a, "NO!"

She, cool as a cucumber, goes,

"Sir, I'm going to give you a little reality check here. OK?

"In America, if you order a coffee, we give you a free refill."

In front of everyone he looks her dead in the eye and he goes, "Love,

"in Glasgow, we don't give a fuck."

People were applauding him, patting him on the back.

There was a guy in the corner of the cafe in a wheelchair that

stood up to shout, "Freedom!" as she waddled out of the cafe.

LAUGHTER AND APPLAUSE

That's the thing.

There are some things that I don't think will ever make

the cultural crossover.

We're similar to Americans in many ways

but some things they will never get.

Like customer service, for example. They love that in America.

We will never have that in the UK.

We don't do customer service. I think that should be celebrated.

I do not like customer service. I think it's an ugly thing.

I like going into a shop anywhere in this country

and knowing exactly where I stand.

Knowing that I'm a piece of shit.

Phone shopping, for example. Phone shopping here is so easy.

You walk into the Carphone Warehouse. You know the drill.

You're going to get ignored for days.

There'll be a corpse at the counter where some elderly man has

gone in and tried to upgrade without his wife there to help.

Even when you do get assistance,

it'll be from some patronising little teenager in a suit that's

constantly ak-sing you,

"How many minutes you talking in a month, bruv?"

I don't know.

But when you leave the shop, you feel like you've earned your phone.

I had to go to the Apple Store recently in New York. Oh, my God.

Before you even have your foot in the threshold of the door,

there's some wank-tub with a fringe in your face. "Hey, buddy.

"My name's Drew. How's your day been going, hombre?

"What brings you to the Apple Store?"

"I'm here to buy a phone not make a friend. Fuck off!"

They applaud the first customer in of the day.

The Apple store in New York, they stand around clapping

as he walks into the shop. "Woo, we love you man!

"Customer number one! You rock!"

Can you imagine getting away with that behaviour at a UK phone shop?

At my local T-Mobile, the only customer that's getting

applauded there is the last one out of the door.

"Thank fuck you've gone.

"We're going down the pub, you BlackBerry wanker!"

It works both ways as well. I had to get a train when I was in America.

I got on to the platform and on the platform they had a poster.

On this poster was one of the American rail employees.

She was this woman, she was all made up. Her eyes were all full of hope.

She had a smile on her face.

Underneath it, a little slogan.

"Hey, you got enough snacks for the journey? Enjoy your trip!"

HE RETCHES

Compare that to the posters you get on every station platform

up and down this great country. What do you get?

You get a picture of a National Rail employee with a massive

black eye and underneath it, "Please don't hit our staff."

LAUGHTER AND APPLAUSE

APPLAUSE DROWNS SPEECH

I'm depressed as well that I even have to go to the Apple Store.

I never wanted that for my life. I was perfectly content before.

I was a non-iPhone user and I was happy.

But like all non-iPhone users, eventually I gave in.

I listened to them. I gave in to the iPhone Nazis.

These people that force you to get it.

They make you buy it and they lie to you

They don't tell you about the bad shit.

They only tell you about the good things.

They don't say, "Yeah, this phone is amazing

"but unfortunately it has a battery life of 20 seconds."

"It's a smartphone. You need to get a smartphone."

Fuck a smartphone. Do you know what I wish I still had?

A dumb-phone. That's what I like.

A phone where I knew where I stood.

You know the phone I wish I still had? The Nokia 3310!

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

That was a phone.

Fuck the iPhone with all of its apps and its maps and its GPS shit.

The 3310 gave a man all he needed.

Stopwatch, calculator and Snake. Fuck anything else.

LAUGHTER AND APPLAUSE

There was no pretension with it.

The most pretentious the 3310 got

is when it upgraded itself to the 3330.

The only thing they added to that model was a currency converter

on a phone that didn't even work abroad.

And no pretension as well.

No pretension with predictive text messaging.

Predictive text messaging on the 3310 was bliss.

You tried to type a word into it, that was more than

five letters long, it would give up.

It was like it was saying,

"Yeah, you want to use poncey language like that?

"You're on your own, knobhead."

Not with the iPhone. Where does the iPhone get this vocabulary?

Constantly jumping to conclusions. Nobody fucking talks like that.

It doesn't matter what you put into the thing. You're like "a-n".

"Did you mean androgynous?" No! I meant "AND"!

LAUGHTER AND APPLAUSE

I realise this is probably looking now like I'm falling down

on the side of the consumer - that is not the case.

That is not the case at all.

I'm going to share with you tonight, Hammersmith Apollo,

I have actually done a little bit of time right on the front line.

I did four weeks one summer holidays working in Clinton Cards.

The horror.

Have we got any other survivors in?

Who else has worked in a shop? Show of hands. Yeah? Front row.

Where did you work?

-Burton.

-Burton?

-No, Burton's shoe shop.

Burton's shoe shop? What did you get it confused with initially?

There's different types of Burton's? It's probably why you didn't

last very long there.

Have you been drinking? You're an alcoholic. OK.

The, er...

You were thrown out of the shoe shop, weren't you?

Stole all the shoes.

What was your worst type of customer to come into Burton's shoe shop?

The most annoying? Someone like me?

Why someone like me? I have feet. I buy shoes. Why?

Because I'd be picky with the shoes? I'd want something nice, would I?

What are you rocking down there? You look like a guard in

a women's prison.

I used to find the worst coming into Clinton Cards,

the worst customer was the elderly. I hated the elderly coming in.

They'd always come in at the end of the day.

They picked their moments

We had this old woman once. She came in Friday afternoon, 5.55.

"Hello, I need to buy a birthday card for my grandson."

"If you're not out of shop in five minutes, love,

"the only card he'll require is a condolence card. Make it quick."

-How did you leave Burton's? Did you walk out?

-I was sacked.

-You got sacked? What for? What did you do?

-I didn't sell enough...

-You didn't sell enough shoes?

-No, products.

-Products?

-With the shoes.

-With the shoes? There's additional stuff

-that you have to sell?

-Leather cleaner.

-Leather cleaner?

Who the fuck buys leather cleaner? They sacked you for that?

These bastards! Where are they?

Next time there's a riot, we're going to fuck them up.

Sacking you for shit like that. That is so unfair!

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

Do you know what they got me on? Clinton Cards?

It's so unfair because there was this stipulation when I signed up

to the contract that I couldn't do what it did.

About 5.30 I couldn't be arsed, I wanted to go down the pub.

I used to stand in the doorway, ushering people out of the shop.

If anyone did try to get by me I'd be like, "Moonpig.com." Try it.

I mentioned the riots.

The riots, for me, those were the people I felt sorry for.

People having to clean up the shop the following day.

I was trapped in the middle of the riots.

When it was all kicking off last year,

I was in Manchester when the shit hit the fan. It was amazing.

I saw some incredible sights.

I saw a group of youths, in Manchester, trying to loot

a Lidl.

Now, I'm not an expert looter, I don't do much looting myself,

but I would imagine that one of the major advantages

of looting, smashing in the window of a shop and stealing

their shit, is that there aren't any budgetary restrictions.

Go a little bit more upmarket!

I just wanted to see one of these scallies taking

a bit of initiative,

coming round the corner on his BMX with a handful of quail's eggs

and Prosecco.

"Yeah, this ain't just looting. This is M&S looting."

LAUGHTER AND APPLAUSE

I did see, though...

I did see one thing that for me made the whole riots worth it.

A lovely little bit of poetic justice.

There were these two scallies in Manchester,

they can't have been more than 14 or 15.

They'd smashed in the window of the Diesel shop in town.

They'd stolen loads of clothes.

They ran past me, stopped at the end of the street and then

I heard the line that made all of the riots worthwhile.

This guy picked up this pair of jeans,

turned to his mate and he went, "Oh, Deano, you knobhead.

"These are all women's."

But I bought a pair anyway.

That shows how angry we were as a nation, the riots.

That's why we are so unpopular. We are, let's face it.

We're not very popular here in the UK. Look at Europe. Europe hate us.

I always think that's so unfair. We've done so much shit for Europe.

We've helped bail out Greece and Ireland, helped put a stop to

racially-motivated genocide in the Balkans,

liberated half of Europe from Nazi occupation.

But do they show us any thanks

come Eurovision time?

Oh, no, no, no! I get fed up. I love Eurovision, I do.

I think it's brilliant.

Every year we get fucked over by the rest of Europe

because they say it's political.

"Oh, it's very political, the Eurovision Song Contest."

Even when we send over the big guns like Blue,

or Engelbert Humperdinck, it's "Nil points."

Because it's political.

You know what I've decided? We fight back.

We get political on their asses.

The next time the Eurovision Song Contest comes round

and it's the bit where they give out the points,

"This year Moldova have decided we will only be sending two points

"to the UK because we did not agree

"with the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq."

-HIGH-PITCHED:

-"Ooh, very well, Moldova,

"only sending us two points.

"Well, do you know what we're going to be sending you over, Dov?

"Those Tomahawk missiles!

"You saw that shit we were pulling Libya? Well, you're next,

"Moldova, just as soon as we've found out where the fuck you are!"

CHEERING

That's about as far as my politics goes, by the way.

I'm not a very political person, which I think is sometimes

quite good, cos I can look at a problem and see a simple solution.

You know, like health for example.

We're constantly told we're a very fat and obese nation -

I could sort it out like that, cos it's the government's fault.

They're not doing enough.

With some shit that's unhealthy for us they do their bit, like smoking.

Smokers, you go in, you buy your packet of cigarettes,

every single pack has got a picture of like, a lung kicked in shit.

You're like, "Oh, I don't want to smoke these

"cos I don't want my lungs to get kicked in shit as well.

"Thanks very much, government, for looking out for me there."

That's fine if you're doing that with cigarettes - great.

But you got to start doing that shit across the board.

You've got to start doing that with everyone that's unhealthy for us,

with food.

If you walk into a Tesco's

and you want to buy yourself a massive chocolate cake,

that thing should come with a picture on it of a fat lady

crying as she comes out of Topshop empty-handed.

Problem solved.

Cos I am trying to take more of an interest in politics,

basically, I am trying to become more of a grown-up.

This is a big thing in my life, Hammersmith,

I've had some big changes going on.

One of these I'm really proud to share you with this evening

is that I am no longer living at home with my mother,

I am now in rented accommodation!

CHEERING

I know.

And I'm doing shit I never thought I'd do,

surprising myself all the time.

The other day I invited a friend over for a cup of tea,

cos that's what I do now, I don't go out to nightclubs

and take class As and finger people by bins - that's over.

I have friends over to mine,

we drink herbal tea and we watch Eggheads.

So fuck you, CJ.

So I invited my friend round, hand her this herbal tea,

she goes to put it down on the coffee table,

before that mug has made contact with the coffee table - boom -

I had a coaster underneath it!

I'm not the coaster guy - all of a sudden, I'm the coaster guy.

And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

This one is even more incredible.

I was sat on my own, in my flat, and I saw a light bulb flicker

and go out, and my instant response was this...

"Ah, fuck...I'm going to have to change that."

And then I did!

I got a chair out, I cha... I CHANGED A LIGHT BULB!

Compare that to me in my student flat three years ago.

If I was sat in a room and a light bulb flickered out,

my instant response was this...

"Ah, fuck,

"we're only going to be able to use this room in the day now."

There's some shit I draw the line at, some stuff I will not be doing.

I received a terrifying phone call from a friend the other day,

from this girl, she goes, "Jack, Jack,

"when are you going to invite me over for a dinner party?"

I was like, "Hm, how about...never?

"I've seen Come Dine With Me, I'm

"not putting myself through that shit."

Cos if anyone's seen Come Dine With Me, that will put you off having

a dinner party, or even having friends, for the rest of your life.

Where do they find those people?

You could give them the best night of their entire lives,

as soon as they get in the back of the cab, they're

thinking about one thing and one thing alone - the tray of cash.

They're greedy bastards!

"So, tell me, how was your evening?" "Oh, my God, it was amazing.

"We arrived early, we were given vol-au-vents and champagne.

"We were then ushered through to the garden where we witnessed

"the most wonderful fireworks display

"and a live performance from the Beatles.

"We then tottered on through to the dining area,

"where I sat down NOT upon a chair -

"but upon the naked, coiled body of Megan Fox.

"For starter we had a fruit de la mer platter followed by

"a rare unicorn steak.

"Midway through the meal I went to relieve myself, there was

"no toilet to piss into, so I got to urinate into the mouth

"of the boy that bullied me in school!

"At the end of the evening,

"we were all given a goody bag which contained

"a Nebuchadnezzar of champagne, rich Belgian chocolates

"and the love and attention that I craved from my father as a child.

"And, oh, I nearly forgot to mention.

"At the beginning of the evening one of our assembled party

"announced to the group that they were in fact a vegetarian.

"So they were captured in a tuna net, dragged outside into the garden,

"told to stop seeking attention

"and then shot in the face with a whaling harpoon!

"It was the most wonderful evening of my life,

"and that's why I'm giving our host for this evening...a two."

Outrageous!

So my grown-up living was going very well in my flat with my coasters

and everything, but then it took a bit of a nosedive, because

I realised there was one thing I no longer had which I really relied on.

And that was my mother.

Cos I will be the first to admit, Hammersmith, I am

a MASSIVE mummy's boy, OK, she is incredible,

she does everything for me.

I wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for my mum - that's a fact.

No, but when I first started doing stand-up and stuff,

my mum would drive me to all my gigs.

I'd do the show and then she'd take me back afterwards.

I know, rock n' roll.

It meant it was quite hard to pick up ladies after shows.

"Yeah, you want to come back to my crib, babe?

"My ride's outside, it's the Volvo estate, you'll have to sit

"in the back cos me and Mother like

"to ride up front, listen to Radio 4."

Not many people came back with me.

But I realised I didn't have my mum any more, and I decided this

was what I was going to do - I thought I could start dating my mum.

Not my actual mum! That sounds weird,

but like a version of my mum that there would be a sexual aspect to...

This is coming out wrong.

When I was living at home with my mum there was one sexual element,

and that was my mum had garnered the greatest weapon

any women can have in any relationship with a man -

the ability to deny a man from having sex.

Cos men, we just want to have sex all the time.

How old are you, over there in the T-shirt?

19? You must be like a fucking ball of spunk!

You haven't listened to a word I've said, you've just been

working out whether you can climb onto the stage and fuck that E.

But we do, we want sex all the time, we're animalistic.

And if a woman can turn round and be like, "No come for you,"

you have control.

I realise that's not how women do it.

"Do you want to make love?" "NO COME FOR YOU!"

But my mum did, she tried to stop me from having sex

when I was living at home.

She didn't mind me having sex elsewhere, like,

I remember going away to my first stag weekend to this

horny, hookering pimple in Eastern Europe called Tallinn.

My mum helped me pack my bag, in the front pocket she put 30 condoms!

30! I was there for two days.

I counted them when I came back - there was 31.

But it was sex in the house she wasn't happy with, and she had

a whole arsenal of ways of stopping me from having sex in the house.

The first thing she did was to try and desexualise my bedroom.

She thinks I didn't notice, it was so obvious.

The longer I'd been going out with a girl,

the more children's toys would appear on the floor,

family photographs adorning every mantelpiece,

a massive framed picture of my creepy uncle above the bed.

And this huge mound of cushions as well,

towered high above the bedspread, that you'd have to hack

through before you could even get into the sheets!

And they all had little things embroidered on them

to kill any sexual mood - "Home sweet home", "Mummy knows best",

"Daddy's under the bed" - what the fuck?!

And it didn't stop there, another one she did was buy me

a new bed as soon as I turned 18.

I was like, "Oh, thanks, Mum, a new bed."

The LOUDEST bed I've ever had sex on in my entire life.

This thing would creak in space.

And it's not like I was having loud sex on it.

(I would have the quietest...)

Don't know why I'm looking at you, Darren, sorry.

Yeah, but I was trying to have the quietest sex possible,

I was very conscious that my mum was beneath me...

No, not beneath! No, no!

I mean, the room below, you sick fucks!

Stealth sex, that's what I used to call it.

Me and my girlfriend would do it so quietly,

like...like we were Anne Frank's parents.

Shh.

Yeah, she didn't put that in the diary!

I can't do anything fun either, anything experimental.

Came home from a night out a bit tipsy maybe,

"Oh, Jack, do you want to try a bit of role play?"

"Um, could you just play dead? Honestly, that would help."

Sex for me at home, in my mum's house, became a little bit

like arriving late at the theatre and trying to find your seat.

A lot of shuffling, a bit of shooshing, then a pause

and somewhere in the darkness a whispered "I'm sorry."

And that's not to say I ever wanted weird sex,

I don't like anything odd.

When it comes to sex, I like it very simple,

I'm quite British about the whole thing.

Victorian British.

I want three minutes in the dark, then we both roll over,

assume the foetal position and cry for a bit.

That's how it's done. And none of that talking, I hate the talking.

They say during sex a woman should lie back and think of England.

I couldn't agree more but let's make it more specific - lie back

and think of London.

Don't make any eye-contact with me

and don't you dare start a conversation.

Cos I had a girl who tried to get me to do the dirty talk thing,

and I warned her that it wouldn't work,

this voice does not work within the echelons of a sexy environment.

Therefore any sexual conduct will be conducted in complete silence.

But she insisted on doing it, she was,

"Oh, Jack, tell me I've been a bad girl!"

"You-you've been a very bad girl."

"How bad, how bad?!"

"I don't know, is there a scale?

"Worse than a looter, not as bad as Harold Shipman, are you happy now?"

That's not even the worst one. This has haunted me for a long time.

I was going out with this girl at university,

and she had this thing where, basically, in sixth form,

she had gone out with her PE teacher at school.

So she asked me to do a role play reversal in the bedroom,

where she was the PE teacher and I was the pupil.

I was like, "I am NOT comfortable with this whatsoever."

I really didn't want to do it, but I didn't know how to get out of it!

Eventually I turned up with a note from my mum, I was like...

So, I haven't yet mentioned where my father lies in all of this,

which is really to not give a flying fuck about any of it.

Because my dad, he's from an older generation of fathers,

he's quite old-fashioned.

"Old-fashioned"? Racist.

Because he's an older dad.

Show of hands, where are the dads in the room? Put your hands up, dads.

That one took ages to go up, sir.

You're not sure whether the child's yours?

"We got a lot in common - I like Chinese food,

"she was Chinese, I just put her in the car."

No, keep your hands up, dads.

Now, I want you to keep your hands up

if you think of yourselves as being cool dads.

One over there, no more...? This one's staying up.

You think you're a cool dad,

you got a cool dad's name like Lance or Troy?

What's your name?

-Graham.

-Graham?

So, Graham, have you prepared for the birds and the bees talk?

You laugh, your wife was like, "No, he fucking hasn't."

What I'm saying is, you need to prepare for the birds and the bees talk,

it's very important, cos if you don't, you'll cock it up.

It will never be as bad as what my dad showed me - not "showed",

that sounds terrible!

"Jack, come in here! Right, this is the way your mother likes it.

"I just lean over and spank her tits, yeah."

Sorry. That's a rough image for me as well.

Cos my mum's tits are rank.

They're not, they're lovely - not "lovely"!

Aw... She's in tonight, that's awkward.

No, I didn't really get a birds and the bees talk from my dad,

all I got - when I was about 15 - my dad picked me up from school,

we were driving along in the car in complete silence,

he hadn't said anything to me, we stopped at the traffic lights,

and he just turned me and went,

"Jack, I've had a lock installed on your door.

"The last thing I want is for your mother Hillary to walk in

"and find you... HAVING ONE OFF THE WRIST."

That's all I got from him!

Cos my dad, he's quite a stern man.

Two brief stories that sort of set him up,

so you can understand what he's like.

Both of them involve my dad watching the news with me.

Cos that's when he's at his most "Dad".

The first of which, we're watching this very sad news story,

really emotional, it was about this girl who'd been

shot in a drive-by shooting outside a KFC in Brixton, it was horrible.

They were interviewing friends, family, witnesses,

a lot of tears, it was really emotionally engaging.

And it got to the end, a news reporter summed it up.

He said, "An innocent woman has been gunned down in her prime here

"outside a KFC restaurant in Brixton.

"Back to you in the studio."

There was a pause in my sitting room, and my dad turned to me

and went, "Huh! That's not a restaurant."

Not the point!

The other one, which in my mind is even worse, me and my dad watching

the news with my mum in the kitchen, lovely little family dinner.

A story came on about a certain Robert Mugabe.

Now, my dad's not really a fan of Robert Mugabe, I mean,

no-one's a fan of Robert Mugabe!

If we've got any fans in, I suggest you leave now,

cos you won't like this next bit.

But Robert Mugabe was on the screen

and I could see my dad was getting quite irate.

He was tremoring, there was veins popping out of his forehead,

and then suddenly, from nowhere, he just erupted,

the biggest temper tantrum I'd ever see him throw.

He stood up from the table, started shouting at the TV,

"Oh, my God, he is the most odious man, he's a ghastly, nasty

"wretched Rhodesian little pimp, he's a horrible, nasty, odious,

-"wretched, ghastly, fucking

-BLEEP!

He said it, in front of my mum, my dad dropped the C bomb.

And my mother went ballistic!

She went, "Michael, how dare you?

"I realise that he is a terrible man,

"but you do not use that word in this household.

"You do not use that word in front of my children!"

My dad, no word of a lie, he swing round, looked her in the eye

and he said, "This is typical of you, Hillary.

"You are always defending Mugabe!"

So that's the kind of man he is and when we were growing up,

me and my dad, we argued quite a lot,

we clashed quite a lot over some things that were

sort of recurring, because, basically, when I was younger,

when I was growing up, I was quite a creative child.

Creative - gay!

My dad didn't like that

because he was always sort of trying to butch me up.

He was trying to make me more sort of macho, um...

and I think you'll agree he's done a pretty fabulous job.

I mean, we used to argue all the time, we used argue all the time,

and every time we argued as well, I'd always do the same thing,

I'd run away from home. That's what I'd do,

no matter what the argument was about, it was, "I'm running away.

"I'm leaving home, I'm going for ever to live on the streets,

"you won't be seeing me again. Mother, pack my bag.

"Put in all the essentials, Frubes,

"I'll need some Frubes to eat and some...

"My sticker album and my Tamagotchi

"cos homeless people get more money if they have pets.

"Now bring it here, Mother."

Put on my bag and off I'd go. "You'll never see me again."

"Where are you going, Jack?

"I don't know, I hear Moldova is very nice this time of year."

And I'd go, and then I'd wait at the end of the street.

I wouldn't actually properly run away,

I'd be about 100 yards away from the house

and I'd be waiting there for my dad to come and pick me up in the car.

It was very important that he got into the car,

I needed him physically to get in the car,

drive 100 yards down the road, pick me up, tell me that he loved me.

I had to hear him say that and then I'd get back in the car

and we'd go home and it would all be happy families again and I'd say

this happened on average once or twice a week...

..and, as I say, often over recurring issues.

One of them was that I went through a phase when I was younger,

for about two or three years, when I really liked Robin Hood.

And I mean, REALLY liked Robin Hood, to the point where I wanted to dress

up as him all the time and I had the most wonderful outfit as well.

They were these little sort of green,

I guess you'd call them fishnet tights, and then a tunic,

Claire's Accessories belt, feather tumbling out the side of my cap.

I looked fierce. "Come and get me, Merry Men."

And my dad didn't like that, he didn't like that,

because I wore that outfit to everything,

everything - family functions, holidays, the supermarket,

his brother's funeral, he really...

didn't like that, so that was sort of constantly bubbling over

throughout my childhood and there was one Christmas,

though, there was one Christmas where he really let loose, OK?

And that was because I had requested a couple of very specific

Christmas presents which he didn't agree with.

Now the first of these, my mum had actually given in and bought me

a couple of weeks before Christmas and that was a pair of Rollerblades.

I really wanted Rollerblades, my mum got me Rollerblades,

I was so excited and then my father confiscated them.

He said, "No son of mine will be gliding around like a woofter."

So I didn't have my Rollerblades, I didn't have my Rollerblades,

so come Christmas morning, right, I was ready to blow at anything, OK?

I was pretty pissed off, which leads me on to the second present

that I requested that year for Christmas

and that was a Pocahontas doll.

Now a couple of judgy laughs there, which is fine,

but I didn't actually want it in a gay way, all right?

I wanted a Pocahontas doll cos I had an Action Man figurine

I thought it would be nice, as Action Man is a soldier

and he goes off and fights in all these wars,

that when he comes back, there's a woman there to look after him.

Help for Heroes, all right?

But my dad wouldn't get me the Pocahontas doll.

I went down Christmas morning, opened all of my presents,

expecting to see Pocahontas there.

She was not there and I went apoplectic.

I was like, "This is the final straw.

"If you don't give me my pocket money right this instant

"so I can go and buy my Pocahontas doll, you will never be seeing me

"again, I will walk out of that door

"and that will be this time for good."

My father was like, "Over my dead body." I was like, "Fine.

"Mother, pack my bag." "It's already done." "Thank you, Mother."

Off I went, into my father's study, I took out my Rollerblades

and I glided out of their lives.

I waited on the edge of the street for my father to come

and get me and I remember at the time thinking,

"What a heartless, cold bastard, what a bastard,"

but in hindsight now I look back on it

and I feel sorry for my father because let me tell you,

you get some very bizarre looks when aged 13 on a cold Christmas morning,

you're stood on the corner of the pavement in a woman's dress,

green fishnet tights and Rollerblades,

looking a little bit like a hooker out of Starlight Express

and essentially getting kerb-crawled by your own father

who drives up in his Mercedes, puts down the window, hands you £20

and shouts, "I love you, now get in the fucking car!"

And you know, I genuinely thought as I grew up these pressures

would evaporate, but they don't, do they,

they change, the pressures that your parents put onto you?

The one I'm dealing with now, right,

is that my mum wants me to get married.

She's obsessed with me getting married

and specifically she wants me to get married to Kate Middleton,

which sounds mental, cos it is,

but it's made slightly less mental by the fact that

I was at school with Kate Middleton,

so my mum sees that as a kind of missed opportunity,

that I was at school with Kate Middleton and I didn't

end up marrying her, like I stood a chance.

I mean, like, Kate Middleton is, like, five years older than me.

When we were at school, she was in sixth form, I was in a head brace,

I mean, I wasn't particularly cool when I was at school.

I played the recorder. My mum forced me to learn the recorder at school.

She was like, "Oh, no, women love a musician."

"Not a recordist, Mother."

The only way I'm going to get a girl into my bed by using

the recorder is if I fucking knock her out with it.

But she gets annoyed with me now.

She thinks it's my fault, she gets annoyed at me all the time

and always brings up the Kate Middleton thing.

Like, the other day I was staying at her house, I'd taken off all my

clothes to get in to bed, I'd thrown a couple of them on the floor.

There was a pair of my boxer shorts on the floor in which was

the tiniest, weeniest little skidmark.

I mean, you could barely see it.

My mother walks in with the laundry basket, scoops it up,

says, "That's why Kate didn't want you."

So unfair.

That's why I found the royal wedding so hard to watch,

cos in one ear I had my mother, "Why can't you be marrying her?"

In the other ear, I had the television

which was talking even more nonsense.

Remember they kept saying that thing, "Kate Middleton is of course

"the first commoner to marry into the royal family.

"The first commoner to marry into the royal family."

Commoner! What's this commoner they keep talking about?

She attended my school.

As you will already gauge from my voice, demeanour and, hey,

everything about me,

the school I attended was not particularly common.

They were writing and talking about Kate Middleton

as if she was from Harlem, like straight out of the ghetto.

She went to my school, Marlborough College.

I'll let you into a little secret about Marlborough College -

Marlborough College made Midsomer Murders

look like The fucking Wire, all right?

We had one black guy in the entire school when I was there.

It was ridiculous, he was a friend of mine called Daniel

and I shit you not,

the headmaster of Marlborough College genuinely used to put

Daniel in every single school photograph to try

and make our school look more diverse.

"So, come on Daniel, pop yourself on the end of the row there."

"But I wasn't in the first 11 cricket team." "Well, you are now."

"And afterwards you'll be combing that Afro into pigtails, Head Girl."

Mentioned Midsomer Murders there, my favourite story of last year,

the producer of Midsomer Murders suspended,

pending an investigation into racism,

because he claimed the only reason Midsomer Murders

worked as a show is because there was no black people

living in the village of Midsomer

and there was an outcry from the press, quite rightly.

But they all said the same thing,

"The only way they can make this situation any better is

"that they take a black person

and put them in the village of Midsomer."

It definitely is not.

Let's face it, if you were the first black person

to live in the village of Midsomer, that's quite a tough gig.

Every time there's a murder, getting hauled in for questioning.

"Do you know why you're here?" "Is it because I'm black?" "Yes."

So my mum wants me to get married and, you know what,

I decided that I would like to be in a proper relationship

and most of my relationships have never worked out,

so this was my idea, right?

I decided what I needed to do is to work out what it was that

make a relationship work,

so I did what any sensible guy would do in that situation.

I went to a live recording of the Jeremy Kyle show in Manchester.

Let me tell you, I learned some things that day,

some lessons that will stay with me for the rest of my life,

because at that live recording of the Jeremy Kyle

show in Manchester, I witnessed in front of my very eyes,

a gentleman take on Jeremy Kyle and nearly walk away the victor.

It was amazing.

Because when he walked into the studio, none of us gave him

a hope in hell.

His name was Spider, right,

and he was wearing a matching shell suit and cap?

I was like, "Oh, my God, man, Jeremy Kyle is going to chew you up

"and spit you out the other end, I hope he gets done with you quickly

"so that we can get onto the squabbling sisters that are both

"fucking the same guy," because that's why I came this afternoon.

But right from the outset, Spider showed some serious promise.

Kyle started out with a standard, Jeremy Kyle opening round,

little teaser question.

He was like, "So, Spider,

"I hear that you don't see much of your children."

Oh, let's see what you've got in your locker, Spider,

old buddy, old pal.

"Well, Jeremy, I admit that I don't see much of my children,

"but that's because I got to work two jobs, one during the day

"and then I've also got to a nightshift to earn enough

"money to pay them the child support that they deserve."

I sat up in my chair, I was, "Oooh, this guy's good.

"What have you got next, Kyle?" Kyle coils back for another blow.

"So, Spider, I hear..."

Like a viper. "..I hear that you are a bit of a drinker." Oooh!

It's a low blow.

The sobriety test early on, this normally separates

the wheat from the chaff, "What you got this time, Spider?"

"Well, Jeremy, I was a bit of a drinker

"but I've faced up to my demons

"and I have attended various AA-AA-AA-AA meetings

"and I'm now proud to say that I have been sober for three years."

What the fuck is going on here?!

Have I just seen the man sidestep Jeremy Kyle two times in a row?

That's not in the script.

I'll telling my grandchildren about this momentous day

when the matador finally met his match in this deadly dance of death.

Kyle didn't know what to do, he sweeps to his side,

he draws up an envelope, we all know what that means.

It's lie-detector time.

"Spider, I asked you on the lie detector whether you had ever

"cheated on your partner Raquel

"when you were in a relationship with her.

"You said that you hadn't. You were in fact... Telling the truth."

OMG.

FML!

The audience then cheered for Spider.

It was like Rocky IV -

we were the Russians and we had sided with Rocky.

Kyle didn't know what to do, he was on the ropes.

He had one last throw of the dice and it needed to be doubles

because he was in jail but then

he put his hand up to his ear I'm like, "Fuck me,

"Kyle is calling them for backup.

"I ain't seen this shit go down before."

"Spider, I've had a word with our researchers and they tell me

"that you have a motto."

"Oh, Jeremy, is that all you've got, a motto?

"Of course Spider's got a motto,

"we've already established that this gentleman in a shell suit is

"no mug - what,

"you thought he'd walk into the arena of battle without a motto?

"Do me a favour, Jeremy.

"Well, come on, Spider, old buddy, old pal,

"tell Jezza what your motto is.

"Put him to the sword and then you can parade around the studio

"with his head on a bloody fucking spike. What's it going to be?

"We can't wait, carpe diem, Mother knows best,

"do unto others as you would have done unto yourself?

"Spider, the floor is yours." Complete silence befell the studio.

Everyone's gaze turning to Spider, suddenly elevated

to being like Jesus delivering the Sermon on the Mount.

Everyone looking and then in front of the entire studio,

Spider stood up and said...

"Well, Jeremy, my motto is, 'If a woman can give a punch,

"'she can take one.'"

Subtle! I learned an important lesson that day.

Relationships never require mottos.

Look, I'm a sensible guy. I realised... I realised...

I would not get all my answers from The Jeremy Kyle Show.

I knew that I had to look elsewhere

if I wanted to know what it was that made relationships work.

So, I decided my next port of call was to look for inspiration

with the people that I knew.

And I started with my grandparents,

because my grandparents have been married for longer

than I've ever even heard of people being married.

65 years!

And I looked at them and I thought, "What is it that's kept them

"together over such a long period of time?

"How have they stayed so in love over all that time?"

And I realised what it was.

It was something so simple, yet beautiful.

Fear.

Because my grandad is terrified of my granny. And that shit works.

And don't get me wrong.

He's got just cause to be afraid of my granny.

My granny is the scariest 82-year-old battle-axe

you've ever met.

We call her Dorothy Soprano. She runs our firm.

Because have we got couples in tonight? Where are couples?

This gentleman here in the check...

Is this your lady wife next to you there? Beautiful, beautiful.

How long have you been married for?

-24 years.

-24 years. See, in America, that would get a round of applause.

But here, people are just like, "They must fucking hate each other."

Oh! That's great. 24 years.

No way.

And let me ask you something as well.

Are you scared of your wife?

That was amazing. If we caught that on camera...

As soon as I asked a question, her head just went...

And you know what that look was she was giving you?

That's, "You fuck this up, no come for you."

Embrace the fear.

Fear is good. Fear is a good thing to have in a relationship, I think.

Like, the longest relationship I'd ever had was based on fear,

because I was terrified of the girl I was going out with. She was...

She was from the northeast of England.

-Have we got any Geordies in?

-AUDIENCE MEMBERS CHEER

Yeah? Geordie... Whoo!

You're going to hate this bit. The, er...

No, because it's not the accent. I love the Geordie accent.

I think the Geordie accent is a beautiful accent.

I'm quite defensive of it, actually.

Like, that whole Cheryl Cole thing, I was really annoyed by that.

Sacking Cheryl Cole from American X Factor because they claimed

they couldn't understand her because of her Geordie accent. Bollocks.

Nothing to do with that. It was to do with Americanisms, wasn't it?

Those words that are different in America

to they are in, say, in Newcastle.

Like in America, they say "sidewalk".

In Newcastle, you say "path".

In America, when it comes to sexual contraceptives, they use rubbers.

In Newcastle, you don't.

That's right.

I warned you. The...

No, I love the accent. I think the accent is beautiful.

She had a very strong Geordie accent, and I loved it.

It kind of turned me on.

It was a bit of a problem, really, because I loved her accent

so much, I was never really listening to a word she was saying.

You know, we'd be out shopping in town,

she might catch me looking at another girl. She'd be like...

-GEORDIE ACCENT:

-"Oh, Jack, pet, if I ever catch yous looking at another

"girl like that again, I'll cut your dick off with a fucking spoon."

"Ooh, who's a little Geordie?! Come on."

She wasn't on a lead. I didn't...

No, she was very nice, but she sort of changed

as the relationship developed, as women sometimes will.

Like, when I first met her, she was cool, she was funny,

she was exciting.

She said she was bi. I was like, "Ooh, sexy."

It turns out she meant bipolar. She was fucking mental.

She was a bit like one of them girls from Geordie Shore.

You know the Geordie Shore programme? Has anyone seen that?

For those of you that haven't, right, it's one of these, like,

sort of mock reality shows, a bit like The Only Way Is Essex.

Except it's not like The Only Way Is Essex.

Geordie Shore makes The Only Way Is Essex

look like fucking Downton Abbey.

On Geordie Shore, they just fuck anything. You'd love it. The...

It's great. But the girls on it, they are terrifying. They are so scary.

They look scary, for starters, cos of some of the clothes they wear.

There's a girl on it who wears a skintight fishnet boob tube.

Now, I'm not a fashion expert, but a skintight fishnet boob tube,

that's probably a look to avoid for most women, even if you've got

the slenderest of figures, but this girl, no stranger to a kebab.

I mean, she's like...

I'm not being rude, but, you know, her BMI number is pie.

She's like a big...

And she goes around Newcastle city centre in this

skintight fishnet boob tube.

She looks like a manatee that's been hauled in by a sea trawler.

They are terrifying.

And, look, a lot of people say of Geordie Shore,

"Oh, it shouldn't be on TV. They should ban it.

"They should get it off air." No, that's not true.

They've just got it on the wrong channel.

Geordie Shore should not be on MTV.

It should be on the Discovery Channel.

That would make it so much better.

If it had, like, a little David Attenborough voice-over.

-AS DAVID ATTENBOROUGH:

-Here is the Geordie Shore

in its natural environment,

cocking her leg by a wheelie bin

to expose her minge to strangers for chips.

So, we were going out.

We were going out, me and this wonderful Geordie girl.

And there were problems.

There were a lot of problems right from the outset.

One of the big ones, right, was that her friends hated me.

And as a guy, if a girl's friends hate you, you're fucked.

There's nothing you can do. Because, girls, you look after each other.

You care for one another. It's gracious. You're like a pride.

You will nurture and look after the weakest of the pack.

Guys, we don't give a shit.

We will kick the weakest out to rot in the sun.

And the savanna, if you will, of all of this, if you want to observe

it happening in all its glory, I always think, is the airport, right?

When you see groups of girls

and groups of guys going on holidays together.

The lads on tour and the girls on tour. You see it in the airports.

That's where it starts, right?

In the queues for Ayia Napa, Magaluf, Marbella, Ibiza.

CHEERING

Girls on tour!

It starts with the tour T-shirts and the tour hoodies that they

all have made up for these holidays, right?

You see the girls first, they come in with their little wheelie bags.

And they take out their nice, neatly-ironed pink hoodies that

they've all had organised months in advance.

And they've got little nicknames on the back in glitter.

Except with girls, it's not nicknames, is it?

It's character building.

You'll find any positive about your friends and you will celebrate it.

It's glorious to see.

You'll see a group of girls, and then at the back of the group,

there will be this 500-ton hunk of ham with,

like, a cleft palate and a gammy leg, chins growing

out of areas you didn't even know a chin could grow out of.

She winches herself round to see

whether there is still a queue outside Burger King,

and on her back in glitter it just reads, "Angel Eyes".

"You can't deny her eyes are gorgeous.

"They follow you round the room."

Yes, cos one of them is lazy.

Next to them in the queue, you've got the guys,

and the guys are all just fighting over a bin liner full of T-shirts,

all desperate to get the one that says, "Shagger".

And they start dishing them out amongst their mates,

except with guys, it's not nicknames either.

It's character assassination.

With no wit or reason to it whatsoever.

It's just, like, "Dick Splash", "AIDS-wipe", "Shit-head".

Some poor guy in a wheelchair getting forced into one that

says "Top Gear". It's cruel.

He's not even part of their group.

And they get on the holidays, no different

when you are actually at the destination.

A group of girls that go to the beach to sunbathe,

if one of their friends falls asleep in the sun, they will wake them up.

A guy wouldn't dream of pulling that shit.

You see the girls, it's like, "Angel Eyes, Angel Eyes, wake up!

"Wake up! You've fallen asleep in the sun.

"I can't wake her up, girls.

"Oh, my God. I think someone might have spiked her sangria."

Very unlikely. "Come on, girls. Come on.

"Bring me some suntan lotion now! We are going to need more than that.

"Bring a fucking bucket of it. Let's put it on you.

"We are looking out for you, Angel Eyes.

"We are looking out for you because we are BFF friends for ever."

Further down the beach, you've got the guys. "Oi, what's Jay doing?"

"Shhh!

"He's fallen asleep.

"In the midday sun. Oh, wow!"

"Shall we put some suntan lotion on him?"

"Yeah. I'll draw the bollocks, you do the shaft."

Very funny, isn't it, Hammersmith? Laugh it all up.

That will take months to get off.

Never changes, no matter what happens in your life,

what you achieve, it's always that same dynamic.

I heard a story recently that made me feel so happy, all right?

A friend of mine went to a house party in London.

At this house party, right, he said that Daniel Radcliffe turned up.

I was like, "Harry Potter? At your house party? That is so cool."

Presumably, because Daniel Radcliffe is one of the most successful

people for his age in the world, a multimillionaire,

a movie star, no less, people were coming up, asking for autographs,

fans wanting to have their photograph taken with him.

My friend said, "No. That's not what happened.

"At two o'clock in the morning, I went upstairs at this house party

"and four of Daniel Radcliffe's mates had locked him in a cupboard

"and was stood outside it, chanting,

"Magic your way out of that, dickhead."

-SINGSONGY:

-He's still there!

So, yeah, I didn't get on with her friends very well.

So that relationship ended pretty abruptly.

No, we split up when I left university, and it was for the best.

It definitely was, because we weren't compatible.

And after that, I didn't really have many other relationships.

Which brings me up to sort of eight months ago.

And I met this girl who was absolutely incredible.

And I fell head over heels in love with her. She was amazing.

Like no other girl I'd ever met.

And, you know, she was a bit older than me, she was mature.

Reminded me of my mum. Perfect.

And...we started going out. And it was brilliant.

It was like, finally, I've got a grown-up relationship.

You know, we are going to have coasters all over the house.

We'll put our posters up in frames. We'll get a bag for life.

Ooh!

But I ruined it.

I cocked it all up because I realised, even though

I was very happy to be in a grown-up relationship, the problem was,

I'm not a grown-up, and that makes it very hard.

And it all came to a crux, right, on a Friday night.

About six months in, it was Friday night.

I'd gone on to my Facebook

and I'd been invited online to a fancy dress party. Sweet.

Out I go, rented myself a big chicken costume.

Correct, I WILL be winning best dressed this evening.

Got myself two large bottles of Jagermeister

and I was ready to hit the fucking town!

Came downstairs and my girlfriend was stood in front of the door,

staring at me.

"Jack, why are you dressed like that?"

"Er, well, because...I'm going to a fancy dress party."

HE CLUCKS

Nothing.

She was like, "Jack, you've forgotten, haven't you?

"Tonight is the sixth-month anniversary of our first date.

"We have booked a table at the restaurant

"we went on our first date to.

"And you've forgotten."

Well, I don't remember seeing it as an event on Facebook,

so...does it count?

Yes, it definitely counts.

And I felt like a dick, I really did.

This was someone I cared about a great deal

and this was something that meant a lot to her,

and it had gone in one ear, out the other.

And I felt so stupid,

because I look at my inspiration for relationships...

I've already mentioned my grandad, all right?