Well, I’ve read all sorts of accounts, and theories, and explanations, and rationalisations and disections of the comedic pursuit, and I agree in some respect with them all … I do it for recognition, to earn a living, as a challenge, to stroke my ego, to indulge my vanity, as a reaction to aspects of my own inner-struggle, as a form of cathartic therapy, blahdee-blahdee-blah!!!!
After doing various gigs in the past month, to large and small audiences, both attentive and intelligent, and then drunken and raucous, with stories and one-liners, old material and newly written, to a chorus of laughter and even rounds of applause, today’s gig was the best by far
My father-in-law, Eddie, is ninety-one years old and someone I’m very fond of.
Eddie’s eyesight, hearing, and general health are on the wane, and watching him sit looking morose, in front of a 42 inch TV screen he can barely see, struggling to hear the conversations of the family as they sat talking, surrounded by newspapers and large-print books which are of no real practical use to him any more, and hearing him say that he didn’t get much enjoyment from life anymore, made me both sad and determined – bloody determined
I quickly concocted a ten-minute routine of stories and jokes from my stage-material, that might suit his tastes, sat in front of him, literally nose-to-nose, and belted out my best stand-up possible ,with all the effort and care that I’d do if playing The London Palladium in front of a full-house – and he laughed, … he laughed uproariously, … and his eyes twinkled in delight, smiling furiously and contentedly