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Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your host for tonight,
CHEERING AND APPLAUSE
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Live At The Apollo!
CHEERING AND WHISTLING
Beautiful. It's good to be here. I'm your host for the evening.
Don't worry. I've done this sort of thing before. I've done a few telly shows.
When you've got a Scottish accent and you do a TV show,
you need to use proper English and enunciate so people understand you
but it's quite hard to find that balance sometimes,
because there'll still be somebody from Aylesbury or Leamington Spa...
ONE PERSON CHEERING
..saying, "We saw you on the television. I didn't understand anything you actually said.
"I found your accent utterly incomprehensible.
"Really quite a thick Scotch accent you've got.
"I used work beside a guy who was Scotch.
"I didn't understand anything he was saying either, yah?"
Whereas somebody in Scotland, they're saying,
"We seen you on the telly talking like a (BLEEP).
"Care to explain yourself?"
I still live in Scotland.
I recently moved out from my parents' house. It's an exciting time when you leave home.
It's an end of an era. It's quite sad.
I've always had a good relationship with my mum and my dad,
especially my dad.
When you're a young guy,
traditionally, your dad is your hero, right? He knows everything.
He's your role model. You want to follow in his footsteps.
He's a legend.
And then you get to about 12 years old,
you discover that your dad is a dick.
And that normally happens on Christmas Day
and involves building something.
I would be sat there, working patiently away using the instruction manual provided
when my dad would come in.
See, my dad was of the old school
where the use of an instruction manual
is seen as an admission of homosexuality.
"This can get to ... Go and get me a can of Miller and the claw hammer."
And once you've realised your dad's a dick,
it lays the foundations
to build a whole new relationship with your old man,
when you figure out how he works
and you can kind of use that to your advantage.
I realised by dad was a knob in 1997.
Quite an exciting year for me because we never had Sky Plus in 1997.
You could not pause live TV in '97. We were cavemen back then, right?
We were Neanderthals. 1997. You had the old school Sky.
You had three options when you were first getting Sky TV installed in 1997,
as far as I can recall.
You could get it via a satellite dish,
via a cable
or you knew a guy.
You knew a guy who could get you a box for 40 quid.
One of the guys that can get you anything for 40 quid.
Doesn't matter how large or how small, 40 quid is the optimum price
for the services of a petty criminal. 40 quid.
He can get you a Nissan Cherry for 40 quid.
A set of golf clubs, 40 quid.
A pair of hair-straighteners, 40 quid.
50 quid in cash, 40 quid.
Cable was the more middle-class option.
"We don't want a satellite dish on the side of our house, thank you.
"I think it looks really quite naff, yeah?"
Whereas the working class, the satellite dish was the key selling point.
If you're paying £25 a month, you want your neighbours to know...
..that you are better than them.
Now, we had Sky through a dish. 1997.
You could be watching old school Sky in the living room,
watching it on the main TV
but you could also go upstairs to the bedroom TVs,
turn to a certain channel and watch Sky in the bedroom
but only what the person in the living room was watching.
I don't know the intrinsic technical explanation as to why this happened
but it just did.
Saturday nights, me and my dad. I'm on the couch, he's in his chair.
My mum's in bed, my brother's out with his pals.
Just me and the old man watching Match Of The Day.
Watching the highlights. It gets to the kind of shite games
and I say, "I think I'm... I think I'm going to go to bed, Dad.
And he would continue the charade. He'd say, "Oh, are you off to bed, son?
And there was that mutual father and son, we both know what the plan is here.
I would casually exit the living room, nice and slowly. "Good night."
Hit the hallway and race up the stairs.
Don't even consider looking in the fridge. Eyes on the prize.
Upstairs, bedroom, TV switched on, go to number six.
That's where you see what he's watching. TVs are synchronised. Six. We're in. He's in control.
A few minutes go by and he's still watching Match Of The Day.
That's fine. He must be giving it a few minutes.
Don't want to make it too obvious.
He's done this before.
Five minutes go by. He's still watching Match Of The Day.
I'm thinking, "Come on. Stick to the plan, Andy."
I'm looking at the bottom left of the screen,
waiting for the numbers to get typed in.
The numbers that could make or break the evening's entertainment.
"Give me your numbers, Andy, come on. Nine! That's a good start. Nine.
"I could not have hoped for a better start than a nine, there.
"The 05, the ten-minute free view.
"You're a dirty bastard, Dad, but I love you."
So, we've got some celebrities in, as always, at Live At The Apollo.
Who have we got? We've got the EastEnders cast.
How are we doing, EastEnders? WHOOPING
Sitting right at the back.
I don't mean the extras, I mean the real people.
Have we got Phil Mitchell?
No, where's he? He's up at King's Cross
dressed up as a ladyboy, trying to raise enough money to buy a Pot Noodle, isn't he?
There's a record amount of complaints about the Phil Mitchell crack addict thing.
A record amount. You don't know.
I'm speaking to Ian Beale. I'm a bit star-struck.
I feel sorry, out of the major addictions, I feel sorry for gambling addicts.
I feel sorry for them.
Because at least if you're a drug addict or an alcoholic
or a sex addict, at least you've got some good stories.
Not like a Gamblers Anonymous meeting. How boring would that be?
"I remember I put 20 quid on a greyhound.
"And it finished last." Well, you know?
Whereas a sex addiction meeting, I'd imagine that to be awesome.
"I got to the stage where I was spending my wages on strap-ons
"and gimp masks and...
Sarah Beeny. Where's Sarah Beeny? She's in the house.
How are you doing, Sarah? What stage of pregnancy are you at, Sarah?
Sarah Beeny is always pregnant, isn't she?
Sarah, what's your new show called? It's called...?
-Help! My House Is Falling Down.
-Help! My House Is Falling Down.
That's the kind of title of a show that would get me to watch it.
I like seeing distress and carnage.
You don't want to watch MTV Cribs,
watching some R&B star showing you his golden snooker table and stuff.
I want to see MTV Shitholes, that's what I want to see.
With some guy opening the door, keeping the chain on, peaking round,
a can of cider.
"Oh, come in. Er, this is my toaster.
"This is where the sink used to be."
Sarah's got kids. I'm at that age...
I'm at that age that some of my cousins and friends are having children.
You're at a family gathering and there's a newborn baby
getting passed around the room like a joint.
And everybody's saying their piece.
Some people have just got a natural rapport when they speak to kids.
They can just go, "Oh, look at you! Oh! He's cheeky.
"Are you cheeky? Yes, you're the best. Ahh!
"Are you telling me a little story? Ahhhh."
It's getting closer and closer to me and I'm thinking, "Wow.
"I need to pretend I give a shit."
The baby reaches me and I just sort of freeze up.
I'm going, "How are you doing, mate?"
And the baby feels the tension, starts to cry.
Everybody looks at me as if I'm in the wrong.
No, toughen up, you wee prick.
We're in the middle of an obesity epidemic.
Have we got any fat people in the audience?
Cos people have got flawed perceptions of their actual size.
I'll use women as an example.
You know you get skinny girls, they think they're chubby?
Chubby girls think they're fat. Fat girls think they're obese.
And obese girls think they're supermodels.
They're the happy people, the ones hanging out limousine windows
on a Friday night, going, "Aaaagh!"
And the driver's there going, "Can you lean in, please?
"You're going to tip this thing."
"I know it's Christine's hen night, but I don't have a tax disc, get in."
We've got Olympic medallist swimmer, Sharron Davies.
APPLAUSE AND CHEERING
That's enough, that's enough, it was only a silver. That's enough.
I took up swimming. I went to my local public pool.
Not a private, fancy gym, a local pool.
A council pool where anybody can go.
And by that, they mean ANYBODY can go.
I was there, public pool. I done my length.
Then I stopped, but I made it look cool.
You know the way you put your elbows up on the tiles?
"Can't wait to go and grab a smoothie."
If you've got a bit of a waist, you need to shop in cheap clothes shops.
If you walk in somewhere trendy, like somewhere like River Island
or Top Shop, somewhere like that, and some boy band freak show
comes bouncing across to serve. You know the people who work in these places,
they don't walk, they bounce. "Hey, man, yeah..."
All that energy and enthusiasm that oozes from people
who have never been punched in the face.
You ask this guy, I said, "Excuse me, mate, can I try on these jeans
"in a 36" waist?"
And the guy's enthusiasm just drained.
He looked at me. You know that way you'd look at somebody
if they'd just took a shite in your kettle?
Primark, they've started selling Che Guevara T-shirts.
That's a fitting testament to the man's legacy, isn't it? Che Guevara.
He fought for the poor and oppressed in South America.
Now his face has been stitched onto T-shirts
by the poor and oppressed in Southeast Asia...
..to be worn by the poor and oppressed in Southeast London.
That's where I stay when I come to London - Southeast London.
Dulwich sort of area. There's a lot of knife crime, a lot of crime.
I don't really know the solutions to that particular problem.
I think a start would be to maybe close the shops
that sell the weapons in the first place.
These High Street shops that sell crossbows to guys in shell suits,
you know these places?
Shops that sell thousands of baseball bats every year,
but have never sold any baseballs.
"The Peckham Rye Red Sox have not had a game in a while."
I was in one of these places, did a bit of research
and the only security measure, if you want to buy a violent weapon,
is you need to fill in a form, leaving your name and address
so if anything happens, you can be traced for questioning.
That's the theory. But what self-respecting nutcase
buying a weapon would leave their real name and address?
I picture some police investigation team going through the book
and saying, "Excuse me, shop owner, says here you sold a samurai sword
"to Bert and Ernie...
"..from 24 Sesame Street."
Some new-guy cop would get sent on a wild-goose chase somewhere.
Sesame Street not showing up on the sat-nav.
Putting down the window for directions.
"Excuse me, mate. Excuse me.
"Can you tell me..."
"..how to get...how to get to...
"That's a wind-up, isn't it?"
Give me a cheer if you're in the mood for a top night of live comedy.
We've got two top-drawer comedians selected from the UK circuit.
Two cracking comics.
We're going to kick off... We're going to welcome to the stage
a woman who you may have seen on Live At The Apollo before.
She's also been on Have I Got News For You and loads of other shows.
She's outstanding. Give it up for the hilarious Shappi Khorsandi.
CHEERING AND APPLAUSE
Ah, that's a nice welcome. All right, London?
It's nice to be back here at the Apollo.
I did the show last series
and after it was on TV, people kept Twittering me.
If you are on Twitter, do twat me.
I talked, last time, a lot about being Iranian
and people Twittered me going, "Are you really Iranian?"
I go, "No, I just say that to be more popular."
That's all right. My career's going OK.
Everything's going fine.
It's at a point now, for me, where people come up to me in the street
and go, "Excuse me. Are you Omid Djalili?"
I never really wanted to be a stand-up.
I wanted to be a doctor. My parents pushed me into stand-up comedy.
My big dream in life was to be an actress
but with the way I look, the only job I'd get
was to be someone's cousin off EastEnders.
All right, Ian?
Sit coms, that's what I dreamed of doing when I was a kid.
I wanted to be an actress in a sit com and in 2003, that dream almost came true
when I got a part in a sit-com pilot
and I was so excited and it went to series
and I was playing an Iraqi nanny.
And it went to series. I was like, "This is brilliant. This is my big break."
And then we attacked Iraq.
The producers decided it was no longer appropriate
to have an Iraqi nanny in a British sit com and they got rid of me.
Now, I know that there were probably better reasons
to have been against the war...
..but as I marched, ladies and gentlemen,
I knew there had been some personal cost to me.
I did Question Time this year and what was brilliant about that
was realising that David Dimbleby is as obsessed as I am
with political correctness.
He took a question from the floor
and he went, "Gentleman there in the blue." Ten hands stay up.
He goes, "No, gentleman in the blue with the eyes,
"the eyes set in a face on top of a neck
"on, I believe, some shoulders."
"Just say it, David, say it. The man in a turban, the man in a turban
"with the beard down to his ankles, wearing ceremonial robes,
"holding a sword.
"The warrior has a question, David. Say it!"
So, it's been a big year for everyone.
It's been a big year for me. I separated from my husband.
That's an awkward thing to tell people.
My parents don't know yet. They don't follow me.
They don't follow me on Twitter.
My husband and I fought so hard for our marriage.
We had a lot to fight for, mostly the house.
And we went... We went to marriage counsellors
and our counsellor didn't fill me with confidence.
She had a picture of her own family on her desk with her husband's head crudely cut out.
So we separated and we divided our stuff equally.
I got half the house and the car and he got the other half in my dreams.
But I'm going to tell you...
We met at a comedy club. He's a comedian, too. You won't have heard of him.
He was brilliant. When he met my parents, he was so thoughtful, my husband
because he learnt all about their culture
by reading the Lonely Planet Guide to Iran.
Which just meant that he peppered the conversation with random facts.
"I hear the ancient ruins of Persepolis are a must-see,
"but the wheelchair access is poor."
It was the equivalent of me going to his parents' house
in Nottingham dressed as Robin Hood.
"The Merry Men and I are in deep trouble,
"can we hide in your rhododendrons?"
So we got married quite soon after we met.
We didn't have a traditional wedding
cos my dad's not a traditional man.
He wouldn't walk me down the aisle.
My father wouldn't walk me down the aisle.
Cos he's a feminist.
Well, he reckons he's a feminist,
the rest of us think he's just got a passing resemblance to Germaine Greer.
And he said, "What, I walk you down the aisle like you are property?
IN AFRICAN ACCENT: "Like you are chattel, I give you away..."
He's not Nigerian!
That's the real reason I'm not an actor.
So my husband and I had a little boy. That was lovely.
We named him Charlie after Charlie Chaplin, one of my heroes,
who famously said, "All I need to make comedy
"is a park, a policeman and a pretty girl."
Of course, today we'd call that dogging.
One of my ex-husband's friends is a bit of a geezer. A real lad.
He loves his football. And he said to me,
"Why do women always go on about the birth?
"Why do we need to know the gory details?" And I said,
"It's because it's a major trauma that we go through
"and we need to talk about it as part of the healing process."
To make him understand, I said, "Look, it's like
"if your team was in a major cup final and lost to penalties
"and then someone attacked your genitals with an axe...
"..you would need to talk about it."
We had to have separate birthday parties for my son this year
and I got really competitive.
My party is going to be the one that our kid remembers.
It's going to be spectacular.
I even thought about hiring a pair of dancing chimps...
but do you have any idea how much it costs to hire Jedward for half an hour?
I want to have another baby. I really want another baby.
I am so broody at the moment. Hi, sir!
I am so broody.
My best friend's pregnant, heavily pregnant.
She says, "Do you want to feel it kick?"
I'm like, "No, do you?"
I am just so worried,
because I'm well into my 30s.
I haven't got the time to meet someone new, see if we're compatible,
if we're going to start a family together. I just meet men
and go, "Are you single, have you got a history of heart disease?
"Then let's go, go, go!"
Some of you are looking a little bit worried.
I'm only kidding.
I don't care if you're single!
There's another very personal reason I have for wanting another child
and that's cos I want to breast-feed in public again.
That really freaks people out in this country.
Especially if you haven't got your baby with you.
I was discreetly breast-feeding my child in the supermarket
and the staff came along and erected screens around me
to give me privacy.
I'm like, "I'm feeding my child, I'm not tossing off a dog."
They've got policies for that, obviously.
I've got a little sister.
She's 15 years younger than me. When she was 17,
her best mate Charlotte had a baby.
You have to say Char-lotte, like that, otherwise she hits you.
I went round to see the baby, beautiful little girl,
and I said, "What have you called her?"
She goes, "Nokia."
I said, "Does that name have a particular significance for you?"
She goes, "Yeah, I was on the phone when I was conceiving, right?"
That's very different to my generation.
If I'd been on the phone, conceiving at 17,
it would've meant I'm in my parents' house, in the hallway at the telephone table.
People under 25 are going, "What's a telephone table?"
You'll never know our pain.
People now, if someone they fancy says they might call them,
they can get on with their lives cos they've got mobile phones in their pockets.
We had to stay in all summer holiday, staring at the phone.
Rocking backwards and forwards.
And you couldn't leave your post cos if it rang and your mum got it,
it'll be awful, cos the most embarrassing thing in the world
is if anyone finds out at 15 that you've got a mum.
I love a mum.
I love a good mum. Mums always give their daughters in particular
that beautiful, unique gift of low self-esteem.
All the while I was growing up, my mum would say to me,
"Oh, Shappi, the women in our family are so beautiful.
"You look like your father."
So I decided that it's time that I get back into the dating game
and it's quite difficult because this is the first time I've been single since I was 22.
Not the same guy - loads of overlaps.
And it's so simple. When you're 22 and you want to pull,
you just get drunk and fall on someone.
That's really frowned upon at my age.
Especially in playgroup.
But if I'm going to do it, I'm going to go out and do it.
So I got my old pulling outfit, you know,
and I went out I threw some shapes.
Do you know, whatever people say,
supermarkets are not the best place to pull?
I was in the supermarket and this guy, I was with my little boy,
and he was in the fold-down seat of the trolley.
And this guy said to me, "Oh, is that your child?"
And he was really fit, so I went, "Oh, no, he just came free with three bottles of wine."
Which is kind of true.
I tried internet dating but I didn't like it.
Someone messaged me and went, "Your name's a bit ambiguous,
"are you a man or a woman?"
It had my picture on it.
I don't tell men immediately that I have a child.
I went on a date with a guy and I opened up my bag
and he saw that I had nappies and wipes in my bag
and he went, "Oh, great, you're into that, too."
I had dinner with a guy and I gave the game away.
He had sauce on his chin and I spat on a napkin and wiped it for him.
And later on, he flirted with me
by feeding me bits of his food from his fork
and I thought, "I remember that," so I did the same to him
but I ruined it by going, "Here it comes! Nwaaaaaah!"
There was this guy that I did really like,
so I thought, "I'm going to bring him home." Exciting.
So I cleared all of my kid's toys out of the living room,
just to make it a little bit more romantic.
And he came back... I feel quite intimate, telling you this,
but I'm going to tell you.
I was being ravished.
I was being ravished to the point of no return
and someone's knee went in the wrong place
and we heard this, "To infinity and beyond!"
my son doesn't have a Buzz Lightyear toy.
It had been a while.
That sound came from me.
Listen, you've been such a lovely, lovely audience
and I just want to end by telling you another cute little thing
that my kid said to me recently.
I was having a bath with my three-year-old son
and he said to me, "Mummy, where's your willy?"
Cute. I said, "Mummy hasn't got a willy.
"She's got more balls than Daddy, though."
Let's hear it for Shappi Khorsandi. CHEERING
I'm now going to introduce a young guy. This is his Live At The Apollo debut.
You'll have seen him on loads of TV shows. He's a comedy buddy of mine.
You're going to love him.
It's the hilarious, the wonderful Jack Whitehall.
CHEERING AND APPLAUSE
Hello, Hammersmith Apollo!
So I'm Jack. I live in London, quite locally.
I'm quite posh, as probably most of you will have already gauged.
I don't want any shit for it, though.
I do get stick for being posh
but you know, it's like I always say,
sticks and stones may break my bones
but, whatever, I'm with BUPA. Erm...
I am posh. I'm not right wing, not prejudiced.
Well, I guess I'm homophobic
in the same sense that I'm arachnophobic.
I'm not scared of spiders, I'm not scared of gays,
though I would probably scream if I saw one in my bath.
I'm young, I'm not like one of the... A regular youth, I guess.
People are afraid of young people now.
I'm afraid of young people, as well.
I forget what I'm meant to be afraid of
cos it seems to change with young people. If you read the tabloids,
one minute you get, "Young people, knife crime and gun crime,
hoodies, ASBOs," all of that stuff.
Next minute, they're all fat, overweight, the obesity epidemic.
And I'm confused.
I don't know what I'm meant to be scared of any more.
I'm worried to walk down the street unless I'm attacked
by a fat kid with a knife...
and a fork.
I want to stay fit. I want to be good at fitness and health.
I want to be healthy but I've never been good at it.
Even when I was at school, I hated PE. I hated PE so much at school.
Mainly because of my PE teacher. He was a complete arsehole.
His name was Mr Walton. He was from South Africa.
And he was a lumbering hulk of protein shake and unresolved childhood issues,
which he took out on me every week.
He was horrible to me. He humiliated me every lesson, right?
And I remember one class, he tried to get us to do a bleep test,
which I refused to do because we weren't living in Nazi Germany,
ironically an environment in which he would have thrived
and he was shouting at me and pushing me, trying to humiliate me
and I'm quite a sensitive soul, I couldn't hack it.
Eventually, I flipped.
He was like, "Go on, Jack. Push yourself now!
"Embrace the burn! Look at my body, Jack.
"How do you think I got to where I am today?"
"I don't know. Oppressing black people?"
He thought he was a motivator. He thought he was inspirational to the children.
It wasn't. It was psychotic.
And it never made any sense, as well.
Once, we were playing basketball and in the middle of the game
he blew his whistle and shouted at me,
"The problem with you, Jack, is you're all fart and no poo.
"When I fart, I follow through and sometimes there's blood."
I tried at school, I just could never do very well.
But I always think if you weren't very good at school,
there's always one thing that everyone that wasn't good at school could hold onto
and that is that every school, all over the world, in every class,
there was always that person that was better than everyone else.
That got into all the sports teams, that was in the school play,
that had a girlfriend. Mr Perfect.
You can hold onto the fact that, yeah, they were Mr Perfect at school
and everyone resented them and they were so great
but in later life, Mr Perfect will have made his mistakes.
He will have screwed things up
and now, with Facebook, you can find the bastard.
You can hunt him down and look at his photographs
and realise, "You were Mr Perfect at school
"but now someone's put on a bit of weight, someone's lost his job
"and they're sleeping in their car,
"so screw you, Robbie Westlake!"
And it's not just them.
You can also find people who didn't want to have sex with you at school,
that rejected you at school, and you can find them on Facebook
and you can hunt them down and look at their photographs
and do what us perverts like to refer to
as The Revenge Wank.
"Yeah! Didn't want to have sex with me at school?
"How do you like it now, Robbie Westlake?"
The sad thing is, right, I'm the only person that can't do this.
I can't hold onto the fact that the person I resented has failed
because I used to sit next to Mr Perfect in my class.
I used to have to sit next to him every class,
every single term time.
My school, down the road in Sheen, in London.
And at my school, Mr Perfect's name was Robert Pattinson.
The star of the internationally acclaimed movies, Twilight,
who earns hundreds of millions of dollars a year,
has been voted the sexiest man alive in every magazine there is.
Not every magazine. Top Gear didn't do the poll but he's really popular.
And I hate it because all I can think of
is the knobhead I had to sit next to at school.
Now I see him on the news at all these movie premieres.
He turns up and there's all of his screaming, adoring fans.
The girls that have camped out overnight just so they can get a glimpse of his stupid face.
And they've got his stupid face on their T-shirts
and it's on their banners,
these girls that are waiting to see their hero.
Do you know what they chant at his premieres, Robert Pattinson fans?
They chant, "Bite me, Robert, bite me, bite me! Bite me, vampire!"
I hope he does bite one of them one day
and the one that he bites has hepatitis.
I hate him!
He stole my dreams.
For those of you who don't know him, he's in these Twilight films,
where he plays a vampire.
But not a fun vampire like Christopher Lee with the cape.
No, in Twilight, Robert Pattinson plays a vampire
who looks more like one of Jedward
that has just been diagnosed with acute pancreatitis
and is trying to work out what the pancreas is.
He's everywhere. Everywhere I look. He's in films.
He's in the Harry Potter film. I went to see that film four times.
Every time, I was the only one laughing when his character died.
I'll come clean with you, though.
The main reason I have an issue with Robert Pattinson in Twilight
is that when I was at school, I wasn't good at sport, I wasn't academic.
I thought, "If I'm rubbish at everything, I'll have to do drama. That's what you do if you're shit."
Some drama students in. Awkward laughs.
What are they going to do?
"Look at me, Jack. I'm making an angry tree."
But I thought, "I'm going to do drama. I'm going to audition for every play the school puts on."
And every single play that I went in to audition for at my school
and I learnt all of my lines, I went in and gave it my all
and every single play that I auditioned for,
Robert Pattinson got cast in the lead role.
And I got cast as Villager Six,
the twat that used to have to stand at the corner of the stage
and do nothing for an hour and a half,
whilst his parents looked on ashamed.
That's not to say I didn't throw myself into these roles.
When I was playing Villager Six, I would give it my all.
The teacher would be like, "Jack, at the end of the scene, Robert's doing his speech,
"just walk very quietly from that side of the stage to this side of the stage
"and exit quietly without making a fuss."
I was like, "Oh, my God, sir, you are a fool."
"When Jack Whitehall is on stage, he does not walk, he glides."
WHOOPING AND APPLAUSE
The other one I'd have to do, and this happened on several occasions,
the school were forced to write parts into plays
so my parents wouldn't complain to the headmaster.
Do you realise how humiliating that is?
When you're stood with all of your friends and peers in front of a cast list
and, yeah, my name's on it
but everyone knows there is no emu in the manger.
I look like a dick.
But the worst thing about it and it still cuts me up
and I cannot get over it
is the one very simple and plain fact
and that is, Robert Pattinson is not a good actor.
He wasn't a good actor at school, he's not a good actor now.
-I've been to see him in these Twilight films several times
and every time I watch him on the screen through my tears,
I'm astounded by how big a crock of shit he is.
All the guy does is mope around, giving this one, same surly look
and that's a look that he stole off me when...
HE RANTS INCOMPREHENSIBLY
But I'm not bitter. I'm very happy.
And basically, all I've ever wanted to do is make my parents proud,
especially my mum. My mum, she's very proud of her children,
but she's also very openly proud of her children.
She loves doing that thing all mums like doing -
going to do the weekly shop at the local supermarket
and when she's there, look around for other local mothers in the area.
Then they go over, start to have a chat, banter about whatever -
silly nonsense. And then, slowly but surely,
that banter will segue into a little exchange
where they start showing off about their children.
Back and forth, back and forth.
And what it becomes is essentially, in the supermarket,
a little supermarket game of Top Trumps with your kids.
My mum is amazing at playing child Top Trumps
cos when she plays against other mothers,
my mum thinks outside the box.
She uses categories that you didn't even know existed.
And she can win any exchange with any mother,
even when she's showing off about my little brother Barnaby,
who by far and away is her dud card.
He is. You know how every set of siblings has the one who's shit?
You're thinking, "Ours doesn't."
It's you! I see my mum do it, right?
She'll scour round Sainsbury's looking for the mother
she wants to have the exchange with. Hunting down her prey.
When she finds the mother, she'll ram the trolley in front of her
and start the game. "Hello, Jane, how's Joe?"
"Joe's doing very well, Hilary, he's bought a new house,
"he's moving into it with his girlfriend and he has a new job,
"earning a lot of money. How's your son? I forget his name, oh, yes, Barnaby."
"Barnaby's fine. How big are Joe's feet?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me, bitch." "I think he's only a size 8."
"Ooh, only size 8? Barnaby is size 13."
Ooh, didn't my mum just hit you with the my-son's-got-a-bigger-dick card?
I think she did.
It's a low blow but she'll take the round. Walk on, bitch.
Mothers were terrified of my mum.
They would cower, try and avoid eye contact with her.
My mother was very much the sheriff in that town.
But then, ladies and gentlemen, approximately five months ago,
someone else started shopping in our local Sainsbury's.
Someone that had come into a little bit of money recently
and all of a sudden there was a new sheriff in town.
And that sheriff's name was a Mrs Clare Pattinson.
His mum started shopping in our supermarket.
And that woman was unbeatable at child Top Trumps.
My mum wouldn't know what to do. She'd try and hide,
but Clare would always catch up with her.
She'd ram the trolley in front and start the exchange. "How's Jack?"
"Jack's fine, how's Robert?"
"Robert's doing very well."
"How big are Robert's feet?"
"Robert's feet? I think he's only a small size 7."
"Are they only size 7? Jack is size..."
"Obviously that's size 7 in the UK, he doesn't live here,
"he lives in LA where I think he's a size 44.
"But he doesn't buy shoes for himself, the studio buy them for him
"cos he's earned them so much money in films like Twilight,
"which grossed 395m in its opening weekend. What's Jack doing?
"A gig in Sunderland? How quaint."
My poor mum was destroyed, she didn't know what to do.
The only way my mum could see fit to deal with the situation
was to swap supermarkets.
Robert Pattinson is not only ruining my life,
he's affecting my diet. It's all right for Clare Pattinson
just waltzing down the aisles of Sainsbury's,
buying herself only the finest organic range -
couscous and quails.
Meanwhile my mother is self-harming in Lidl.
Ah, you guys have been absolutely wonderful. Thank you so much.
-I've been Jack Whitehall. Good night.
-CHEERING AND APPLAUSE
Let's hear it for Jack Whitehall.
CHEERING AND APPLAUSE
You've been watching Live At The Apollo. Give it up for Shappi Khorsandi.
And give it up for Jack Whitehall. CHEERING
I'm Kevin Bridges. Thanks for watching.
Good night, God bless.
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