Original subtitles

Girl, I was your number one

Yeah, I was your Anthony Bennett

Two years, then I was done

I was just like Anthony Bennett

Now I'm bowling in the EuroLeague

Anthony Bennett

Yeah, I'm bowling in the EuroLeague

Anthony Bennett

Yeah!

Awesome!

Fuckin' hell!

Fuck me! That was a fuckin' welcome.

What is it, a motherfuckin' Tuesday?!

That you get a fuckin' welcome like that.

You gotta be some mad motherfuckers

to give a fuckin' welcome like that on a fuckin' Tuesday.

I fuckin' appreciate it.

Shit!

Right, let's start with the headlines.

I swear now.

Started swearing in my stand-up comedy.

Ten years in the game, I've been a pretty clean comedian.

I don't eff and jeff that much, and as a result,

I'm attracted a demographic who, to be frank, I hate.

It's a bunch of old people and Christians every goddamn show.

I'm fucking sick of it.

Got to ditch these Chrizos ASAP.

Seriously, man, after every single gig, some fucking mum comes up to me,

"Oh, me and my daughter loved that one."

May as well quit now, then.

If you and your daughter are enjoying on the same level, the fuck am I doing?

I hate old people so goddamn much.

They're the stupidest people in the world and they tell comedians

how to do comedy every night of the week.

"Oh, it's so refreshing to see a young comedian

who doesn't have to resort to swearing."

"Comedians should never have to swear in order to be funny, you know?"

"Back in my day, comedians didn't need to swear."

No, they were all massive bigots and you loved that shit.

Don't tell me what is and isn't offensive, you old fucks.

I know some of you are sitting there all smug.

"Oh, I'm OK, I'm not an old person or a Chrizo, so I'm in the clear."

Yeah, perhaps, but you do know who your patronus is.

You're a fucking dork.

The dorky old Chrizos night after night.

Most of my audience are white, the worst of all the races.

Plus, middle class as hell, watching me and laughing

while spilling your Shloer all over the shop.

It's embarrassing. It's an embarrassing career.

And chill out, like. Just cos I swear now and I'm cool...

that doesn't mean you've accidentally bought tickets to see an edgy comedian.

And I understand your concern.

Most edgy comics look like me, race and gender wise.

They say whatever they like.

Edgy comedians, no one tells them what they can and can't say.

They walk straight on stage, top of their specials sometimes.

Do ten solid minutes just slagging off transgender people.

Just straight out of the gate, just making fun of transgender people.

If people on the Internet get upset about it,

the comedian's always like, "Bad luck. That's my job."

"I'm a stand-up comedian. I'm meant to challenge people."

"If you don't like being challenged, don't watch my shows."

"What's the matter, guys? Too challenging for ya?"

That's my job. I'm a stand-up comedian.

I'm meant to challenge people.

If you don't like being challenged, don't watch my shows.

What's the matter, guys? Too challenging for ya?

That's my job. I'm a stand-up comedian.

I'm meant to challenge people.

If you don't like being challenged, don't watch my shows.

What's the matter, guys? Too challenging for ya?

Ah, yeah, because you know who's been long overdue a challenge.

The trans community.

Oh, they've had their guard down for too long, if you ask me.

They'll all be checking their privilege on the way home now thanks to you,

you brave little cis boy.

I used to name one of the comedians that that was about in that routine,

but it always got really awkward in the room.

So apparently it's 2019,

most people still more than happy to laugh at transgender people.

Not as comfortable laughing at Ricky Gervais yet, I've discovered.

That's the line.

Night after night.

"Fuck off, leave Ricky alone!"

"Ah, this is classic liberal bullshit."

"What, I can't make fun of transgender people anymore

but it's fine for you to gang up on Ricky Gervais, is it?"

"I thought liberals were meant to treat everyone the same."

Nope.

Ah, no, actually. Don't like to treat everyone the same.

We haven't got equality yet.

Can't go around treating everyone the same before you've got equality.

What, you go past a school, see a bully punch another kid in the face.

You get out your car, go up to the bully,

"You make me sick, and, just for balance, you're a piece of shit as well."

That was even-handed. I'm a good person.

I treat everyone the same.

I can feel it in the room tonight, man.

I can feel it, I can feel it in the air. I can taste it in the sky.

Old Chrizo central.

We got a bunch of old Chrizos sitting here,

pretending like they get the jokes.

I can feel it.

I can feel it, this is the old Chrizo crowd, man.

And let me tell ya, I'm gonna say whatever it takes

to send most of you old Chrizos home in the interval.

I will say whatever it takes,

send you packing it in, all you old Chrizos.

Fuckin' Easter's over, ain't it? I'd love a second referendum.

How about that shit?

Suck on that.

I don't even understand why people get upset about that, actually.

I know it's not even likely we're even gonna get a second referendum now,

but I think it's important to still remember

that it was the only sane choice in the first place,

but like I don't get why people get upset about it.

I'm not even being a dick now.

Every time I say I want a second referendum,

everybody's so upset.

All I'm saying is, let 'em negotiate a deal

and then we can vote on an actual deal, that's all I'm saying.

Let them get all the information together, then we can make our minds up

based on a group of actual information.

It's a little bit like, uh, oh,

you know, every decision you've ever made in your life.

Even the...

You know, when you know what the decision is.

You know...

You know, those decisions that you make when you know what the decision is

going into it.

I'm just saying maybe do one of them.

Don't get me wrong, I know a lot of people like to wake up,

cover their eyes and guess which one the toaster is.

I'm not having a go at 'em.

Blindly prodding random objects in the kitchen with their tongue

trying to see where Mr Toaster's hiding.

Look, statistically there will be one or two people in this room who voted leave.

I'm not about to pile in on you and have a go at you, right?

If you voted leave, if anything, you should want a second referendum

more than anyone.

You voted for Brexit.

You had a specific version of Brexit in your head

when you voted for it, I assume so.

It would have been insane to do otherwise.

I'm just saying, you deserve to get the Brexit that you voted for, right?

Some people voted for, what, 350 million quid a week to the NHS?

Fair enough, that's a good and noble reason to vote for something.

I mean, sure, the people who promised them that...

They weren't in charge. They didn't have to do it straightaway.

Do you know what I mean?

But do you have any idea the amount of promises I'd make

if someone else had to do them?

I wouldn't care what I said.

All three of them just ran their mouths off the whole campaign,

and then they won and went,

"Thanks very much for voting for us, everybody."

"Ah, what a monumental victory."

"Not just for us but for Great Britain and for democracy."

"Also, goodbye."

Then someone else had to come in.

Right. I know I shouldn't do this because we're taping it,

but like...

the energy doesn't quite feel right in the room.

It's... Do you know what I mean? I feel like...

You know, I've come out here all guns blazing

and like... it might be in my head but I think my new persona's

coming across a bit confrontational, for some reason.

It's not even at the ten-minute mark here, I'm demanding a second referendum.

You know... I can feel it tonight.

You know, over the years, I've accrued a more, you know,

mainstream, "would I lie to you" audience.

I can feel a lot of them...

It's mainly that tonight and I don't think...

hitting you with opinions is very good.

You'd like "truth or lies", that's what you like.

You don't like opinions, so... right.

Just forget all that stuff, OK? Forget all that stuff I said.

Just forget all that Brexit stuff, that second referendum stuff.

I'm gonna do a... hopefully this is OK in the gallery...

I'm gonna do... Plan B.

OK? So, look, I've always got a plan B.

I'm gonna do a little bit of a play for ya.

Just want to get... We probably won't even use this.

But I just want to get... a little bit of a fun play

so we can just relax and have a bit of a laugh

cos it's a bit more of a tense crowd tonight.

So, look, look, just... forget all that Brexit stuff.

Forget all that second referendum stuff, that was stupid of me.

And this is on me, by the way. Don't put any of this on yourselves.

Forget that Brexit stuff, forget that second referendum stuff.

Let's have a little bit of fun, come on.

We need to film this.

"Hello there."

"Hello!"

"Hello. You ready to order? I can come back in a minute if you're not ready."

"Have you finished looking at the menu?"

"Yes, hello."

"Hello. Uh, yes, can I get the filet mignon?"

"Please, can I get that medium-rare with the garlic butter?"

"Uh, I'd like the sautéed spinach on the side

and the truffle fries with that, if that's OK?"

"Uh, can I get an ice-cold Estrella to drink and...

oh, the homemade tiramisu for dessert, please."

"Thank you, that's gonna be delicious. Thank you so much."

"Absolutely. Uh, I've written all that down."

"Uh, just so you know, people who wrote that menu,

they don't work here."

"Uh..."

"They're not associated with the restaurant in any way, shape or form."

"They've just... actually been very critical of the restaurant from outside,

all three of them."

"They just wrote down a bunch of stuff they know you love."

"You love tiramisu, don't you? You love tiramisu!"

"I'm gonna do my best to negotiate your order with the kitchen."

"But between you and me, I know for a fact

they got none of these ingredients knocking around back there, so..."

"Be back in minute with a plate of shit if you're lucky."

"I'm gonna try my best to get you a plate of shit,

but don't hold me to that."

"You were very rude to the kitchen earlier,

so I don't know if I'm gonna be able to get you the plate of shit you would like."

"I'll try my best."

I'm just sayin'.

Right, listen.

Some people have ordered themselves a delicious steak dinner.

I'm not here to have a go at them, OK?

It's their favourite meal, so they ordered a steak.

Sure, they ordered for the whole table, but that's by the by.

They love steak so they ordered a steak.

I'm just sayin', if you've ordered yourself a delicious steak dinner,

your favourite meal, and the best the kitchen can rustle you up

is a plate of shit...

which in this scenario you do not like, by the way...

Let's pretend you don't like it.

I'm just saying, once that's been established in the kitchen,

would you not rather they send the waiter back out a second time

to check in with you again, and go,

"Hello. You ordered a steak earlier."

"I was then sent to check, is a plate of shit OK?"

That to me is a very reasonable question to ask someone.

It's a real massive shift

in what you're gonna eat.

That's a completely different meal.

That is a completely different meal.

But some people... let's face it, a lot of people...

maybe even most people in Great Britain, are like,

"No way do I want that second option. Absolutely not!"

"No, I want to order myself a delicious steak dinner."

"I don't want to hear anything else from that kitchen

until they put a plate of shit in front of me and my entire family...

no cutlery, thank you... and then go,

Eat that. Food means food.'"

Apparently, or something akin to that.

Food means food.

Let's get the food done.

Just get the food done.

Someone ordered food for you earlier, let's just get it done and eat the shit.

Someone ordered you a plate of shit, let's just get it done.

Get it done, eat that shit.

Get it done.

That's what I want to do, I just want to get it done.

I'm really keen to get it done and eat the shit.

That makes sense to me.

I didn't personally order shit, but I'd just like to get it done, please.

Please let me get it done.

Now, listen, first of all...

I do appreciate your response to the majority of that routine.

Very warm, nice applause base.

And look...

I know it's a bit crass to acknowledge that,

but I've been doing this routine all over Great Britain and...

it's nice to get a warm response, you know?

A lot of people have hated that bit.

One guy hated it so much, he emailed me about it.

That's rare. Well, he emailed my agent and she forwarded it to me,

cos it were funny.

"I came to see you last night. I voted 'leave.'"

"I do not want a second referendum. I hated that routine."

"I liked you when I seen you on TV."

"You sit at the end and you're weird, I liked that."

"And now you've stooped to the levels of political comedy?"

"I hate political comedy. That's not why I come and see you!"

I replied to this man.

I don't normally reply to that sort of stuff.

"Dear sir, let me get this straight."

"You bought tickets to see my show."

"Now, you didn't know what that show was gonna be yet."

"You had an idea in your head of what you wanted it to be."

"And when it wasn't that, you sat and sulked

and lost your temper, is that correct?"

This is a comedy night on Tuesday. It's not the future of the economy, mate.

It's been a long old tour all over the British Isles.

And let me tell ya...

I hate Britain.

Absolutely hate it.

I absolutely hate...

I oughta phrase... No, I phrased that wrong.

I hate British people.

No, I love all of Britain, don't get me wrong,

but full of absolute scabs.

Hated Britain for a while now.

The last British thing that pushed me over the edge happened last year, actually.

September. I'll give you a bit of context before I tell you this story.

Start of this story, I haven't slept in 36 hours

and I got the worst jet lag of my life.

That's very important details

so you understand my behaviour throughout the story, right?

So I haven't slept in 36 hours, and I've got the worst jet lag of my life.

Now, I don't know about you lot, but if I haven't slept in 36 hours,

I'm currently experiencing the worst jet lag of my life,

the last thing I want to do on a list of things that I want to do

is The Great British Bake Off.

That's just me.

Right. I'd rather not.

It's a bit full-on, actually.

And I give you the context there, haven't I?

And I gave that context multiple times on camera.

So many times in that tent, I kept saying it.

"I haven't slept in 36 hours."

"This is the worst jet lag I've ever had in my life."

And they cut all that out of the edit

and made me look like a free-wheeling madman

fucking up for no reason.

Zero baking experience.

Amount of times I had to ask Rylan for help was frankly undignified.

Then they gotta make flapjacks,

which, spoiler alert, I made porridge, by the way.

A disgusting porridge.

Only consolation was that I knew contractually

Paul Hollywood had to eat it.

Then technical was even harder than the signature.

Main reason I said yes to it in the first place,

cos all my comedy friends had done it in the past,

told me the technical was really easy.

They were all, "Honestly, James, the whole point of that technical

is they want to encourage people at home who haven't baked before

to bake and raise money for Stand Up to Cancer."

"So we'll show them how easy it is to bake from scratch."

"So it's a really detailed recipe."

"People on standby to help you out, if needs be."

"It's stuff like fairy cakes or gingerbread biscuits."

"Easy stuff. Nothing complicated, like, ah, I don't know,

off the top of my head, six identical cream horns."

"They won't make you do that."

"That would be beyond unreasonable

if they made you make six identical things you've never seen with your eyes before."

"You have no concept of."

"Just imagine a thing out of nowhere,

then conjure it into existence with skills you do not possess."

"Then replicate that five more times to competition standard, please."

"Yes, we're filming it. Why wouldn't we be filming it?"

And at this point, I was crashing hard.

It's 40-plus hours no sleep, and all the way through the signature,

I was necking black coffees one after the other.

I know that doesn't sound like a tough guy move.

A little bit more context for ya.

Way back in 2013, I completely cut caffeine out of my diet.

So for five years, I'd have no caffeine in my system whatsoever.

And then... I don't think many people have said this sentence before...

I fell off the wagon during Bake Off.

At one point, I had to make a crème pat.

Still don't know what that is.

That was all the recipe said: "make a crème pat."

Like proper Bake Off prison rules.

May as well have said, "Ha ha ha" after it.

I know I had to stir custard for it,

and I also know that everything I'm about to tell you didn't make the edit.

None of this was broadcast, and I know that

cos I stirred that custard for 45 minutes.

Forty-five minutes, I'm pretty sure, is roughly the length

of an entire episode of Bake Off.

I don't think the whole episode was just me

blacking in and out of consciousness...

while nothing happened to some custard.

That's 45 minutes of my life.

And of a cameraman's life.

The same guy was putting in a shift.

That was all the footage he got for 45 minutes.

He couldn't intervene because of David Attenborough's code or whatever.

Even though he morally objected to it, he has to let it play out.

At one point, they sent a producer along behind the cameraman

to ask me some questions to get some more energy out of me.

Like, "Hey, James, what have you got in that tin over there?"

"What's in the tin, mate?"

"Uh, that's some excess pastry."

"Uh..."

"I rolled out too much pastry earlier."

"I had to... cut some of the pastry off

of the main bit of pastry..."

"I was gonna... Your bin's too far away, actually."

"Uh, so I put it...

a tin... it's..."

"It's in a tin now."

When I told her there was pastry in the tin,

she starts proper laughing her head off, like full-on laughing her head off.

Now, look, I've been a comic long enough now

to know when a joke's getting more than it deserves.

Especially when it weren't even a joke, it was a fact I was telling her

about what was in the tin.

So now I'm worried.

Think maybe I've made a mistake, so I look for reassurance.

"Eh..."

"That's OK, right?"

"That's OK, I'll put pastry in the tin."

" Sorry, James."

"But you're not allowed to say..."

"But, put it this way,

oh, dear."

"Wasn't I meant to... Rylan! Was I meant to do? Tell me now!"

"Tell me now." They're both laughing now.

The cameraman is just Blair Witching it all over the shop.

Really letting himself go.

I'm looking at both of them, I'm looking at the custard,

I'm looking at the tin. My body clock's going haywire.

All my anxieties are building up inside of me.

I didn't know I was gonna say anything.

Didn't know anything was gonna come out of my mouth.

I'm still stirring the custard, I'm swaying back on my heels,

and I look down the barrel of the camera and all my emotions

just surged out of me and I went,

"This doesn't feel nice!"

Which is too real for Bake Off.

Bake Off is a light entertainment show.

We watch it to switch off and feel optimistic about cake and friendship.

You don't go, "Oh, gather round, family."

"Let's watch a young man unload his mental health issues

directly into our living room."

"That'll be enjoyable."

This doesn't feel nice!

"Ha ha ha. Very good episode of Bake Off, wasn't it?"

As soon as I said, "This doesn't feel nice",

the whole atmosphere changed.

Both of them stopped laughing and slowly started backing away

while very firmly keeping their eyes on me.

And now it's their job to essentially go round the tent

and warn the rest of the crew that one of the bakers

is not as fun as they'd all anticipated that morning.

So I'm watching them going up to other crew members,

like, "Come here, all right. Don't look at him. Come here."

"Uh, James doesn't like people laughing at him."

"Yeah, the comedian."

"We don't know what he'd prefer, but no laughing at the comedian."

"Pass it on."

Here's what you should know about all these people

who work on Bake Off, by the way.

They're every bit as lovely as you all hope they would be.

They're one big happy family, the tent's their home.

And when you go into their home, they want you to have a good time.

So if someone acts like I just did, like a diva, they then go,

"Oh, fuck him, who cares?"

They get in a little huddle and go, "OK, everybody, listen up."

"James isn't having the best Bake Off today."

"So let's all really rally behind him and make sure he has

a good tiptop rest of the afternoon, OK?"

"How does that sound, OK?"

So now, for the rest of the day, all these lovely people

are having to walk on egg shells around me and treat me like a child

cos, you know, I acted like a child a second ago.

At one point, one of the crew's walking past my bench,

and he clocks my trainers and goes,

"Whoa! Sick shoes, little buddy."

The worst it got is they sent out Sandi and Noel

to let us know how much time we had left.

You know, they always do a little skit during those bits.

This time they had these custom-made tubular guns

that fired full-size marshmallows at one another.

And they're running around the tent like, "You have 30 minutes left, bakers."

"You have 30 minutes left on your technical bakes."

And then they start firing the marshmallows at all the bakers.

And everyone else is taking it really well.

And Toksvig, who I haven't met before that day,

she's snaking her way round the tent, she jumps out in front of my bench,

points her gun at me, looks up all excited,

and then the producer appears behind her and goes,

"No, no, no, no, no, no."

"No. Not him, Sandi."

"I'll explain later. Now do not fire a mallow at him."

"He will flip out. That's the last thing we need."

"Get her out of the tent, get her out of the tent!"

And that was the end of day one.

Day two was Showstopper day.

In between, they put you up in a hotel.

I think I got in at like six in the evening.

Immediately, just pine-treed face-first onto my bed, out cold.

Four hours later, my jetlagged body naturally wakes me up.

Fully awake and fully charged.

It's not even midnight yet.

I'm getting picked up at six a.m. the next morning to go into Bake Off.

Now I'm really worried.

I need to get a good night's sleep before I go into that tent tomorrow

cos I'm pretty sure that everyone, including me,

would rather I wasn't in there.

So, this is pretty standard stuff.

I phone my girlfriend up for a little bit of a chat, you know.

Maybe she can calm me down.

We'd been going out for about five months at this point.

We're actually not together anymore, but if you're wondering why we broke up,

this is literally the story of us breaking up, so listen to this.

So listen to this...

Phoned her up, told her about my day, and I blamed everything on myself.

That's what you oughta know about me, always blame stuff on myself.

I think that's quite a British thing to do.

"Ah, it's probably my fault."

I know a lot of British people just blame everybody else for their problems,

but it's about half and half, I think, it's about 52-48.

Roughly that.

I can't tell you where I get my stats from.

But they are solid stats.

And I got them from the stat shack.

Phoned her up, I was like, "Oh, man, why do I want to say stuff like that?

Why do I say whatever's in my head and just blurt it out

and make it awkward for everybody else?

Especially at work. It's unprofessional if nothing else.

I mean, Rylan didn't do that.

All day long, Rylan was professional as hell.

No matter what they threw at him, he was good value and good fun,

and he might go home and say to his husband,

"Actually work was shit today, I don't feel like going in tomorrow",

but he's straight back in the next morning lifting everyone's spirits

and making work a fun place to be.

Whereas I'm there and my emotion's all fragile on the surface.

If someone so much as taps them, I'm like,

"This doesn't feel nice!"

And then I've ruined the atmosphere in the Bake Off tent, of all places.

I'm not thick-skinned enough for this job, I should quit comedy

and I'm spiralling and I'm spiralling.

I think I went on like this, I don't know, at rough estimate

like 90 minutes, like a 90-minute...

It was another 90-minute monologue.

I'm not, like, being over the top there.

That's about how long I spoke for.

And look, some of you will be in these kind of relationships

or you have been in the past,

where, if one of you's not doing well or you're worried about something,

you just start talking to your partner and everything comes out.

Like, suddenly, and there's no pauses, there's no breaths taken.

Just every single concern you've currently got in your life

is piled on top of one another, tangents coming off,

things looping back to your childhood.

Just everything, just...

And the other person's sat there in the wake of it all,

trying to keep track of all the different strands

because they know that once you've finished talking,

they've got to feed back to all of this with a neat little soundbite

that solves it all, then you can go to bed.

I don't envy those of you who are on the receiving end

of this sort of behaviour.

She did her best.

She's like, "OK, James, well, first of all,

and I know you had a bad experience last year,

but we've talked about you

maybe finding a new therapist and going back to therapy

and you still haven't sorted that out yet, have you?"

"No, but like..."

"I mean, cos like, I want to have enough time to do some research

and find a decent therapist."

"I haven't had enough time yet. I've been too busy."

"OK, James, I'm going to challenge you there."

"Have you been busy, though?"

"Yeah, I mean..."

"You've seen me. You know how busy I am."

"Like, if I wasn't busy, I'd have learned how to make flapjacks in advance."

"So I am too busy."

"OK, James, but consider this."

"When you're sad, which, let's face it, is hardly seldom...

that makes me feel sad."

"And if you're not getting help,

that makes me think that you don't care about me feeling sad."

And I said, "This doesn't feel nice."

I didn't say that.

Ain't it weird, though, that I didn't say that then?

Do you know what I mean?

Earlier that day, I couldn't wait to say that.

When my girlfriend tells me the main problem with my sadness

is that it makes her feel sad, I'm like, right,

keep all your feelings locked inside, don't say any of this out loud, James.

No, save that for when someone asks you

why you put some excess pastry in a tin.

Then you can unload on a stranger while being filmed for Channel 4.

That's a healthier way to deal with your emotions, you fucking man.

I didn't say, "This doesn't feel nice."

Instead, I said, "Look, I'm jet-lagged, I'm all over the place right now."

"Could we bench this conversation, have it another time?"

Hang up. It's like two in the morning when we hang up .

And now more anxious and more awake than before I phoned her.

If anything, I've got additional concerns.

But it's two in the morning.

A lot of my friends are probably asleep around this time,

so, I've never done this before, but for the first time in my life,

I phoned the Samaritans.

Now, look, some you will have phoned the Samaritans,

some of you won't have.

That first Samaritans phone call,

you got a lot of preconceptions going into it.

Especially when it comes to your role and what's expected of you

as the caller.

The first time I phoned the Samaritans,

I instantly turned into like a sixth-form drama student

who'd been asked to play the role of someone phoning the Samaritans.

The first words out of my mouth, they were like, "Hello, Samaritans?"

And I went, "Helloooo?"

I thought I'd better sound dishevelled if I'm ringing the Samaritans.

But if I'd just gone, "Hi there", they'd have been like,

"You fuckin' faker" and hung up on me.

"Another faker just rang us up, he sounded all spritely."

"Put another one on the tally chart for me."

"I smoked out another faker."

"Put 'spritely' in brackets after the tally."

"I'm sick of this shit."

"Hello?"

"Are you OK?"

"No."

Went, "OK, why don't you start by telling me about your day?"

Suddenly, I was like, "Oh."

I feel like I've accidentally done a prank phone call here.

Cos I don't know how most Samaritans phone calls go,

but I'm pretty sure most of them don't kick off with,

"I'll tell you what happened today. My signature was really tricky."

"My technical was even worse."

"I'm sweating bullets over my Showstopper tomorrow."

"I'm never gonna be the star baker!"

"The Hollywood handshake is moving forever and forever out of my grasp."

"Do you even know how that feels, Sammy?"

Couldn't tell them I'd just done Bake Off.

Mainly because you want to remain anonymous

in a Samaritans phone call, right?

Don't want to start giving them clues.

"Put it this way, I was filming Bake Off today,

and I was one of the bakers, so watch the next series of that,

and match the voice up, have fun."

"It's James Acaster, by the way."

But I wanted help, right?

So I had to give her enough information so that she could help me,

but not so much she could figure out who I was.

So sort of that's a half lie.

So when she said, "Why don't you tell me about your day?"

I said... and I think it's pretty good for like off the top of my head,

I told her that I was a baker by trade...

I had a pretty rough first day in a new bakery.

Right, I don't think that's too bad...

for thinking on my feet

and being able to talk about my day without talking about my day.

I think that's all right.

What I hadn't taken into account

was that I'd now have to stay in character as "the baker"

for the full duration of that phone call, which lasted over an hour, by the way.

I'm not a good actor at the best of times, let alone my head's all over the place.

"I think my girlfriend's gonna leave me. Why can't I ever hold down a relationship?

"And I'm a baker, and I've always been a baker."

"I'll have to quit comedy. I'm not cut out for show biz."

"And I went to pastry school in Paris."

"I worked my way up from the bottom."

"Greggs, Pain Quotidien, don't know any other bakers."

I messed up once.

There was one point she goes,

"Why don't you tell me why today was particularly stressful for you?"

I was like, "Well, as I said, my first day at this particular bakery,

and I've got zero baking experience whatsoever."

That's the only time where she jumped in, she was like,

"Sorry, can I stop you for a second there?"

"I think that's really impressive you got that job with no baking experience."

And cos I was so caught up in the fantasy, I was like,

she's right, actually, that is impressive.

Not too shabby. Most people would kill for that job.

I've got zero baking experience. I work in a bakery now.

I feel better already.

"Do you know what, you're good at your job."

"Nice to talk to someone else that's good at their job, know what I'm saying?"

She was good at her job as well.

I know it's still a weirdly taboo thing in this country.

We see reaching out for help as a sign of weakness when it's really a strength.

It needs to change moving forwards. It's fucking fucked at the minute.

But the next day I just felt lighter and more capable of doing my job.

Like the first thing we had to do,

all four of us are working behind our benches,

and they're filming it, but they're not gonna use any of the audio.

So everyone else is just chatting amongst themselves

about what they got up to the night before.

Watch me during that bit. I'm the only one not saying a word.

I'm standing there doing my best not to go,

"Anyone else ring the Samaritans last night?"

I rang the Samaritans cos my technical went so bad.

I'm pretty sure my girlfriend's gonna leave me.

The fuck is a proving drawer, Rylan?

September 2018 we filmed that.

The episode didn't air until March 2019.

And in the intervening months, I managed to convince myself

probably didn't go as bad as I felt like it did.

I will look competent when it airs.

And besides, most people don't even watch the charity version.

It'll be an obscure episode, no one will even see it.

I'm a meme in America now.

I'm an American meme.

If you haven't seen the meme,

it's three photos of me showing my flapjacks to the judges.

And the quote, I don't remember saying this,

but apparently it's how I talk...

it says, "Started making it, had a breakdown, bon appétit",

is what the... the meme says that.

OK, well, fair enough.

Yep.

All right.

It was so surreal watching that meme go viral,

cos for two weeks of my life, anytime I went anywhere near social media,

people were sharing it, laughing at it.

"Ha ha! Started making it. Ha ha ha! Had a breakdown!"

I'm like, uh, I did, actually.

I phoned the Samaritans, I'll have you know.

"Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh. Retweet, that is funny."

Even you lot.

I told you all the context, all the details,

and you applauded the meme.

What the fuck were you doing?

Were you even listening? Just a meme you've heard in the past.

Oh, I like memes!

Even though I know the dark story behind this one

and the person it's about is standing right in front of me.

Whoa-oh! Memes!

Fuck is the matter with you?

Also, that episode's got so big now,

I've just got to accept the fact there's no way

that that Samaritans lady hasn't seen it yet.

She'll have seen it and she'll have pieced it together as well.

Her friends would have been like,

"Susan. Susan! You lot, come in here."

"Come here and watch this."

"This guy fucks up so bad, you'll thank us."

"It's Bake Off, it's funny."

OK, fine, stick it on, you know me.

I love a laugh, takes my mind off the job. Put a little bit of baking...

Nice touch.

"Pull up a pew, we're watching Bake Off."

"He says it's funny."

"Pull up a pew, why not? It's fine. The more, the merrier."

"What episode is it?"

"You've seen it?"

"Worth my time?"

"OK, two recommendations. I'll watch it."

"I'm not talking over the... It's OK."

"It's the opening titles and the joke they do at the start."

"No one gives a shit about that."

"Just watch the... OK. Hmm."

"OK, I'm assuming that's the guy."

"Too right. You can spot him a mile off."

"Fuckin' hell, straight out the gate, he's..."

"You know what I mean?"

"Look at this guy. I thought you were exaggerating."

"You are underselling it if anything."

"He's a fucking absolute liability, this guy."

"This is right up my... thank you. This is right up my street."

"You shouldn't laugh sometimes, should you, but look at him."

"It's like he's got zero baking exper..."

"I'd like to turn it off now, please."

"No, I thought it was weird at the time...

one of the co-workers at his bakery was called Rylan."

"And the bakery inspector was called Prue Leith."

"And the bakery was called The Great British Bake Off."

Usually, at this point in the show,

there are like just one or two people who might be sitting there thinking,

"This stand-up comedy show is bleaker than I thought it would be."

"Not very happy, some of this stuff."

If you are thinking that, little heads up. Second half is way bleaker than this.

Second half is start to finish about the worst year of my life.

We've not reached peak bleak yet by a damn sight.

But don't worry, right?

Sometimes people like worry about me in the show,

cos they're like overly empathetic.

It's nice of them but they don't need to and it kind of ruins the show for them.

Look, anything I talk to you about tonight on stage, I've dealt with it.

I processed it. That's why I'm telling you.

The fact I'm telling you lets you know it's fine now.

Because... and don't take this badly...

but you lot are never gonna be the first people I come to.

That would be mad.

Having had something bad happen to me and I was like, "Right,

better get myself to, hmm... Hackney, I believe."

"The home of human empathy."

"Get a bunch of hipsters to face me in the same direction

and open up to them for no reason."

"And they'll heal my open wounds."

No way, man.

One of you opened a can while I was saying that bit.

Why...

Why, if any of this was still raw, would I open up to...

"Yeah, well, mate..."

"Just having a drink."

"Uh, I was gonna be opening my can in the pauses, if that's all right."

"Won't wait for the applause or the laughter."

"I'll do it in the pauses, in the gaps. Thirsty."

"Thirsty work, innit?"

"In the pauses. Get pretty thirsty in the pauses."

"Who'd you ring, Mate? Sammies?"

Give you a bit of balance before we go into the interval.

Gonna tell you about the best year of my life, it's a bit of sunshine.

1999, easily the best year of my life, for loads of reasons.

Uh, went on the best family holiday I've ever been on, for one.

I was 14, so I wasn't old enough to decide

if I went on the family holiday or not at 14.

I think when I was 16, we were given the choice for the first time.

My parents like, "It's up to you this year, James.

Do you want to come on the family holiday, yes or no?"

First chance I got, I threw it right back in their faces with like,

"No, ha! Bad luck, Mom and Dad."

"I'm not coming on a family holiday ever again."

"Have a fun fortnight with my brother and sister, you absolute losers."

And they left.

Ten minutes after they left, I'm walking round the house,

whole place to myself, just like,

Ha ha ha!

I'll tell you two things that I love.

Holidays and my family.

Then an hour later I was sick, cos, full disclosure,

I drank too much hot chocolate.

As soon as they left, I was off the leash, full-on Kevin McCallister,

just sculling hot chocolates one after the other.

Any time I wasn't drinking a hot chocolate

was that two-second window where I yelled "Freedom!" at the top of my voice.

And then I'm in the foetal position on my parents' bed,

cos that's the only place that I feel safe anymore.

Just like, actually, now my mum and dad are gone,

I appreciate, it's pretty wise of them

to stagger the hot chocolates the way that they used to.

Why did I have so many in succession?

And I put ten heaped teaspoons in them.

Oh, it said to put in four heaped teaspoons.

But I put in ten heaped teaspoons.

And I really heaped them as well.

Oh, they were so heaped.

They were heaped as hell.

You gotta heap.

You gotta heap.

You gotta heap those teaspoons, baby.

You're making a hot chocolate, you'd better heap those teaspoons.

It's very clear about that on the hot chocolate pot.

It says it real clear English with diagrams of little spoons

in diagonal formation and little pyramids of heaped chocolate powder

in each of the teaspoons.

Four heaped teaspoons!

Can't I just use four normal teaspoons?

Absolutely not.

Take four of the smallest spoons you own

and heap them as high as humanly possible, please.

Can't I just use a bigger spoon and do less, more manageable spoonfuls?

Where's the challenge in that?

Keep 'em high and no spillage between the pot and the mug

every single time.

Just put two dessert spoons in. Just...

It's done.

Every night, that reaction.

Every night of the tour, no matter where I go.

Suggest putting two dessert spoons of hot chocolate powder in,

the audience is always like, "Oh, no."

Whoa, that would feel wrong. It's a classic British response.

Logically it makes sense, but it would feel wrong,

so British people don't like it.

It's like if anyone ever makes you a cup of tea in like a clear glass mug...

look, logically, you know that's like any other mug you ever drank out of.

That's absolutely fine.

As soon as you lay eyes on it, you're like...

"Sorry, I only like to see the top of the tea."

Where all the scum and the bubbles are. That's my favourite bit.

I love looking at that scuzzy, dirty top of the tea.

I love looking at it.

I hate when I get a takeaway tea and they put that lid on it.

All I've got is that little peephole to work with.

Oh... there you are.

Mm-hmm, you filthy top of the tea.

Oh, I'm gonna drink you first.

You can't wait to get into my dirty little mouth,

you dirty top of the tea, can you?

Look at you.

Oh, you know what they say.

First in the mouth, first out the dick.

Oh, you can, we'll rush you to that dick, can't you, you filthy top of the tea.

You can't wait to get to that dick.

You're gonna burst out that dick

and land face-first in some toilet water, you filthy dirty top of the tea.

You want to just splash in that toilet water

and then have all the other piss just shower down on top of you.

Oh, I bet you're crossing your fingers

you're part of a piss-poo double-up, you filthy dirty top of the tea.

Straight in the mouth, out that dirty dick.

Straight in that dirty toilet of water

and then just showering in the piss and the shit.

Oh, baby.

You dirty top of the tea, you.

So dirty.

So long, Chrizos.

Look, I don't enjoy that bit any more than you do.

It's not my sense of humour. It definitely doesn't suit my persona.

It's very... very much not my type of comedy,

but if it will nudge a few Baptists out the door, I'll say it.

Get outta here, you bappies.

Bloody bappos.

We'll have no damn bappos turning up at my gigs.

So long, bappos.

Let's get to... back to some fun old whimsy.

Long car journey on that 1999 holiday.

I remember it well. Mum and Dad in the front of the car.

Classic line-up so far.

More gentle, that sort of humour. I enjoy it.

A little turn of phrase is fun.

Mum and Dad in the front of the car.

Me and my brother and sister all crammed in the back.

It's 1999, so we all had our Discmans in,

keepin' 'em level.

Some of you are gonna be too young to understand that reference.

Right, if you don't know, there was a time in 1999

where, if you wanted to listen to an album all the way through in the back of a car,

you had to have the steady hands of a heart surgeon.

You had to want it. I could be a heart surgeon now.

That's my training done. I'm not even messing around.

Honest to God, if I'm ever on a flight and someone's convulsing on the floor

and they're like, "Is there a doctor on the plane?"

I'm straight up like, "No, but...

once in 1999, I listened to the entirety

of the All Saints debut self-titled album All Saints

in the back of a Nissan Bluebird

during a journey from Kettering all the way to Ilfracombe."

"No skips."

"Hand me that spork. I'm gonna save a life."

Never ever, ever, ever felt so low

Mmm

You gotta take me outta this black hole

Time of death, 8.37.

I imagine eventually that...

Huh?

Yeah, I'll come with you.

Is it about the man I killed?

Thank you, I killed a man.

Huh?

Well, it sounds silly now.

Remember Discmans? Yeah, that's...

The best thing about that 1999 holiday, in case you're asking...

and a lot of you will remember this.

It's a big deal.

We went to see an eclipse.

The '99 eclipse was...

It was a... if you don't remember, it was a solar eclipse.

Obviously.

I'm not here wasting your time with a lunar eclipse story, am I?

What, you think you're watching a punk?

The solar eclipse, the best one.

That's, here's the Sun and the Moon goes in front of it,

which is the way round I want it, by the way.

You put the best one up front.

The Moon is much better than the Sun. I don't care who I'm offending with that.

It does more stuff, it's more versatile.

Orbits the Earth, controls periods, fair play.

Controls periods, man.

And tides.

That's a weird choice, innit? Those two.

"I'll take periods and tides, please."

Of course you will, Moon, you're a jack of all trades. Why not?

Have bus time tables while you're at it. Same wheelhouse.

Look, there's a woman on a yacht and that's all your jurisdiction, Moon.

You get involved.

There's a whole hen night on a boogieboarding trip.

Wreak havoc.

Get them all in sync together then get a tidal wave going if you feel like it.

I'm not telling you how to do your job. OK, you're the Moon, not me. Jesus Christ.

Get them all in sync together.

That's amazing, innit?

The Moon.

If women are in the same house, their periods get in sync.

I'm sorry, am I the only one not jaded in this godforsaken city?

That's just mind-blowing to me.

Look, I'll be honest.

I'm not 100% sure it's even true.

I'll never know if it's true or not. Some women have told me it's true.

Other women have told me it's absolutely not true.

But I hope it's true.

It's magical if it's true. Are you kidding me?

I've never felt in sync with anyone that I've lived with.

But if you've got periods, you might be hanging out in your living room one day.

You know, just doing your thing, just hanging out.

OK, one or two fellas in the room

don't appear to recognise a menstrual cycle when they see one.

I'll power on through that.

Fellas always letting the room down.

And maybe another person will walk in the room

and maybe they're a bit more like that, you know.

And the first person's like,

"Oh, hello."

"You're the new housemate, right? You've just moved in today."

"Is that correct?"

"Oh, yeah, those are my boxes by the stairs there."

"They're not in your way are they?" "Oh, no, it's absolutely fine."

"Just noticed you got some DVDs knocking around in there."

"What are you working your way through?"

"I'm currently watching The Sopranos."

"Late to the party there, aren't I?"

"No, that's absolutely fine."

"It's started watching The Sopranos myself, coincidence."

"Episode 9, season 1 at the minute."

"Oh, I'm episode 4, season 1.

"I'll tell you what, I can wait for you if you like, I'll pause it."

"You can catch up, watch it together. How does that sound?"

"That'd be amazing, I'd love that. Let's do it together."

"Aww, nice to make a friend on day one."

That's how...

that's how 1999 felt.

All year.

Everyone connected.

Everyone in sync.

I mean...

I was 14, remember that.

The world just seemed more innocent and stuff.

You know...

Everyone was reading the second Harry Potter book in '99.

That's all that had come out. That's all that existed.

But now it's a big franchise and there's books and films

and you can buy the costumes and...

Back then, people were still calling her Hermion and stuff.

It was different.

"I really like this Hermion character, how about you?"

It was a more naive time.

Connected, in sync and happy.

2017 was the worst year of my life.

Felt isolated.

Miserable, in a world of shit.

We have an interval now.

It's, uh...

20 minutes long.

I'm gonna say, meet back here?

Fair enough, I'll see you in 20 minutes.

I'm bowling in the EuroLeague

Anthony Bennett

Girl, I was your number one

Yeah, I was your Anthony Bennett

Two years, then I was done

I was just like Anthony Bennett

Now I'm bowling in the EuroLeague

Anthony Bennett

Yeah, I'm bowling in the Euro League

Anthony Bennett

Welcome back, you fucking wanks.

2017 was the worst year of my life.

My girlfriend left me, my agent dropped me,

and I shit myself in a steak house.

Not a vintage year.

The breakup happened in January.

She left me, as is tradition.

Some of you will always be the person who gets broke up with.

And you'll know, it's not cos you're so awful to go out with.

Right, guys?

Like for me, it's cos no matter how badly your relationship's going,

always convince myself it's not going badly, it's all in your head.

You're imagining it, James, you know?

But once, this is back in 2013, completely different relationship.

But me and that girlfriend were sharing a tiny flat together.

It's tiny. Not big enough for two people.

Big enough for one person who is out a lot, I'd say.

That's how big this flat was.

And while we're living together, she got a job

in a really big West End play.

It's a really big deal, she's a very gifted actress.

It was exciting, but as long as she was in the play,

the more it felt like we were getting distant from each other, you know?

Like I wasn't any fun to be around. I was sulky and mopey all the time.

So instead of hanging out every morning, she gets straight out of bed,

straight into the living room, shut the slide door behind her.

We had a slide door.

Because there wasn't enough room for a normal door to open

in either direction.

So we had to have a slide door.

I have to clarify that every gig I do round Britain.

Cos if you tell the British audience you've got a slide door,

their first reaction is always...

well, lah-di-fuckin'-da.

And then you gotta be like, "No, no, it's cos things were bad."

And then they're like, "OK. Good."

That slide door made everything worse.

Made me less dignified every time I wanted to follow her into the living room.

Cos I'm already sulky and mopey, that's not an attractive look.

But a standard door, that would have really helped me out.

That's an outwards positive motion into a room.

You don't realise how many favours that does your confidence

so that's not an option anymore.

But she must have hated seeing that.

Just slowly unveiling my needy little face every morning.

"Anyone in the living room, still in love with me?"

And it was frosted glass.

She could see me approach it every single time.

"I'd recognise that sad little shadow anywhere."

"Here comes the hand, fuck my life."

I never vocalised any of my insecurities to her.

Didn't tell her how I was feeling.

So then I started to imagine things that were proper paranoid.

The worst it got, one morning I woke up and I thought to myself...

and this thought occurred to me out of nowhere,

but seemed like a legitimate concern at the time.

I just thought, "Oh, no, I know what's happened."

"She's fallen in love with Rowan Atkinson."

He was in the play, just so you know.

I haven't plucked that name out of the ether.

I wasn't that paranoid.

Still ridiculous that I thought it to myself, though.

I mean, my whole life I never thought that that would be a concern of mine

at any point, you know?

We're worlds apart, me and him. Universes apart, really.

This is Mr Bean we're talking about, you know.

This is crazy, right?

Even more crazy, yeah, that is what happened.

That is what happened.

That is what happened.

I know it sounds like I've made that up for the end of a routine, but...

look, it's too risky to make that up, and besides, if I've made that up,

not very funny.

If it's true, pretty funny.

Pretty funny if it's true, right?

Just in case you're not finding it funny yet,

let me refresh your memory.

Mr Bean.

Mr... don't know his first name...

Bean.

I didn't find it out until a year later.

We broke up, and then a year later, I open up a newspaper

and there was a photo of them walking arm in arm down the street together,

and a full story about how they were a couple now.

It's the first time in my whole life when I've discovered why someone left me

without any period of mourning whatsoever, just immediately going,

"Well, that is fucking hilarious."

"You seen this? She left me for Bean!"

"That is funny."

And just to be clear there, what I found funny about that

was the fact that a year previously, I'd thought to myself,

"Oh, no, I think she's falling in love with Rowan Atkinson."

I dismissed it cos it couldn't possibly be a part of my life,

and now it was a part of my life.

That's funny to me, and I'm very much the butt of that joke, by the way.

Some people think this routine's a little bit bitter,

which it isn't, she didn't do anything wrong.

Some people think it's a bit of a cheap routine,

like I'm showing off how my life overlaps with the bigger celebrities.

"A bit beneath you. This sort of stuff's a bit beneath you, actually, James."

"Bit disappointing."

I'm sick and tired of being judged by audiences

night after night for this routine

as if, if it happened to you, you'd keep your mouth shut

and wouldn't tell anyone at work the next day.

You'd all be running your mouth off immediately about this shit.

Right?

Plus...

2014 I read about this in the newspaper.

It's 2019 now.

I'm a saint to have kept this in the back pocket for this long, to be frank.

Do you have any idea the amount of self-control it takes

to not talk about this?

Especially when your job is saying things that are funny on stage.

This fell into my lap.

I've written four solo shows in the intervening years

about being an undercover cop, and my real life was this,

and I haven't broken the glass until now.

It's a miracle.

And look, the reason why I'm talking about it now

is cos they're still together.

If I said it right at the start and they'd just become a couple,

I would have felt unfair, it was early days.

Six years down the line, they're still together,

and everyone knows they're a couple as well.

They're a well-established couple and they're a good couple as well.

We weren't. Didn't make any sense between the two of us.

But they're a proper good couple.

She met, she fell in love with Rowan Atkinson.

We're not here to make fun of that, by the way.

None of us, yourself included, know what we're on about

when it comes to the two of them.

She met and she fell in love with Rowan Atkinson.

Also... and this is very important...

I got left for Mr Bean.

And those two things can coexist.

OK, both of those things happened.

Cos I didn't get left for Rowan Atkinson,

because he's not Rowan Atkinson to me, is he?

I've never met Rowan Atkinson, weirdly.

He was always kept at arm's length from me during the play.

I never got to meet him, but...

he's Mr Bean to me, and he has been my whole life.

Just always like to let the bleakness of that last sentence

just sink in for a while.

My whole life!

Uh, any of you ever been left for someone you've known your whole life?

Maybe looked up to and admired?

Maybe even the reason you work in the job you currently work in?

Ever been left for that person?

You know, a hero and an icon.

Ever been left for a hero and an icon, you snowflake wimps?

Look, when I say "left for", there wasn't an overlap

or anything dodgy like that.

We were together when they met, she broke up with me,

within a year, they were a couple.

Still feels like I was left for him.

Some of you have been in relationships in the past

where someone's broken up with you, then within a year, they're going out

with someone they knew while you were together.

It's a weird feeling, isn't it? They've got you on a technicality there.

You can't really justify being annoyed about that.

It's a weird feeling.

Imagine that feeling... plus Mr Bean.

It's undeniably peculiar, the whole thing.

Cos listen, until you get left for Mr Bean,

which, fun fact, I'm the only person that's ever happened to.

Ever.

Not just in this room. Ever.

Once upon a time, he was just Rowan Atkinson,

and then he met and married his wife and then during their marriage

he became Mr Bean, and they got a divorce,

and then the first person he met and started a relationship with

was my ex-girlfriend.

No one else in the history of all time

has ever been left for Mr Bean.

What a surreal and lonely feeling that is.

It's just me, no one else can relate to it.

I can't turn to anyone and go, "She left me for Bean",

and they're like, "Well, we've all been there, James."

"You just gotta... You just steady the ship."

"I'm on the other end of the phone if you need me, son."

It's just me.

And listen, until you get left for Mr Bean, let me tell you,

you don't realise how frequently Mr Bean...

pops up in your life.

It is way more regular than you're currently estimating.

I ask you from this day forward, just make a note

every time you see his face, you have no idea.

I'd say minimum five times a week, maximum eight or nine.

That's how often I'll see him. I'm not exaggerating for comedy there.

He's very successful and very famous.

I can't just avoid his TV and films either.

He's popping up on billboards, adverts.

Every single streaming platform

and every single bit of in-flight entertainment

has got something with him on somewhere on that platform,

but I don't know where it is.

Scrolling through Netflix is a very tense experience for me.

"Think I better find something quick."

"Oh, God, it's Johnny English. Why do I never suspect Johnny English?"

"Ah, he's got enough films now. I should have expected Johnny English."

YouTube are recommending me Mr Bean videos

any time I watch any comedy.

It's got a Mr Bean kids cartoon as well, which my nephew is obsessed with,

and is not yet old enough to understand why he shouldn't go on at Uncle James

about how much he loves Mr Bean.

And he does love Mr Bean and he's a very articulate kid.

Plus, I live in London, don't forget.

That is prime Bean town.

Tourists love Bean.

There's a souvenir shop round the corner from my own flat...

they sell masks of his face.

There's... Round the corner from my flat, there are masks of his face,

and I can feel them hanging there when I'm asleep in bed.

Trying to sleep and I know that they're there.

Some mornings I walk round the corner and they've put the Bean masks

out on the pavement to shift a few units, and I've got to go past them

and resist the urge to put one on, pretend to be him,

and win her back that way.

And I'm not dumping on Mr Bean, by the way.

The character... one of the best comedy characters

we've ever created in Britain.

Genius character. Completely, completely silent.

Which means it transcends all language.

Which also means he's globally famous and I cannot escape him.

I've been in foreign countries before on holiday.

Just walking down the street and trying to clear my head, you know.

And maybe a shopkeeper will come out of a shop

looking for customers, and they'll see me and be like,

"Oh, my friend. Where are you from?"

And I'm always like,

"England with pride!"

And I salute the top of my head off and dry-hump the nearest bull dog.

And if you say "England" to the shopkeeper,

they'll have some stock phrases they'll throw at you

to try and establish a rapport, you know?

"Ah, England, oh. God save the Queen."

Or, "Bangers and mash", you know.

But, things we say all the time.

Remember in the first half when we were all shouting "Bangers and mash" nonstop?

Do you remember that?

And the staff told us, didn't they,

you stop shouting "Bangers and mash" you lot,

but no one tells us what we can and can't shout in our own goddamn country!

Am I right, everybody?

Bangers and mash!

Bangers and mash!

Yes!

Freedom of speech.

Freedom of speech.

Can't even say "bangers and mash" anymore.

Can't say "bangers and mash" anymore.

Can't say "Merry Christmas" anymore.

That's fun every year, innit?

That really brightens up the Christmas season every year, doesn't it?

All the old white racists...

"You're not allowed to say 'Merry Christmas' anymore."

"You know, they're stopping us from saying 'Merry Christmas' now."

Nope, never happened. That's never happened.

That's something that never happened, actually.

No one's ever stopped you from saying "Merry Christmas."

What happened was, over a decade ago, one well-meaning person went,

"Should we change it now that we're more multicultural?"

"Maybe to something that everyone can like be included in."

And everyone, regardless of race or religion, went,

"Nah, that's a stupid idea."

And even the person who said it, went,

"Yeah, now I hear it back, that doesn't really make sense."

And everyone agreed, "Yep, let's not do that."

"Let's keep saying Merry Christmas."

And all the racists went, "Right, I'm gonna keep that."

"I'll keep that in the bank, and every single year,

'Ah, you can't say Merry Christmas anymore.'"

You can. The reason why you're not hearing it

is no one says it to you, that's why.

It would... You're a horrible person and you'd ruin my Christmas.

Really harshes my Christmas buzz

when someone's a bigot out of nowhere.

On two occasions... that might not seem like a lot to you, but it's a lot to me.

On two occasions, I've been on holiday, I've had a shopkeeper go,

"Oh, my friend, where are you from?"

England. "England?"

"Mr Bean!" Right between the eyes. Like a ninja throwing star.

"Mr Bean!"

I don't know if this has ever happened to any of you,

if you've ever been walking down the street you've never walked down

in a country you've never visited

and a stranger comes up to you and says, apropos of nothing,

the name of your ex-partner's new lover.

Doesn't win your business the way they hoped it would.

I'll get my trinkets elsewhere, thank you very much.

Also doesn't help being in the same biz as him.

Show biz.

Not that we even bump into each other.

We don't move in the same circles, we don't do the same gigs.

I haven't looked at the schedule for...

whatever this venue used to be.

Fuckin' half a cinema. I don't know what this is.

My point is I'm pretty sure Bean's not here tomorrow

telling his side of the story, put it that way.

Don't think he's playing these rooms anymore.

But sometimes, sometimes I'll be getting interviewed for something,

or maybe I've got like a business meeting with some industry types.

It's quite a lazy thing to do,

but people like to compare up-and-coming comics

to more seasoned pros, you know?

And cos me and him, we're both quite physical, gangly comedians,

I look like if I went down some stairs on my back,

my body would just move in the shape of the stairs.

Like a cartoon blanket, you know.

I've got the posture of a froob, if that makes sense.

I'm quite froobie, and I've made my peace with that.

I'm OK with being a bit froobie.

But sometimes...

Cos, you know, me and him, both quite gangly and...

I'm a relative newcomer, and he's, you know,

a national treasure.

I've lost count of the amount of times people have said this to me.

"Oh, thanks for coming in, James."

"Before you go, and I hope you don't mind me saying this..."

And they have no idea how much I mind.

"We were talking earlier,

we think you could be the new...

Rowan Atkinson, James! How does that make you feel?"

And I've gotta be like, "Oh, thank you so much for saying that."

"You've really made my day. What a compliment."

"Ah, you've put a real spring in my step, I'll see you later."

And then I leave with sadness swimming around in me.

Obviously, what I want to say in that situation is,

"Well, I don't know."

"I mean, to one person, in one way, he's the new James Acaster, to be fair."

You know? But I don't think I'm being a dick.

I don't think I'm being a dick saying that.

I don't think that's out of order.

You know.

Just cos we were together and now they're together.

That's the idea.

That's the... I know I'm overclarifying the joke, actually, but...

I just want to be very clear about every joke in this routine.

I've been doing this routine for a while now, and I enjoy it.

It's a good knockabout, but, right...

This is the part of the show where I like to say to you, "Hey, thanks for coming."

Uh, do me a solid.

Please don't tweet about any of that stuff I just told you, please?

That laugh didn't reassure me.

Do not tweet about any of that shit, I'm not fucking around.

Same if you're watching at home.

Anyone, do not put any of this anywhere near

any form of social media, right?

Cos that's what, a 15-minute-long routine?

I've agonised over every single word of that routine,

so it's clear it's about me and my life and how it feels to be me.

It's not about them, having cheap shots at them

and laughing at their relationship, it's about me and how it feels to be me.

And no offense to any of you,

but I don't think you're gonna nail the tone...

in a tweet.

I don't want one of those smart arses who comes at the show tweeting me.

"Thanks for tonight's show, James. It has 'bean' a pleasure."

Fuck you. None of you are funny. None of you are funny.

None of you are funny!

Clapping it, like actually it is your joke as well.

Oh, it was so fucking funny! I'll let you into a little secret.

I wrote that joke and deliberately made it shit.

I deliberately made it worse than what I would usually write

so you'd hear that and go, "Yeah, we are geniuses."

"We're the kind of people who would notice that 'been' and 'bean' sound the same."

"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha."

Audiences are the worst part of this job, I swear to high Christ.

I wear to high Christ.

Absolutely awful.

Especially these days.

Especially with you tweeting at us and all the...

It's bad enough, back in the day before the Internet,

when we had to be in a room with you for the whole show

and put up with that shit, and the whole time...

You have any idea how demeaning this job is?

Night after night, I'm the one out of everyone in the room

who knows the most about comedy and I've got to win your approval.

That is fucking demeaning.

It makes no sense, all of you sitting there,

"I saw an episode of McIntyre's Roadshow once.

"I think that makes me quite the connoisseur."

"I've heard of Brass Eye."

Hmm... impress me.

Bad enough that I gotta do that every night.

Worse now, cos after I walk off, I'm not free of ya.

I've not escaped.

You're sitting there like...

"This is far from over, James."

"Ooh, I'm gonna find him online."

"I'm gonna find him online. I'm gonna do some banter with him."

"I'm gonna do some banter with him online."

Little heads up, this isn't your fault, you're not a professional comic.

You haven't like learnt your trade and your craft over the years.

But your banter is rude.

It's just saying rude things to a person you've never met before.

Cos you're not subtle enough or tactful enough to make a joke work.

Every single night after every single gig,

"All right, James, uh, kind of funny tonight, I suppose,

for a little boy from Kettering. Ha-ha-ha."

"My girlfriend thinks you look tired. Get some sleep, you ugly bastard."

"Also, Rob Beckett, way better than you last month."

"Just sayin'. Don't get annoyed about it. Rob Beckett's way funnier than you, mate."

And then Beckett "likes" it, like a worm.

And every time I've gotta take it on the chin and just laugh at it.

Ha ha ha! Oh, good one, audience member.

You got me so good. You're so funny. Ha ha ha.

I just appreciate you showing up and seeing me. Ha ha ha ha...

Cos if I ever go, "Shut up", you're like...

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"I thought stand-up comedians were meant to have a sense of humour."

"I thought you were meant to have a sense of humour if you're a stand-up comedian."

Uh, no, we're not, you are.

That's the whole relationship, you arrogant wankers.

Why are half of you looking back at me like, "No, it's not"?

That is your job.

We make the jokes, you're meant to be relaxed enough to laugh at them.

We're not good at each other's jobs. Right, OK.

I couldn't do what you do. Are you happy? You're special again.

I couldn't do what you do,

sitting down night after night talking to your mate

about the joke I've just told over the top of the joke I'm currently telling.

Oh, it's a privilege.

It's a priv... I love it.

Don't tweet about anything in this show. Don't even tweet that you liked it.

I know a lot of comics like, "Cheers, everyone, follow me on Twitter."

Unfollow me if anything.

So we'll block each other and be done with it.

I hate Twitter, I hate you.

Off Twitter now, anyway.

I'm just getting tired of seeing everyone else's arguments on there.

It's just exhausting.

Can we all stop arguing about big important issues on Twitter,

then having our minds blown

when the other person doesn't see our point of view?

The person you're arguing with, you've never met them before.

They live in a different country half the time.

It's all written down so they can't identify tone.

And you're talking about some pretty spicy subjects.

We all had pen pals when we were kids. You kept it light.

"My name is Marcus. I am seven years old."

"My favourite colour is green, and I like dogs."

"I don't think women who wear makeup are proper feminists."

"Just sent that to Belgium. That's going to Belgium now, Mom."

"A little Belgian girl I've never met is gonna read that."

"I hope she agrees with everything what I said."

Don't tweet about anything in this show.

Definitely don't tweet about that Bean routine.

Man alive, do me a favour.

I ain't spoke to that ex-girlfriend since we broke up.

I don't want to be the first thing I hear from her in six years

is phones me up out of the blue... "James, just been on Twitter."

"I see you've been talking about me and Rowan in your stand-up, is that true?"

"Apparently you've been saying you got left for Mr Bean."

"What part of that is funny to you?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, James."

"It's as funny now as it always has been."

"I had a laugh about it with Rowan now, actually."

"Doing some decorating today."

"Rowan. No, forget about it."

"He's got his foot stuck in a tin of paint and a chicken on his head."

"I'll ring you back another time."

"I need to get a chicken off a certain somebody's head."

Yeah, I do worry that last bit's a bit of a cheap shot, actually.

When I said he had a chicken on his head just now.

So, actually, just to reassure you, it's not a cheap shot, just so you know.

It is not a cheap shot. I'll explain why.

Um...

A few years ago... some of you will remember this...

A few years ago there was an up-and-coming columnist

who wrote for the Telegraph called Boris Johnson.

And... he still at the time was an MP

and he was also running the Leave campaign.

But one week he chucked a little joke in this Telegraph column.

It wasn't a comedy column, just so you know.

It was a real serious column about the state of the nation

written by a prominent politician,

but one week Bojo just chucked a little joke in there,

and you might not remember the joke.

If you don't remember the joke, the joke that Boris Johnson,

who is now the prime minster, made in the Telegraph

was... "Women who wear burkas look like letterboxes."

That's what Boris Johnson said.

Women who wear burkas look like letterboxes.

What's the matter, guys? Too challenging for ya?

Now, a lot of people, myself included,

thought it was pretty irresponsible, inappropriate, completely unnecessary,

and I'm going to say disgusting of Boris Johnson,

an MP of all people, to make a joke like that in a newspaper of all places,

especially in the current climate. Batshit he thought...

He doesn't think it's OK, he's always known what he's doing.

Now, some people didn't agree with me, to be fair,

Some people in this room might not agree with me.

Some comedians didn't agree with me.

Um... oh, uh, Rowan Atkinson, for example...

Rowan Atkinson came out the very next day

and defended Boris Johnson to the press.

No one asked him to do this. He had to organise this off his own back.

The magazine came out and he said, you can Google this, he said,

"As a comedian, I can tell you that Boris Johnson's joke

about women wearing burkas looking like letterboxes

is actually a pretty good one."

"You should only ever have to apologise for a joke

if it isn't funny."

"Therefore no apology is required."

And I remember hearing that...

and thinking...

well, that is...

good to know, Rowan.

I do hope you feel the same way about entire routines.

I'm gonna go home and write a little line

about you having a chicken on your head.

I hope that's not going too far.

Usually, at this point in the show...

people are thinking one of two things.

You're either thinking to yourself,

Mr Bean had a turkey on his head and not a chicken, actually.

Which, fair enough, he did, but I always deliberately get it wrong every night

cos in my opinion, if that's your main problem at the end of that routine,

sort your priorities out, do you know what I mean?

And other people are sitting there thinking to themselves,

"Is this guy gonna talk about 2017 like he promised he would?"

Fair enough, I'm on your side there. I haven't even touched on 2017 yet.

That breakup we just told you about that happened in 2013,

the 2017 breakup, completely different.

Completely different girlfriend. Completely different set of circumstances.

Obviously. I'd be impressed if he got me twice.

Tip of the hat to you, Bean. I'll see you next time.

Also, the breakup that I told you about in the first half

was a different breakup, that happened in 2018.

I've had two breakups in two years. Thank you.

The 2017 breakup was the worst of all of them, right?

Mainly because she was cool, I didn't want to break up at the time.

You know, sometimes you come out of a relationship

and you realise the person was bad for you

and you can see clearly for the first time.

"I dodged a bullet there, actually."

It's a good feeling, isn't it? "I dodged a bullet there."

I come out of this one, I was like, "Ha ha, I think I might be the bullet."

Duck for cover, everyone. Big old bullet coming down the street.

Bang-bang-bang, the bullet.

You're all right, mate. Just...

Blame the whole thing on myself.

And that became a pattern for the rest of the year.

Like, when my agent dropped me...

And, right. Hmm.

I feel weird talking about my agent dropping me on stage,

um, actually, cos,

for one, it's very much my word against his, this story.

So I feel weird telling you my side of the story

and he's not here to defend himself, you know?

But at the same time, we haven't got enough time tonight...

for me to tell you both sides of this story.

It's impractical.

So what I've decided to do, and I think this is the fairest thing to do,

is I'm only going to tell you his side of the story.

And that is genuinely what we're about to do.

This is his side of the story that I'm about to tell you.

Now, some of this I don't think happened.

Other stuff, I agree took place, actually.

I'm not gonna flag up which is which here, I'm just gonna tell you the story as is.

You can decide for yourself what you believe, what you don't,

who's in the right, who's in the wrong, I won't try and sway you in any way.

So, the first thing you need to know is,

I ruined everything and I did it for a laugh.

The story starts on the live TV show Sunday Brunch,

as all dramatic stories tend to.

I was being interviewed on Sunday Brunch about a book.

I'd just written a book, the book is about to be released.

So I was promoting the book.

Also what you need to know going into this story

is I just had four specials commissioned for Netflix.

Now some of you might be sitting there like,

"Hold on a second, I thought it was meant to be the worst year of your life."

"Sounds pretty good to me, career wise."

What you've got to understand is this, right?

I am a straight white, cis, able-bodied middle-class man.

Even the worst year of my life, I'm getting a few Netflix specials.

So get that in your head.

That's how it works.

I don't make the rules, I just ride the waves.

Only the one book deal though, spare a thought.

The Netflix special had been commissioned, sure, but,

and this is a very important piece of information,

even though the Netflix specials had been commissioned,

I was not yet allowed to announce those specials

on any platform, certainly not live television.

Now, my agent, he knew this.

He handles the contracts, that's part of his job.

But he'd not yet got round to informing me that that was the case.

However, and remember whose side of the story this is at this point, please.

Even though my agent hadn't told me that I wasn't allowed

to announce the Netflix specials yet, I knew anyway.

Just knew.

Just knew.

Hey, you know that way that we're all born as little babies

with an acute instinct for contractual law?

I'm no different to the rest of you.

I knew my whole life I wasn't allowed to announce those Netflix specials.

I got small print running through my veins, thank you very much.

I knew every single thing I was and wasn't allowed to say,

but here's the problem, I'm a stand-up comedian.

I'm cut from a different cloth to the rest of you.

If you tell me I'm not allowed to say something...

you better believe I'm gonna say it, son.

Cos I love a prank.

Especially if the victim of that prank is my own career.

Flush, flush.

So naturally when I'm sat there on live television

and Tim Lovejoy asks me...

and sidenote, imagine being outsmarted by him...

that'd sting for the rest of your life, wouldn't it?

When Tim Lovejoy, the David Foster of Sunday morning television,

turned to me and went, "James, we see you're filming some specials."

"Where can we see them when they're finished?"

I didn't hesitate for a second.

I thought to myself, "Engage pranking missiles

and aim them at my own face and dick."

I looked down the barrel of the camera.

I didn't say, "This doesn't feel nice", cos it felt lovely.

I went, "Netflix!"

Then I cackled like a madman and I sambaed off the studio floor.

Down the corridor, high-fiving the fuck out of Judge Rinder.

Kicked in my dressing room door.

I saw I had seven missed calls from my agent.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh!

Someone's taken the bait.

Phoned him up, I put on an innocent voice to sell the prank.

"Hey, mate, how's it going? Did you see Sunday Brunch?"

"Went really well, don't you think?"

He's in a right tit. He's panicking like nobody's business.

"Shit, James, I can't believe you just announced that."

"On national television."

"You're not allowed to announce it anywhere yet."

"You just lost us the Netflix specials, James."

"You just lost us the Netflix specials."

This has gone even better than I ever could have imagined.

I didn't think we would lose the specials.

This is a bull's-eye and a gold mine, right?

At this point, I decided I was gonna do another prank

on top of the original prank, right?

This is a bit more subtle, this one.

But I'm essentially pretending to reassure him,

when really I'm twisting the old knife.

Check this out.

He says all of that stuff...

and I go...

"I wouldn't worry about that."

"I wouldn't worry about that."

"Netflix, an L.A. based company."

"They probably don't even watch...

Sunday Brunch."

You all get why that's cheeky, right?

Cos as we all know, it's their favourite show.

They love Sunday Brunch, don't they, Netflix?

That's why every time you see a new Netflix Original,

you're like, oh dear, looks like someone's been ripping off Sunday Brunch again.

More like Orange is the New Brunch, you absolute plagiarists.

I'm in his head now, aren't I? I'm in his head.

Every single night of the week, he keeps phoning me up.

"Aw, James, I can't believe you said that."

"You've definitely lost us those Netflix specials, it's all your fault."

"James, I just spoke to someone else."

"They say you should write a letter of apology."

"It's all your fault, James. It's all your fault!"

Well, I guess that means...

it's high time...

that I launched...

phase two of the prank.

Here's what you need to know about phase two, right?

Earlier in the year, when my girlfriend broke up with me,

I put all the blame on myself, and my therapist said that's what I do.

No matter what the situation, I put all the blame, the guilt,

and the shame on my own shoulders till I can't handle it anymore.

I told my agent this. He worries me every day.

He's been kept up to date with how I'm doing.

So, for phase two of the prank, I thought I could use this information

that he knows that I have a problem heaping guilt and blame

and shame on my own shoulders till I can't handle any more,

to convince him that him phoning me up every night of the week

and telling me something is all my fault might not be the best thing...

for my head.

And it was time for old A-caster...

to fake a breakdown.

Phone him up, I put on a vulnerable voice for this prank phone call.

You got to know your different voices for your different pranks.

"Hello, mate. You all right?"

"Um, I'm just phoning about..."

"You know the Netflix stuff that's been happening this week?"

"And, like, first of all, I know I shouldn't have said it."

"But I only know that now."

"At the time, I... no one told me."

"You knew and you didn't tell me."

"I'm just phoning to ask like, you know how I've been doing this year."

"I've been really up-front with you about where my head's been,

and can we at least share some of the blame on this or something?"

"Cos at the minute, all of it's been put on me."

"I know it sounds silly but I can't cope with it."

"I'm not in a position where I can cope right now."

"I can't cope with any of this."

Out the park.

That's a cool, clean prank, right?

Now, the reaction from him was the same one that you lot initially gave.

You were sitting there like, "Oh, shit."

"This point in the story, doesn't sound like James is doing too well."

But you got to remember, my agent, he's been in the comedy game

for ten years, he knows a prankster when he hears one on the phone.

You guys are members of the public and to be frank,

I hooked you in like a bunch of fucking ducks.

And I'll do it again before the show's over, little duckies.

Hey, every time you lot laugh, right...

I hear quacking.

And every time you clap, I see feathers fly.

But my agent...

didn't quack a muscle.

He listened to the whole prank phone call that I did,

when I pretend like I needed his help and support for a prank,

and he, like a true professional, just sent one right over the net to me.

He goes, "Actually, James, I think you did know

you weren't allowed to announce it on television, and you did it anyway."

Ugh! True.

He's onto the prank, isn't' he? I've got to go big or go home now.

I yell down the phone at him, "Fuck you, man!"

"You can't say that kind of shit to me. I'm having a breakdown."

"The whole year I've been having a breakdown."

"I'm trying my best not to kill myself most nights."

"I don't need you phoning me up every night of the week

telling me something's all my fault."

Now, that is the only part of the story I'll tell you is true.

I did say all that stuff. Um...

First like half of 2017,

I was having frequent suicidal thoughts for the first time in my life.

I'd never had serious suicidal thoughts before.

I'd had flippant ones and whatever, but this is the first time

I'd seriously thought about it, and it's scary for me.

And look, when I'm having frequent suicidal thoughts,

you better believe that I'm gonna use them to tap a prank over the goal line.

That's just how it works. I use whatever I've got to hand.

Please understand it's just pranksters be pranking.

That's... It's the name of the game.

It's my life motto is PBP, so just...

Please...

don't hate the player.

So...

And once again, my agent,

he stays calm.

Like a...

like a cucumber.

Which is the opposite of a duck.

That's a good observation. Don't look at me like that.

That holds up. They're nothing alike.

Don't... You never confused a duck for a cucumber.

You've never been walking in a park and gone... "Is that...?"

"Sorry, I thought it was a cucumber. Carry on. I feel..."

"I thought it was a family of cucumbers. That's embarrassing."

"Let's not bring that up again."

Ever been sitting in a Chinese restaurant with a little pancake in your hand?

"I can't tell the difference between... I shouldn't have got these both shredded.

"I can't tell the difference between... Help me out here."

"I want to know which is which on this one, I want to get my ratios right."

"I know what the one the Hoisin sauce is, Mark."

"Hurry up, it's hot. Ow. Ow. Hurry up, please."

Cos cucumber, calm.

You heard me say all that stuff when I use my real-life suicidal thoughts

as leverage in my great prank.

And he just goes...

"Oh, mate."

"I'm really worried about you."

"Remember, we've got a deal, haven't we?"

"If there's ever any problems, I bring them straight to you."

"That's what you told me to do. Any problems, bring them straight to you."

"That's all I was doing with this Netflix stuff."

"A problem happened, and so I brought it to you."

"And now you're telling me you don't want me to do that."

"You're not making any sense."

"I think you're right... you're having a breakdown

and you're mentally ill, James."

Now, obviously, once he'd said that...

I had to call a proper meeting, like a face-to-face meeting.

Cos over the phone, this guy is unprankable.

I was tangling with the best of them, and I knew it.

A week later, I go into his office. He's sat behind his desk.

I'm straight on the offensive.

"You gaslit me!"

I just learned what "gaslighting" meant and I really wanted to use it.

If you don't know what gaslighting is, it's when you try and convince someone

that something's all in their head, they're imagining it,

and they're going crazy.

If you've never accused anyone of gaslighting you before,

I highly recommend it.

Oh, there's nothing they can say in response

that doesn't make them sound like a gaslighter.

They could even go, "Yeah, I did gaslight you, actually",

or they could go, "No, I didn't. That's all in your head..."

Oh, very good.

Terrific.

"I didn't gaslight you, James."

"I was on the back foot during that phone call."

"I always am with you."

"You've been phoning me up all year, shouting at me down the phone,

swearing at me down the phone, it's been horrible."

And I know I've probably not done myself any favours tonight

by telling you that the main part of that story that's true

is the part where I shout and swear at him down the phone.

That I haven't done myself any favours letting you know

that I'm trying to swear more to get rid of the Chrizos from my fan base.

Although I do it on and off stage to make sure.

But it's his side of the story.

I'm not gonna tell ya... what I think in that bit.

But that was his excuse and his reason for dropping me.

He didn't say it in that meeting.

He dropped me like that over the phone the next day.

I know it sounds harsh, but to be fair to him,

I was going away for five nights.

I had a bunch of gigs in the north of England,

so I wasn't in London so he couldn't say it to my face

or wait till I got back five days later.

He had to do it... he had to do it over the phone.

Cos, you know, maybe some of you have got to fire someone soon,

and I know it's quite a delicate process and whatever.

My advice, and this is only "really feel suicidal" employees,

would be, do it over the phone.

Don't do any of it to their face, it's too personal.

Do it over the phone, and make sure you do it when they're going away for 5 nights

completely on their own, away from their family, friends and support network.

That's the best time to phone them up and say,

"We no longer represent you. You're mentally ill."

Make sure you reiterate the last thing you shouldn't have said to them.

And then end the phone call with the classic phrase,

"Being your agent this last year

has been like being in an abusive relationship."

OK? Bigger pullback there than for the hot chocolate in the first half.

I know it sounds unprofessional, him ending the phone call like that.

Just to reassure you, he did lead up to that with another familiar phrase, um...

"I probably shouldn't say this, but..."

So, he knows what the boundaries are, he's a good guy.

Right, I'm not going to pretend like I wasn't gutted about it.

Now in front of you lot.

Like, of course I was gutted about that whole thing, I was devastated.

He was my first ever agent.

I'd been with him for eight years as well,

and that's a long time to be with one agent.

And after all that time and all those things we achieved together,

to get dropped over the phone and, um...

and have all that stuff said to me...

it was brutal, it was really brutal.

And also, and like...

I think this is worse, actually...

is the fact that, that...

the prank didn't even work.

Netflix said it was fine.

They said, and I'm quoting now, "Oh, don't worry about that, James."

"That was literally never even an issue."

The fuck, I put so much effort into that prank.

You have any idea how hard I worked on that prank?

Did a lot of character work.

After being away for five days, got back to London.

Straight into a therapy session.

I know I've talked about therapy a few times tonight,

makes it sound like I'm an old hand at it.

Actually, only started going to therapy in 2017.

It was January, I had the breakup, which led to a breakdown

that I couldn't explain, which led to suicidal thoughts that were scaring me,

so I went to therapy for the first time at 32 years old.

Cos I'm British and that's what it takes.

Literally my whole life needs to fall apart and be in danger

before I go, "OK, I'll talk to someone about my feelings,

but it better be cheap."

I've been seeing this therapist for about nine months at this point.

Back from the north of England, straight into a therapy session,

and told her all about my agent dropping me.

I told her my side of the story, which you lot will never hear.

But in my side of the story, my agent actually comes out of it

looking pretty bad.

She was like, "This is interesting, isn't it, James?"

"Cos what have we been talking about most this year?"

"About a lot of your ex-relationships a lot of the time,

even when you know a relationship's bad, you're never the one to end it,

and they break up with you in the end."

"And that's exactly what happened with this agent."

"You knew that was a bad relationship, you didn't end it,

and then he dropped you."

"This is a pattern throughout your life."

"What did you do before you did stand-up comedy?"

I was like, "I used to be in a bunch of bands."

She was like, "OK, what bands were you in?"

And I went into this answer seeing no danger signs whatsoever.

Was like, "Oh, I was in a five-piece band."

"Then I was in a four-piece band, then a three-piece band,

and I carried on going until I was a stand-up comedian",

is the bleakest sentence that has ever come out of my mouth.

Even the instruments have left me at this pint.

And she was like, "OK, you've clearly got some issues here with rejection."

As soon as she said "rejection", my whole life made sense.

You ever have that? You know, like a word or a phrase,

and everything shifts into focus.

Like, of course, I've always been terrified of rejection,

I still don't know why.

I'm terrified of rejecting people as well, which I'm trying to get better at.

That's why I tell old people and Christians to fuck off

at the start of the show.

Just a part of me healing, that's all it is.

Incidentally, if there are any old people and Christians in tonight,

I really appreciate your support, please keep coming and see me.

I really appreciate it.

I appreciate it so much. Please.

Namaste, and go with God.

Every single day of that week, I looked at every area of my life

to see where rejection factored into it.

I know that sounds bleak and depressing.

It was actually quite exciting. Like I was solving a puzzle.

I could feel myself getting better.

And the following week, I went into our next therapy session

and she wasn't there, she had forgotten and didn't turn up to our appointment.

So just to recap, a week after the rejection issues chat,

I got stood up by my therapist.

I was standing on the doorstep for what must have been like half an hour.

I kept on pressing the buzzer.

I was only there for so long

so I was convinced I must be doing the buzzer wrong.

It can't be that she's not there.

I don't know how to work a buzzer at 32 years old.

I'm really gonna have to apologise to her when she comes down

cos I've been buzzing it wrong the whole time.

Also, there was confetti all over the floor.

I didn't know why at the time.

I later discovered that earlier that week, she got married.

So that was from her wedding.

So I was standing in my therapist's wedding confetti

and pressing the buzzer and she wasn't there.

That's the kind of scene that you describe to a therapist.

I was standing in someone else's happiness and no one was letting me in.

It's... it's too on the nose. It sounds manufactured.

But I still kept on going after that. That's the weird thing.

I kept on going to the sessions. So did she, thank God.

But like it was...

It was just off.

From then on, she wasn't listening to me anymore.

Something was wrong with her.

She wasn't really feeding back to what I was saying.

And just weird stuff out of nowhere.

One week she turned up and she went, "Oh, James, bit of a coincidence,

my son is a fan of yours now."

I said, "Oh, that is a coincidence. How did he discover my comedy?"

She went, "I introduced him to you."

I was like, do you know what "coincidence" means?

It's not, "guess what, I did a thing and made it happen."

I said, "He doesn't know that you know me, does he?"

She went, "Ah, no, he does know that I know you, but don't worry."

"When he asked me how I knew you, I said, 'I can't tell you.'"

Panic over. Apologies.

Your son's hardly Alan Turing.

He's not gonna crack that code any time, is he?

I'd have said I was a baker, personally, but nice save.

Obviously, once she had done that, I couldn't keep going to those sessions.

She crossed a big line there.

I remember I was sitting at home, I started writing her a text message.

Be like, "Thanks for everything you've done for me this year,

but I feel like it's now time for me to move on."

And as I was writing this, I realised, a year ago,

I never would have been able to be the one to do this.

No matter how bad any relationship in my life was,

I never would have been able to be the one to end it.

This is actually a massive step for me.

And then I was like...

aw, shit.

This means she's good.

It looks like I'm staying.

But if I stay,

that means she's bad, right?

The very act of staying means she's a bad therapist.

So my two options at the end of a very stressful year,

I can leave a good therapist

or I can stay with a bad therapist.

That's my two... think of "Bandersnatch", enjoy that shit, that's my two choices.

Now, I did decide to leave in the end. I sent the text.

And then she responded with a string of what I'm gonna call

unprofessional text messages.

She should not have sent them, but I'm actually quite glad that she did.

For two reasons.

One is that it let me know I'd definitely made the right decision, right?

I'd left a bad therapist.

And secondly, it gave me an ending to the show.

So, gonna read some text messages out now.

Yeah, right.

This is usually the response it gets.

Just a little bit awkward.

No one's ever like, "yeah, read the text!"

You're sitting there, "Uh..."

"I don't know if he should do that, actually."

But I know for a fact, I've done this show enough times now,

especially with British audiences,

you'll act all judgy when I say I'm gonna read them,

but if I go, "I know, you're right, we won't",

you're the first people who go, "Please read them,

it's all I've ever wanted."

So don't play it with me like you're fuckin' better than that.

OK, the first text is from me. Here we go.

"Hi, Sandra."

I changed her name, wimps. Don't worry about it.

"Oh, no, we'll be able to figure it out from Sandra."

"We'll just Google 'Sandra, therapist, England.'"

"Hi, Sandra."

"After a lot of thought, I've decided I'd like to stop our sessions together."

"I found them incredibly helpful this year but feel like it's now time

for me to move on."

"Thanks for all your help, and I wish you all the best for the future."

"Claude." Changed my name as well.

Fair is fair is fair.

"Dear Claude."

"I would really welcome the opportunity to say goodbye in person."

"I would like to say goodbye in a good way and not by text message."

Now, in case you drifted off, this is my therapist texting me

and not my life partner.

I don't owe her a goodbye face-to-face.

She's offered a service, I'm paying her for that service.

I'm now cancelling that service.

If you cancel your broadband, they don't phone you up and go,

"I thought we had something, what is this?"

"You've made Fletcher the supervisor cry. I hope you're happy."

"Also, my son is your fan."

"So ruthlessness comes at a guilt price."

"Sorry, but this is the truth."

Now, some of you might be thinking to yourself,

"Oh, my fucking God."

"She should not have sent that. That is horrendous."

Others might be thinking to yourselves,

"James, I'm gonna hold my hands up."

"I don't fully understand what that sentence means."

"Ruthlessness comes at a guilt price."

"Who's his therapist, Game of Thrones?"

What she means is, I'm being ruthless by ending our sessions together

and cos her son is a fan of mine, I should feel guilty about that.

Cos, you know, one or two of you might consider yourselves my fans

and you'll know that as my fans,

I'm obliged to see your parents for counselling.

That's how it works.

Most of my days are spent in back-to-back therapy sessions

with all of your mums and dads

and I squeeze a gig in if I'm lucky in the evening,

then I'm straight off-stage and back into the therapy loop again,

talking about all my problems, which these days mainly have to do

with finances and time management.

Which I'll be talking about tonight with...

your dad!

Now, here's what you need to know about that text she sent me.

There's actually two texts, one after the other, not one big one.

So the first one was her saying, "Say goodbye to my face."

The second one was about her son being a fan of mine.

Less than a minute between those texts, I'd say.

That was still long enough for me to read the first one,

feel guilty and go, "Oh no, she's right, I should be meeting up with her",

and reply saying, "Sure. Where and when?"

And then my reply came through at the exact same time

as that second text about the guilt prices.

I don't know how to describe how that felt to you.

I don't think there's a situation in real life

where someone invites you to something and as you're accepting their invitation,

they turn into a wolf.

I don't think that's... a thing,

but I've just said yes to a wolf party.

So now I've said yes, she responds to that.

So she goes, "Great!"

But she hasn't said that fucked-up shit a minute ago.

She's friendly now.

"Great!"

"I pick my children up at 3.15 Mondays to Fridays from school."

"Can we take them to a theatre event or just to eat ice cream?"

Don't worry, you've not missed a text.

That's the first time the kids have been floated.

Now, rest assured, I did not accept that invitation.

But not a day goes by when I don't imagine what that would have been like.

Just me, her, and both her kids just sat in an ice-cream parlour together.

We've each got a banana split on the go.

"How did I meet your mother? Well, I was having suicidal thoughts."

"I went to her for help, and when I tried to leave, she blackmailed me."

"Are you looking forward to the theatre event later?"

"But in terms of our farewell, how about Tuesday?"

Huh?

That's two meetings, isn't it?

One me and her, another as a family, it turns out.

I'm scrolling back at this point to see if I've agreed

to take her husband bowling or some shit.

I'm seeing her more than when she was my therapist.

And she might not turn up to any of these, don't forget.

She's got previous.

This could be me sitting in an ice-cream parlour

completely on my own.

"I'm... I'm expecting somebody, please. Yeah, I need all these seats."

"Waiter, another round of splits. These are getting melted."

"Hurry up, I have rejection issues."

"Four tickets to Matilda, please."

When I grow up

Now, I did not respond to that text from my therapist.

Course I didn't. I'm not gonna meet up with her.

Not gonna take her goddamn kids for ice cream, no way, no how.

Left it.

A week later, she gave me a little nudge.

"Hi, Claude."

"I didn't hear back from you about this morning."

"As I say, it's best to say goodbye in person."

"Do you wanna try again for next week?"

And I replied to that one immediately.

No hesitation, straightaway, cos I...

had a draft saved.

I don't think you understand how exciting this is.

Listen, I've written 77 hours of stand-up comedy,

I've written for TV and radio, I've written a couple of books.

This text message is the greatest bit of writing I've ever been involved in.

I'm never gonna better it, and I've made my peace with that.

"Hi, Sandra."

"I replied yes to meeting up before receiving your second text,

the text about your son being a fan and guilt prices."

"I'm afraid I no longer feel comfortable meeting up."

"In our sessions this year, we've talked about many things."

"But some big recurring subjects have been...

getting into co-dependency relationships that should be professional."

"Feeling guilty when I don't need to."

"Finding it hard to be the one to end any sort of relationship

and fans demanding things from me."

"I feel that your response to me choosing to end our sessions

has exploited all four of these things."

"This feels inappropriate and for that reason

I do not want to meet in person. Claude."

Now, have you guys ever been in a text message argument

and sent a text so good that you stop being angry

and started getting excited about their reply?

I was absolutely buzzing just looking at my phone.

Like, "Oh, man, who's gonna text me first, her or BAFTA?"

Within five minutes, she had sent me this and this ended the whole conversation.

I mean, five minutes.

"Well done, you. Good wishes for the future. Bye."

That was it.

"Well done, you. Good wishes..."

"Well done, you."

"Well done."

I was staring at my phone like, oh, my...

What was this, a test?

Her methods are unorthodox.

But I think this means I'm cured now.

She's a genius. I bet she doesn't even have a son.

But look, out of all the routines that are in this show,

that's actually the one that I worry about the most.

Like in terms of it getting back to the person it's about.

Cos, let me tell you, she has got quite a lot on me.

I mean, cos you've seen me tonight.

I don't keep thoughts and feelings in my head very well.

Imagine me in a therapy session. I sang like a canary.

Like a maple syrup tree. All the maple syrup came out so easy.

She got so much maple syrup out of me, you know?

And she wrote it all down as well.

And I know these days, she's unprofessional.

What if she hears that I'm talking about her on stage?

She might take all those notes she wrote down in our sessions

and publish them on the Internet

so everyone knows all the embarrassing things that I told her.

That's how my mind works, I catastrophise a lot.

So the end of the show

is really more for my own peace of mind than anything,

but I like to end the show by essentially getting out in front of her

and telling you the most embarrassing thing that I told her,

so she doesn't have any ammunition anymore.

It's, by some distance, my least favourite part of the evening.

I, uh, hate it.

I did flag it up early door so I could bed in the idea.

I told you we were gonna talk about my girlfriend leaving me,

my agent dropping me, and shitting myself in a steak house.

I did tell you that at the start.

And I can always sense a wave of disappointment, some of you are like,

"That's the most embarrassing thing that you told us?"

"That's not the most embarrassing thing."

"You've told us some really personal stuff tonight."

Yeah, but that other stuff's not embarrassing.

It's just normal like, you know, struggling mental health stuff.

Like that's something we've all got, we've all gotta keep on top of it.

You won't go through the exact same things as me,

but you'll have similar challenges that you've gotta keep on top of.

It shouldn't be embarrassing talking about that sort of stuff.

But I can't help but notice that...

Oh, OK.

No.

All right, well...

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Uh...

Yeah, absolutely fucked that joke up. Well done.

Absolutely fucked up a joke with your wokeness.

Congratulations.

Punchline was on its way.

No, get in there before, flag up how cool you are.

Fuck me.

Probably the best I've ever delivered that speech

with that sweet punchline.

But I can't help but notice...

I'm gonna do it again.

You have to resist that urge to applaud.

Not the most embarrassing thing that I've told ya.

"You told us some really personal stuff tonight."

But that's just... Here's the bad thing as well.

That bit I did isn't really strictly worded.

I just go with my heart every night.

I went with it way too much tonight

and I really stirred up some emotions in you.

The point I'm trying to make is...

mental health shouldn't be embarrassing to talk about.

But I can't help but notice you've all been sitting there tonight

not shitting in your pants.

That's the point I'm making to ya.

You've all been there not shitting yourselves,

you know what I mean?

That's the point I'm trying to make.

And look, I'm not even gonna have a go at you for applauding... Look.

I really appreciate you applauding that bit.

Because, to be honest,

I've toured this show all over Britain for months now

and absolutely has that never happened for that line.

Most of the time... I didn't even think I'd written a mental health show

I used to not even say the phrase "mental health" in the show.

I was just going around talking about a year in my life

and then the reactions I've got

so many evenings up and down the country,

people heckling.

I mention I've had suicidal thoughts,

I've had people shouting, "Boo-hoo-hoo."

I've had people doing fake "aw" noises.

I've had people walk out within the first four minutes of the show

and then complain that they're Christians over an email and stuff.

I've had...

so much stuff that I never thought would happen.

So I'm not gonna reject it...

when people applaud stuff.

I'm gonna go, "Yeah, sure. Sure."

"It scuppered a 'shit yourselves' line."

"But..."

I don't know why... I'm so...

I didn't even want to tell the "shit myself" story, to be fair.

Cos I never enjoy telling it.

It's funny, don't get me wrong. People absolutely love that story.

It's a funny story.

It's very well written, if I may say myself.

But like...

I don't like sharing it with people.

I'll tell you all that I've had suicidal thoughts, fair enough.

You know, don't like telling you that I'd shat my pants once.

But this has been a weird tour, man.

Like...

It's been so... I used to be optimistic...

about a lot more stuff.

Especially just like, during this whole tour,

right, at the start of the tour, he wasn't prime minister.

And then he became prime minister.

And then we had another election.

And it's just gone on and on all tour.

Like just constant moments of me going,

"Maybe now we're gonna make the right decision."

"Nope. Bad luck, James."

Every time, I'm then getting heckled,

"Waah. You cry-baby with your suicidal thoughts",

and going, "Yep, that would be why I was voting for him, that would be why."

Just a horrible nation of people,

and like just people sticking up for him all the time.

People defending him, like he needs defending.

He's the prime minister.

He's doing all right.

When he made that joke about women in burkas,

nothing happened to him.

Zero happened.

Well, a couple of years later, he was the foreign secretary.

That's how much it didn't slow him down.

He became fu...

If you're working in a post office

and there was someone knocking around the mailroom going, "I'll tell you what,

all these women in burkas look like bloody letterboxes to me",

you wouldn't go, "I think we should put Craig on the Bureau de Change window. "

Yeah.

"Sure, he'll say some racist stuff to people,

but we can always fire him

and immediately promote him to head of the Royal Mail."

"That's...

what we have to do with Craig."

It's just been depressing.

Like, it's nice to end it here and do this,

but I can't help but think when I'm filming this, in London...

basically it's gonna be released and everyone's just gonna watch it,

going, "Yeah, yeah, typical London reaction, yeah, yeah."

"Yeah, yeah, just applauding it."

"Oh, yeah, yeah. Patting each other on the back."

"You don't know what it's like, fuck you."

So even when I'm getting this response here,

I'm just like, nah, in the long run, I'm fucked.

In the long run, this is going out and people are just gonna see it

and be like, "Yeah, yeah. You liberal."

"You little liberal elitist little prick."

That's all that's gonna happen.

I mean, I just have no...

kind of optimism about my job anymore.

Or like where it's going.

Where the country's going.

Anyway, long story short, I was having a piss,

and my body went, "The more, the merrier."

The more, the merrier, James.

At the time, I'd just done a TV show so I was wearing a backpack,

and in the backpack, I had a full change of clothes for the show,

plus some makeup wipes for after,

which is a pretty ideal time to shit yourself.

When you got your "just shit my pants" kit on your back.

And when I realised this, I thought to myself,

and this thought is both the high point of 2017

and the low point of my entire existence.

I thought, "Oh, that's lucky."

"I can clean all this shit up with the makeup wipes now."

"I've landed on my feet at long last."

So I sidestepped into a cubicle.

I stripped off and did the best clean-up job that I possibly could

with some makeup wipes, which are too small and circular for my liking.

Put on my new threads.

Re-entered the restaurant wearing a completely different outfit

than the one I'd gone in with.

Walked up to where my agent was sitting and went,

"We gotta leave now, I've shit myself."

Cos I'm in my 30s, I don't dance around those subjects anymore.

"I just shit my pants, we gotta go."

"I did the best clean-up job that I possibly could,

but I've had to cram some shit-covered boxer shorts

into the tiniest little bin imaginable,

and we need to leave before somebody finds those,

which will happen tonight, actually."

And my agent had not yet dropped me at this point in 2017.

He looked up at me and went, "Aw, come on, mate."

"You know I've wanted to eat here for ages."

"I was gonna celebrate the TV show."

"Come on, you say yourself you cleaned yourself up."

"For me. Just sit down, come on. For me, sit down. Please."

So I sat down.

I watched him eat a full steak dinner. I didn't eat anything.

I didn't have any food.

I had chronic food poisoning, it turned out.

I was in bed for a week after that.

But I sat down and I watched him eat a full steak dinner

while I still had what I would describe as an unacceptable amount of shit on me.

Which, if you're wondering, is any amount of shit.

Any amount of shit, anywhere on your body, is an unacceptable amount of shit.

Even if it was on your butt, get it off your butt.

That shit's unacceptable.

It was a horrible evening. Just the absolute worst.

And I'd been looking forward to that steak for ages.

All I got was shit in the end.

Thank you for coming, everybody!

I'll see you another time.

It means a lot. Good night.

And I may not be the sharpest crayon

But that's cos I'm your favourite

And my jokes are pretty dry

And sometimes I'm amiss

But if you wash then I can dry

And I might not be the best

But I promise that I'll try

I promise that I'll try

None of this stuff's embarrassing and it's all...

You know, it's all fine now anyway. Well, I can't...

No, it's not fine, it's...

Well, it's better.

It's good now.

I mean, you know, 2018 was way better than 2017.

You know, I can't pretend to you like it was smooth sailing.

You've heard the Bake Off story, you know how it went, but...

But you know, I phoned the Samaritans that year,

I would have been ashamed to do that the previous year.

So it's quite good that I did that as a step forward,

and 2019's been better than 2018 was.

I'm surrounded by better people now.

I'm in the best relationship I've ever been in.

I've got a really good therapist, and my agent is top-notch.

Also, people normally like this trivia about my agent.

Uh, guess who else she represents?

True.

Google that.

I could be your number one

I could be your Anthony Bennett

I'll be your Anthony Bennett

I ain't no one and done

I could be your Anthony Bennett

I'll be your Anthony Bennett

And if you call my number I can run in like them Rebels

Up in UNLV

I know my roof is higher Than an old cathedral spire

I see cutting through the trees

Yeah