Original subtitles

I've just got to have these gentlemen bring my drinks on for me.

I'm having sex with all of these people.

I know. Lovely, right?

Not the one on the right. He's very brutal.

Okay.

Ladies and gentlemen,

boys and girls,

please welcome to the stage

Joe Lycett!

Aah!

Bless you.

Thank-- Oh, stop it. Stop it.

You're very kind.

Hello, everyone. You all right?

Welcome to the show. It's called,

I'm fucking thrilled with it. I cannot tell you.

Did anyone buy tickets just based on that name?

Fuck-- Fuck off. Did you?

You're going to be very disappointed.

A very serious theater piece, actually.

Look at this front row at my DVD.

Everyone looks-- most people look very well-dressed.

Oh, look. That's a nice shirt. Is that Ralph Lauren?

Oh, my word. Someone's got money.

-What's your name, sir? -Richard.

Hello, Richard. I'm Joe. Nice to meet you.

It's me.

-What you do, Richard? -Uh, scientist.

A scientist! In my audience?

Oh, my word. Normally thick as shit, Richard. What a treat.

What sort of science do you do?

I make dermatological-- Drug dealer?

Yeah.

Dermatological things, for skin that is.

I know words.

So, um, I've got a bit of a rash, actually.

So I've been using Eumovate.

-Oh, no. -Is that not good?

-You should use semen. -I should use semen?

What did you think you were coming to?

Oh, you're coming too. Oh, oh, oh!

Come on. Have some respect. It's my DVD. Jesus.

I should jizz on my feet. That's what you're saying?

With my mum and dad in.

Mum and Dad are in, and I've got to jizz on my feet now.

What finale that would be to the show. Can you imagine it?

"He was very funny. Then he just jizzed on his feet.

Because he was, like, under pressure, it took him ages to get it up. Really."

So are you a homosexual?

You're not? No.

Ah. Somebody laughing at that somewhere.

Disbelief. Have you got a girlfriend?

No. No?

You looking? Yeah.

I don't believe you.

You say yes. So who are you here with? This gentleman here?

Hello there. What's your name?

I'm Chris. Hello, Chris.

How do you know each other?

Went to college together. Yeah.

You gave the answer and then you went, "Yes, I'll agree with that."

As if to say, "This isn't a Grindr date, but it is."

Went to college together. Are you a scientist as well?

I'm not. You're not?

Oh, you seem disappointed. What do you do?

I do digital marketing.

Digital marketing.

Ugh. Jesus.

I really expected better, really, on the front.

Nice to meet you both. Thank you for coming along.

I hope you enjoy the show.

Have a lovely life. Bye-bye.

I now need to get up with a level of dignity.

Your dress is lovely. Where is that from?

Tesco. Tesco.

Is there anyone rich in anywhere?

From Tesco. That's nice, though, from Tesco.

Lovely. Wearing flip-flops?

So everything going well for you.

Really.

All right. How am I gonna do this now?

I can do a yoga DVD, couldn't I?

And this is the lying-down.

And that's the end.

That's my kind of yoga.

Did you like my kick?

I pulled my back out when I did it, so worth it though.

Oh, gosh. Lovely. Welcome along.

I've got... Right, so there's a few things that's going to happen.

Um, I feel like we should talk about parking fines.

Some recognition in the room.

I got a parking fine last year.

And I can--

Yes.

Hello there. Hi, hi.

Oh, you didn't give me the parking fine, did you?

I'm still looking for that bastard.

I got a parking fine last year, and I contest all parking fines,

'cause I do fuck-all in the days, basically.

It's quite funny what happened. I thought, "Well, I'll pop that in the show."

I did it on television, and I thought, "No one watched that. I can still do it on the show."

The thing went bloody viral, didn't it?

I ended up on the Lad Bible.

The Lad Bible! If you don't know what the Lad Bible is,

it's very similar to the normal Bible, really.

In that it's read mainly by homophobes, so, um--

The comments--

Oh, my God.

"Quite funny for a poof," that kind of stuff. Great.

They're great.

So, yes, what I'll do--

I'll do you a director's cut version of it.

'Cause a few extra things have happened.

Basically, this is a bit of helpful advice.

I know we're in London and parking's a nightmare here.

There's a thing called a "subject access request."

It's part of the Data Protection Act 1998.

I do fuck-all in the days.

What it is, you can request any and all information

that a company or an institution has on you,

and it's such a fabulous waste of their time.

'Cause no one's real dream when they were growing up--

"When I grow up, I want to be a parking prick."

Nobody wanted that for themselves.

These people just wanna coast through life. They don't want any extra admin.

If you give them some, they hate it. They normally go away.

This is an ongoing one, which isn't a parking fine, actually.

I was driving in the wrong lane, and they gave me a fine for that.

I know, bloody squares.

I only killed, like, three people.

I'm not sure what I can say legally as to where this is.

So I'll do a version for the DVD.

This was in London. And a real version.

This was Lambeth fucking Council.

Bellends! Um--

I did a subject access request to them.

They didn't reply within 30 days, so they're breaking the law.

As you know, I love the law.

So I sent them an e-mail that included this sentence,

just to give you an idea of the tone of the things I write.

"Might I add that if I fail to observe your deadlines,

you have the power to hand out additional fines,

whereas I have only diminished powers, such as sending e-mails like this

and just generally making myself a slight nuisance.

However, I will be judged merely by your human laws,

whereas you'll be judged at the gates of hell!"

To give you an idea of the tone of the things I write, okay?

So now, this one.

This was up north. I got a parking fine up north.

I panic-park, you see.

I get to shows late, and I just leave the car wherever's near.

M42, that'll be fine. Just leave that there.

So this one I got up north. So yes, I did a subject access request.

I got an e-mail from someone called Steph, who wrote,

"Mr. Lycett, I passed your e-mail on to the Freedom of Information team."

As if they have a whole team for information.

That means one person, and by that definition,

I've had sex with a "team of people."

"Hopefully they'll be in touch with you soon. Steph."

I didn't like "hopefully." I thought that was vague.

It could mean next week, next year.

So I went back to bloody Steph, didn't I?

I said, "Steph, sadly 'hopefully' doth butter no parsnips."

Which is an old Victorian phrase,

trying to bring back trending, basically.

Come up with a hashtag in your own time.

"Can I have an e-mail address for the person you've contacted at the FOI team?

My lawyers would like to contact them directly."

My lawyers do not exist.

"You have been very helpful,

and hopefully you won't get caught up in the forthcoming."

I thought it was vague enough as a threat. It could mean anything.

Could just go and glass the woman, couldn't I?

She replied, "Mr. Lycett, I'm not sure what you mean about buttered parsnips.

I have CC'd in the FOI team, who will advise."

Then I got an e-mail from someone called Colin, who I imagine talks like this.

"Hello."

Wanking as he wrote this e-mail. "Hello. It's me, Colin."

"Mr. Lycett, your request is very broad, and so I have assumed

you only want information pertinent to your recent parking fine."

"Pertinent"? Get in the fuckin' bin, Colin.

I imagine that's the moment he jizzed. "Pertinent."

Just like so pleased with himself.

"Attached is the evidence we have,

which is a photograph of your car clearly parked in a taxi rank."

Here is that photograph. There it is.

It's very blurry for a start.

There was this weird chalky thing that had been written on the side window.

Not good enough evidence, that isn't.

There's no evidence of an actual taxi rank. Wouldn't stand up in court.

And I would take it that far. I do nothing in the days.

So I went back to bloody Colin, didn't I?

I said, "Colin,

when you 'assume,' you make an ass out of you and me."

It was prickish enough for a kickoff.

"Your evidence is nothing more than a picture of the words

'taxi rank' written on my car.

I would argue this evidence is insufficient."

I also put, "PS, apologies for the delay in replying to your previous e-mail.

I'm currently on the Costa Del Sol."

I provided evidence of this. Just attached this picture.

I did it in my bed in Birmingham, didn't I?

Colin replied, "Mr. Lycett"--

"Mr. Lycett." Sorry.

"Mr. Lycett, in order to reverse the fine,

you'll need to provide evidence your vehicle was not in a taxi rank."

That's bullshit legally, but I went back to him.

"Colin, evidence supplied.

I was actually parked on the moon, as you can see clearly here."

That one there.

I did that on an app on my phone in ten seconds.

"Mr. Lycett, I've canceled the fine."

A victory for the common man, I would say.

I appreciate that.

Stop, stop.

You'll notice "taxi rank" is still written on the window there.

It was there for months. Couldn't take it off for months.

So I did this show,

a version of this show right next to that parking space.

Sorry. Taxi rank. It's a minor difference.

Next to the taxi rank. So after the show I parked the car there again.

I got the whole audience out. We took a photograph.

Here is that photograph. There we all are having a lovely time.

And I sent that to Colin. I just said, "Sorry, Colin. I've done it again."

No reply. I'll let you know.

Yes, you'll notice, as the show goes on,

I do all of my confrontation online, you see?

I'm basically an online troll, essentially, as well.

I'm not good at real-life confrontation.

I've been trying to get more, like, a bit more manly.

I've got into football.

So I'm from Birmingham. I'm as surprised as you are.

And I support West Brom. Are there any football supporters in?

Some people. Oh, you support-- Who do you support?

-Ipswich Town. -Ipswich Town?

-Yay! -Fuckin' hell.

They're taking over!

Hello there. Is everything okay?

Are they good, Ip-- Are they doing all right?

So I started becoming a fan of West Brom because my friend Karen said

they're the best team, statistically and accurate, that.

So we went to watch one game. We went to watch one in the, um, stadium.

I forgot the word "stadium" there. I was gonna say "velodrome."

I can't do football. We went to watch one in the stadium,

but before that we went to this proper old-man pub in Birmingham,

and the woman behind the bar-- how to describe her?

She looked like a scrotum.

She didn't like me, 'cause I ordered a white wine spritzer.

She went, "What the fuck's that?"

"It's got soda water and white wine."

She went behind the bar, for a worrying amount of time,

came back with a pint of soda water and a full bottle of dessert wine.

"I don't know. That could be a fiver."

The best night of my life.

I bloody loved the football.

I got caught out at one point 'cause I shouted, "Come on, the lads."

Apparently, it's not acceptable as a phrase.

Yes. I love an old-man pub as well, 'cause I go with my friend Karen quite a lot.

And there's one in Birmingham. It's called the Tap & Spile,

and it's open till about 4:00 a.m. every night.

It's full of proper Brummies with no neck.

"I haven't got a neck." And she got hit on the one night.

This guy came up to her and went, "What's your name?"

And she went, "Fuck off."

He went, "That's a lovely name."

He asked what her favorite TV show is. She said Sex in the City,

and he went, "I like sex on the settee an' all."

It's a good joke, that. It's a bloody good joke.

Um... But yes, I'm not that masculine.

I'm not that good at confrontation.

I did do some confrontation recently. You do a lot of driving with this job.

And I stopped recently at a service station quite late at night,

just getting some food.

I wasn't getting any fuel.

And this gentleman got off a motorbike behind me,

who'd obviously worked on one muscle group more than the others in the gym.

He was quite sort of top-heavy and then withered down below.

He looked like a Cornetto with a head.

Like a spinning top shaped into a twat.

He was very aggressive, very aggressive.

Really pushy. I went to the service station. He pushed in behind me.

I went over to look at the sandwiches,

and he shouted to the woman behind the counter,

who sat there with a little e-cigarette,

which was giving out a sarcastic amount of smoke.

It was billowing around. She looked like she was on Stars In Their Eyes.

Just like there.

And he shouted, "Why isn't the pump on?"

She went, "It's after 10:00. You have to pay first. That's the rule."

He went, "You don't think I can pay for it?"

She went, "That's not what I'm saying. It's after 10:00. You have to pay first.

That's the rule for everybody."

It's at that point when he picked up a fire extinguisher and started swinging it.

I became really fascinated in the sandwiches.

"Oh, my God, chicken and bacon. I'm gonna read every ingredient on this one."

Staring out of blind fear. He was like,

"Nobody thinks I can't pay. You," pointing at me, "You think I can pay for it?"

I'm not sure how I did this. I was nervous and frightened. But I think I just went, "No."

Shitting myself.

Put the fire extinguisher down. He said,

"If you don't put that pump on when I go out, I'm gonna create problems for you."

She said, "I'm not gonna put the pump on."

He did my favorite thing anyone's done in anger.

He just threw a Twix on the ground.

It seems like a reasonable response, doesn't it? The old Twix throwing trick.

He went over, fannying out with his motorbike.

I went over with a prawn mayonnaise, if you're interested.

And she started scanning it really slowly,

and I said, "Are you gonna put that pump on?"

And she went, "No."

She was relishing in it. I scuttled back to the car, locked the doors.

He tried to get back into the service station,

but cleverly she'd locked the doors to there.

He tried to kick them in, but didn't work. He's withered down below.

So--

Picked up a pack of fire logs, started swinging them at the 24-hour window.

She knows it's bulletproof glass, so she was just laughing.

Ha, ha, ha!

Smoke pissing everywhere.

I started the car. Tried to drive round, but I'm a polite driver.

I'm not gonna beep my horn. He was in the way.

So I just thought, I'll eat the prawn sandwich, to be honest.

One thing I forget to do when I'm in the Ford Fiesta is--

I slipped that in, didn't I? Someone's got some bloody dollar.

A Ford Fiesta. The lights are always sort of on.

There's a little switch, and if you go a little bit it goes onto mini beam.

If you go further, it goes onto full beam.

And because I was nervous and frightened,

I clicked onto full beam and very quickly clicked back, but essentially flashed him.

He turned and looked at me through the windscreen with these fire logs,

just staring into my soul for what felt like an eternity.

I farted out of nervousness again.

Then he just went,

"Oh, sorry, mate," and walked out of the way!

I stalled the car and drove home to Birmingham.

It was a good night. It was a good night.

Now, before the show I asked you send in some tweets.

-Did people see this? -Yes.

Yes. Before the show I asked you to send in some tweets of--

'Cause I've really got into gay puns, basically.

It's one of my new favorite things.

I'm slightly obsessed with drag names as well,

'cause I've created a drag act, which is Nigella Farage.

She's incredibly racist

whilst making a goat Massaman curry, is the idea.

Some of the names of drag acts-- Lois Common Denominator's my favorite.

But this started, 'cause a friend of mine mentioned to me the Gay Olympics a while back,

and I stopped listening to everything he said then,

because I was thinking of games that you could play at the Gay Olympics.

He talked for, like, five minutes.

I took none of it in, and then just went, "Jizzcus."

Really, really killed the mood with Synchronized Rimming, but, um...

It's a good one. It's a good one.

"Cockput." Yeah, there's loads.

I asked you to tweet in, 'cause I've exhausted those.

I asked you to tweet in with gay TV shows, and, um--

My favorite with these is when someone has a go, but it's shit.

You can see they've really tried.

There's some genuinely really good ones as well.

For example, this one from Lucy.

"Ant And Dick's Push The Bellend" isn't a-- That's not a thing.

Lucy Campbell. Where are you, Lucy? Give me a wave.

-Hello! -Hello, Lucy, right at the back.

Quite right.

You sent-- Oh, my God, you sent in loads.

"I'm A Gay, Get Me Out Of Here."

"King Of The Dildo." What?

"Keeping Up With The Cums," and you just put in brackets, "Kardashians."

Ten followers. Now we know why.

"The Big Wang Theory." I like that. That's good.

Then instead of A Touch of Frost,

"A Touch of Cock."

"Dongs of Praise." That's more like it.

"Dongs of Praise!" Well done.

Jennifer likes that.

"Fresh Prince Of Bellend."

Yeah.

"Third Cock From The Bum." That's nice.

That's nice. A sweet one, that one, isn't it? Lovely.

"A Place In The Bum." Lovely, nice.

"Homos Under The Hammer." That sounds like a threat.

"Thomas The Wank Engine." That's it. That's what we're after.

That's Bill Richards. Where are you, Bill?

-Here. -Hello. Oh, sorry.

You weren't expecting to be-- Hello, Bill.

Lovely shirt. Very well-dressed, Bill. Let's look at your profile.

"Odd. I love comedy, not all tweets are live, carry on conversation,

views mostly my own, work for a uni."

Block.

You did so many. Oh, my God. How many-- You've done at least 12 here.

"Peppa's Prick."

Peppa Pig that you've-- "Peppa's Prick."

"Dick In Dom's Bungalow." Nice.

Why are they all kids' TV shows? I'm worried about you.

"Tracy's Beaver." What's wrong with you?

"Tracy's Beaver!"

"Great British Baked Off My Tits."

Great. I love it.

655 foll-- 656 now. There you go. I'm following.

I'm following you...

home.

"Gobblecocks." Love that.

Right, this is horrible. "One Torn Every Minute."

I'm worried about all of you. I'm really worried.

A round of applause for everyone who sent those in. They're so good, so funny.

There's an after-show counselor you can speak to if you'd like to as well after the show.

I've done that at different tour shows.

And I do different things. We did--

We did gay landmarks in Salford when I did a show in Salford.

And people did things like "Anal of the North," that kind of thing.

Somebody tweeted in "Auschfists."

It's sort of so wrong, it goes out the other side, that, doesn't it?

Completely unacceptable.

Let's move on. I want to talk to you today about Birmingham.

So, yes, I'm from-- Ooh!

Are you from Birmingham? Oh, which part of Birmingham?

-Tamworth. -Not Birmingham at all.

Tamworth. Okay, lovely.

Are you from Birmingham? Where are you from?

-Great Barr. -Great Barr. Lovely. Smashing.

-I'm from Hall Green. Do you know it? -Very well.

Very well?

Not that well. You're not outside my house?

There's a Waitrose in Hall Green, that's the thing.

You get the idea of the sort of quality of-- I was outside Waitrose--

You don't have a Waitrose in Great Barr, do you?

-Not that I'm aware of. -You don't have roads in Great Barr.

You wander around vomiting on one another, don't you?

Yes, I was outside the Waitrose in Hall Green the other day.

I saw a squirrel eating a croissant.

That was too much for me. And there was a woman on her telephone the one day,

she was speaking so loudly, and she went, "No, it's Colin apostrophe 'S',

because it's the racist opinion belonging to Colin."

Colin sounds like a hoot, doesn't he?

We've got an Aldi now. That's what we've got.

That's caused upset with the locals.

I like it 'cause it's the only place

you can buy a pint of milk and a wheelbarrow wheel in the same shop.

It was a great thrill. But, um--

Yes, I live in-- I live in Hall Green with my mother and father,

Dave and Helen, great couple of lads.

This is my lad knee, by the way.

Um--

I don't know if there are any mothers in, or if anyone's had a mother,

but, um--

My mother. A great worrier, my mother. She's got worse as she's got older.

She bought me-- She bought me a first-aid kit for the car.

I do mainly motorway driving.

I'm not sure how useful a first-aid kit's gonna come in, in a smash on the M6.

I'm not gonna ring 999 and go,

"Well, my condition is my legs are crushed to bits,

and I've got a metal sticking out of my abdomen,

and, according to this thermometer, a slightly higher than normal temperature.

No, don't send the fire brigade to cut me out.

I've got these tiny, little scissors."

She's also on social media as well.

She searches my name to see what I'm up to when I'm away.

She's not gonna be pleased with "Tracy's Beaver," I can tell you that for a fact.

She also started replying to my tweets,

and I try, like, jokes and one-liners on Twitter.

I did one as an example. It was, "Did you know it takes 36 muscles to smile

but only one muscular guy in the gym to give me a boner."

It was a silly throwaway joke. Nothing to worry about. She replied,

"No, I didn't know that. Thanks, Son." Ugh!

Got her back, though, 'cause Wimbledon was on, so I did a Wimbledon joke.

It was, "Why, when women play tennis,

do they sound like they're having an orgasm?

And why does my mother play tennis in the bathroom?"

She was livid!

120 retweets. Spin on that, Helen.

It's a good day.

Live in Birmingham. Live in Birmingham.

Birmingham was described recently on Fox News,

the reputable news source that is Fox News,

as "100 percent Muslim."

Salaam alaikum.

Alaikum salaam is what you say back. We'll work it out.

It's interesting, 'cause I was in the Middle East when that news came out.

I was doing shows-- I was in Abu Dhabi, Doha and Dubai.

Friends of mine told me not to go to the Middle East,

because they said that they don't like,

and I quote, "my lot," is what they said.

I'm not sure what they mean by "my lot." Presumably fly fishers.

They jail homosexuals in those countries.

Not sure of the logic of that one, really.

"You like men? We'll put you in a box with some."

Not a punishment. Come on, try harder, lads.

I thought that they stoned gays to death out there,

but it's just that gays can't catch.

Structurally, a very good joke, that, but it's on the edge, I agree.

Now--

Hundred percent Muslim it said. There's a sort of truth in it.

There's a lot of Muslims in Birmingham. A lot of all cultures.

We're known for being multicultural. Quite good at it, really.

Our next-door neighbor's a Muslim, Saaj. He's a lovely guy.

Loves a fuckin' power tool on a Sunday, but he's a lovely guy. "Shut up, Saaj."

One of the most famous Muslims in Birmingham is Malala Yousafzai.

I don't know if people are familiar with her.

If you don't, she's brilliant. She's an 18-year-old schoolgirl

who was shot at by the Taliban for wanting to be educated.

She now goes to Edgbaston High School for Girls.

It's a private school. I don't think she pays the fees.

I personally would hate to go to school with Malala Yousafzai.

Can you imagine show-and-tell day with Malala?

Where they're like, "Okay, class, what have you brought in?

Sally, let's start with you."

And Sally goes, "I've brought in this papier-mâché cat."

Very nice.

Okay. "Anyone else bring anything? Malala, did you bring anything in?"

"This Nobel Peace Prize."

"Sally, you're a piece of shit."

I'd hate to be her teacher as well.

You're not gonna tell Malala off for anything.

"What are you doing on your phone, Malala?" "Texting Barack Obama."

"Oh, sorry, um-- Sally, you're a piece of shit."

Poor Sally. I just made her up. Um--

I was annoyed about that. I was annoyed when that news came out.

I'm annoyed with Donald Trump as well.

A little side project I've got going on.

I'm trying to book Syrian refugees into Donald Trump's hotels.

Um--

It's going okay. It's going okay.

I was annoyed when Fox News said they were 100 percent Muslim,

because there's a subtext to that.

When they say we're 100 percent Muslim,

what they're saying is we should be worried about that,

there's something terrifying, frightening about Muslims.

I think we've got a problem. I think we're using the word "Muslim"

far too quickly to describe people doing atrocities

when they don't represent Muslims any more than I do,

and I think we should be using a more accurate word for those people,

which I'm going to argue is "knobhead."

There could be levels of knobhead. You'd have a moderate knobhead,

all the way up to fundamental knobhead.

If we all did it, the news would have to catch up.

They'd have to go, "Today, two knobheads bombed a car."

They'd have to do it if we all did it.

And it wouldn't necessarily be to do with just terrorist activity.

Any knobheading activity would get the knobhead word. I've thought of some.

Um, people that wear a festival wristband after a festival.

Oh, spare me.

"I went to Reading."

It's November. You're in a Costa. You're a knobhead.

Couples that put a lock on a bridge. You're both knobheads. Sorry.

I hate that. Hate it.

Um--

Sanctimonious mothers. I've gotta be careful here.

I don't mean all mothers. Just a lot of my friends are having children.

It's the sort of mothers that go, "Don't tell me how to raise my kids."

And you're like, "Okay, but she is trying to eat a Petits Filous

with an electric razor so"--

You're a bit of a knobhead, aren't you, ever so slightly?

Amanda Holden, fundamental knobhead. I just don't like her.

Don't encourage me, 'cause I'm sure she's lovely. I think she's despicable.

What she did to our Les.

Still holding on to that after ten years.

Ooh. A lovely bit of tequila.

Um--

Yes. No, I don't have a problem with Muslims in Birmingham at all.

I'm happy to have them. I think they add to our city and to our culture.

Thank you. Yes, thank you to the one person agreeing.

Let me continue to this BNP rally.

Please welcome Nigella Farage!

What was I talking about? It wasn't that long ago, was it? Muslims, yes.

Um, I just hate Musli-- Ooh, what was I saying? Sorry.

What's my political opinion again?

Yes, no, I'm happy to have them in Birmingham.

I think the big problem we have in Birmingham--

It's happening everywhere, at the minute.

We have a lot of artisan coffee shops.

Full of "cyunts."

I've started putting the letter "Y" into swear words.

It makes me happy. Let's get "fyucked" up.

It just makes me happy. I don't know why.

You know the sort of places I'm on about.

Shoreditch, full of them.

The sort of places-- They've got distressed wood, that kind of thing.

And they'll serve flat whites, that's the drink.

They'll often say things like, "We support local artists,"

and you know that because the art on the wall is shit.

There's dozens in Birmingham now, dozens. They're all shit.

There's one I quite like. It's called Yorks Café Bakery,

and they do an avocado and feta smash!

It's a very aggressive word, I feel,

for what's essentially pressing with a fork.

Avocado and feta smash.

For £1.00-- I think-- £1.50 extra, you can get a poached egg on top.

A lovely way to start the day. I went in recently. I said to the girl,

"I'd like the avocado and feta smash, please, with the poached egg."

And she went, "Oh, we don't do the egg anymore."

I said, "Why's that?"

She went, "The kitchen was struggling to cope."

When I hear the phrase "struggling to cope,"

I think of, I don't know, a single mother trying to juggle a career,

child care, heartbreak.

I don't think of someone cooking a fuckin' egg.

So I'm boycotting there now. I'm boycotting there now.

But I do occasionally send them an e-mail.

No, no.

Just with the subject line "Struggling To Cope"

and a picture of me cooking an egg.

It took me ages to get that picture right. I did 40 on my phone.

We've got now as well-- We've got a 24-hour Starbucks in Birmingham.

Nobody asked for one. We've got one.

The staff at 4:00 a.m., genetically closer to a moth.

I went in at 4:00 a.m. only once. I came back late from a show.

I thought, I'll treat myself, I'll have a hot chocolate.

The guy behind the counter obviously couldn't cope with daylight or anything,

'cause he was like, "Can I take a name?"

And I said, "Yeah, it's Joe. Can I ask why?"

And he went, "Just in case the order gets confused."

I looked around an empty Starbucks!

I shuffled to the service counter. It took him ages to make it,

and then he went, "Hot chocolate for John."

So to make a point, I just waited. Well--

John will be here in a minute, won't he?

Oh, he loves a hot chocolate, our John.

I suppose it's gentrification, isn't it? It's happening everywhere.

I don't mind it really, 'cause it's nice to have nice places to go out and whatever.

My issue with it is it sort of jumped up at me,

because I didn't go out for a while

'cause I was writing a sitcom about gay pirates.

But I only got two lines of dialogue, which is one of the characters goes,

"Where's the treasure?"

And then somebody else goes, "You're a treasure."

That's all I got. That's all I got.

It's something. It's something.

Then I started going out,

and there's all these jazzy bars now, all these quirky places.

There's a gin parlor in Birmingham now.

I went into the gin parlor. I ordered a gin and tonic. I thought that was appropriate.

A very quirky guy behind the bar--

tattoos, piercings, beard-- he was like,

"We have 200 different types of gin.

Is there a type of gin you've had before?"

I was like, "Yeah, I think it was Asda Price." I think it was--

Didn't have it, so not that exclusive.

I had a vodka Diet Coke in the end.

And I got chatting to this guy who was very thin and very pallid.

He looked like someone had dressed up a Mini Milk. He didn't look right.

He was chatting at me, a mile a minute, for about half an hour.

Then after about half an hour he went, "I've lost my coke."

Because I was drinking a Diet Coke and a bit drunk,

I thought he meant Coca-Cola. I was like, "Where did you have it last?"

"In the toilet." "Well, there's no flat surfaces in there.

You must've left it on the floor."

He was like, "No, I've lost my coke."

I was like, "I'll get you Coke," still thinking he meant Coca-Cola.

He was like, "You know a dealer?"

I was like, "I don't see how that's relevant."

I know an art dealer I could call in the morning, but that seems very off topic.

I started walking to the bar,

and then realized, on my way to the bar, what he actually meant.

I'm now on a drugs run for some stranger.

How did this happen? I don't take drugs. I've no idea how you procure drugs.

I know you can order them online now,

which I find absolutely hysterical as an idea.

That they can go, "Sorry you were out.

We left 50 kilograms of smack with your neighbor."

"Did my cocaine arrive?"

"No, but Saaj is really mowing that fucking lawn."

No idea how it works, do I? So I needed a wee.

I thought I'd go and have a wee, I'll work out what to do.

So I went into a cubicle, 'cause I get stage fright.

I can't urinate next to other men.

And thank you for laughing, It helps.

I went for a wee out of my knob, and I popped the lid down on the toilet,

and behind the lid was this little packet of powder.

I can see how he would've missed it. It just slipped down the back.

But it created this moral quandary, really.

'Cause I don't have a problem with people taking drugs,

do whatever you like with your life,

but I know cocaine particularly, the way it's produced,

the way it's brought into the country.

There's a lot of blood on it. Pretty much every gram somebody dies for it.

It's a really horrendous industry that you're funding if you take it or buy it,

and it makes me very uncomfortable and sad, really,

but also it's not my property, it's not up to me, it's not my decision,

so I didn't know what to do.

Anyway, I made £50.

A little punch line for you there. You're welcome.

"You're ever so heavy. Ooh, it's a bloody lecture now. It's a lecture."

I was gonna ask--

I was talking there about not being able to use urinals.

I've started to be able to do it.

I was gonna say I need some help, but that sounds really wrong.

Basically, I went to the Glastonbury Festival for the first time last year,

and the toilets there--

I have a rule. If you're doing a poo on somebody else's poo,

you've made the wrong decision in life.

Let's reassess, shall we? Let's think things through. Um--

So you just have to get over yourself at Glastonbury.

It's about half the time now I can use the urinal. The other half I use a cubicle.

Because I've never used a urinal before, I think I'm doing it wrong.

So, by way of a cheer, who, when they're at a urinal,

just gets the knob out?

Okay.

Who then does knob and balls?

Right, I don't have any more options.

This gentlemen here, what was your name?

-Peter. -Hello, Peter.

What do you do? Not for a profession, with your knob and balls?

I treat myself. I sit down in a cubicle.

You treat yourself and you sit down.

I'm obsessed with you, Peter.

Let's find out about you. So you've never used--

-Surely you must've used a urinal at some point? -Yes.

Where are you from, Peter? I feel like-- You remind me of Mr. Tumnus.

-So, what do you do, Peter? -Retired.

You're retired? What are you doing with your retirement?

Sitting down having a piss.

Watching me. Yes.

Oh, lovely. How's it going for you?

Boring. Boring?

Ruined my big night, Peter.

No, he said it with a smile on his face.

Otherwise, I might have to smash the shit out of him.

-Where do you live, Peter? -Plymouth.

Plymouth. Oh, well, God, talk about boring, for fuck's sake.

Jesus.

Um, so you traveled. Lovely. Thanks for traveling.

-For you. -For me?

Oh, it's getting a bit sinister now.

You're gonna leave the wife in the Holiday Inn?

Lovely. Okay, smashing, Peter.

Well, have a lovely life. Bye-bye.

Um--

So hang on. I do knob and balls. Is that weird?

Yes. This gentlemen here going "yes."

What-- One ball? How's that? Is that all right?

-What do you do? -Sans balls.

Sans balls.

Bonjour.

Sans balls. What a bellend.

Just the tip or do you unravel the whole thing? What are we talking?

A fair bit comes out. A fair bit comes out.

Is this your partner who's having an absolute breakdown next to you?

A fair bit comes out.

Oh, right, lovely. Okay.

Give me inches.

No, actually, Peter's upset now. Peter's upset.

Peter's goes all the way down to the bottom and ravels round.

Um--

One day I might just do full trousers down. Fuck it. Skin to the wind.

Let's move off my knob. Um--

Yes, I want to talk now about my friend Claire.

She is from Dudley.

They have very thick accents in Dudley. You'll be familiar.

She sort of talks like that, like she's waiting to die.

I love Claire, but she's a few condoms short of an orgy.

She, um--

She microwaves her clothes to dry them.

She never cleans the microwave, so she always smells of baked beans.

Coarse-- Coarse is the word for her.

She's one of those friends you feel like you have to apologize for.

You find it quite funny.

We went to watch Mad Max at the IMAX. Brilliant film. Recommend it.

But midway through there are these chastity belts,

and she leant over to me very loudly, in a very busy IMAX,

and she went, "Those chastity belts are shit."

I said, "Why do you say that?"

And she went, "As I always say, if you can get a poo out, you can get a knob in."

"Yeah, okay, sure. All right.

Something to live your life by, sure.

As you always say, never stop saying that, do you, Claire?"

And she's so bad with men. Dreadful with men.

She'll go through a different boyfriend every two or three months,

and you know they're a bad egg just based on their name.

She'll introduce me. She'll be like, "This is Zane" or Adolf or something.

You just know. And the last one was so awful.

She came round. She said, "He's got this new sex thing

where he likes to ejaculate on my face and take a photo of it."

I said, "That's dreadful."

And she went, "And I don't know what face to pull."

It's a valid question, isn't it? Do you go, "Thank you!"

Or do you go, "Mmm!"

No Snapchat filter in the world for that, is there?

Yes. And she gets so drunk as well.

'Cause we go out gay clubbing.

We'll club a gay to death maybe once a month.

So pleased with that joke when I wrote it.

It was like, "Take the month off, Joe. Fuck it." Gay club.

It's just a play on words. And I don't really engage with the gay community that often.

There's one gay club which I love. It's called Hard Cock Life.

And it's a gay hip-hop night.

It's very camp gay men

paired off with very aggressive, often misogynous rap lyrics.

It'll be like, "Smash her in the pussy."

"Yeah, smash her in the pussy!" It's really good.

I don't know if it's an avocado and feta smash in the pussy, I'm not sure.

A very good night out. But she gets so drunk.

I had to put her in a cab before midnight the other week.

She'd got this bag of chips covered in curry sauce.

She's not very graceful in heels at the best of times.

She looks like when I put toilet rolls on my cat's legs.

Sort of like...

Just not with it.

The taxi driver spotted her a mile off.

He's like, "You're not coming in this cab with those chips."

She went, "All I want in my life is these chips. That's all I've ever wanted."

He's like, "If you soil the cab, you'll have to pay a big fine."

She was like, "I won't, I promise. I just want these chips."

He was like, "All right."

I open the door. She tripped and pissed the chips into the cab.

All over the window, into the chair.

And because she was so drunk, she just went, "Shh."

Pushed them into the road. She's not right. She's not right.

But when she gets drunk, she comes up with these little wisdoms,

these little philosophies.

One of them I'm trying to live my life by, 'cause it's absolutely brilliant.

Claire thinks if somebody's difficult with you in life, awkward,

making your life hard for any reason,

shouldn't try and rationalize with them,

shouldn't try and speak to them on their level.

You should try and out-weird them.

It came in very usefully for me recently in my local post office.

There's a woman there. She's been there about 20 years.

I don't like her. She is-- Smug is the word.

It's one of these faces that's so smug it sort of folds into itself.

Do you know what I mean? Like, mmm.

She looks like someone's punched a quiche.

And she's called Lorraine.

No, you're better than that.

And she's always got some quip, some line.

I went in with my passport form. They do a Check and Send service at the post office.

She licked her finger and went through it.

She went, "Ah, your referee has spelt 'neighbor' wrong."

And I went, "What?" "He's missed out the 'H' on 'neighbor.'

Fill it in again." I was like, "Surely that's all right."

She went, "No. There can be no risk of any confusion as to what that word means.

Fill it in again." Pushed it back at me.

I thought, I'm not having this. It takes ages to fill out that form.

You have to send off for it, get a referee.

I'm not having it. So I thought, I'll be a bit weird with her.

So I went, "Oh, no. Sorry. He's not my neighbor. He's my doctor."

She went, "What?" "He's misspelt 'doctor.'

So doctor's obviously spelt D-O-C-T-O-R.

He's spelt it N-E-I-G-B-O-U-R. He's spelt 'doctor' wrong."

And she went, "No, that clearly says 'neighbor.'"

"Oh, does it?"

Did quiche face back at her, didn't I?

I've been weird with people in real life,

but my main work at being weird with people is online, as I've said.

A few examples of the things that I do.

There's a Starbucks that I know in Cardiff.

It's not a 24-hour one. But they are next to a Strada.

And so whenever I'm in Cardiff,

I'll tweet the official Starbucks account with things like this.

"FYI, I'm on your 'Starbucks customers only Wi-Fi,'

but I'm actually next door in Strada having a prosecco, and I don't give a shit."

I'll put pictures of me outside as well, just going, "Got you, you pricks."

That kind of thing.

This next one-- Mmm. I--

This next one, it's a humblebrag really. I shouldn't mention it.

Basically, there's a gay magazine called Attitude magazine,

and they do a vote every year for the top 100 hottest men in the world.

You can vote for anyone you'd like.

I don't think this is my best work by any means. This was an Instagram post.

I just thought I'd canvass for votes for myself. Just squeezing my face up.

I just said, "Please vote for me to be in the top 100."

Not the best joke I've ever done.

Didn't think of it again until Attitude got in touch

and invited me to the award ceremony,

where they give out this magazine, the top 100.

Nice of them to use my body on the front, isn't it?

Sort of people in this are like proper Hollywood.

Channing Tatum's at number two.

You've got Liam Payne from One Direction. Chris Pratt from Hollywood.

David Beckham's at number eight.

Somehow, as a result of that joke,

I'm the tenth hottest man in the world.

And there's the picture.

A lot of Photoshop going on there. A lot of Photoshop.

Daniel Craig's at 13. I'm hotter than Daniel Craig.

So Katie Price is at the awards do where they give out the magazine,

and she treats this thing like my mum does with the Matalan catalog.

She was going through it, going, "Oh, that would be lovely in the living room."

The joke there is she's a slag.

Now--

Just in case you weren't sure what the joke was there.

I shouldn't have mentioned that,

'cause it's a humblebrag and it belittles my main work online,

which is very important work, actually, very serious work that I do.

My main work online is I reply to Cheryl Cole's Instagrams.

Very serious work. No, it's not Cheryl Cole. It's Cheryl Fernandez Knobhead.

She's one of the worst culprits for what I call

"the posting of the bullshit quote."

A lot of very famous, attractive people do this. A lot of models do this.

They'll post a quote, normally to Instagram,

that feels like it has some meaning, some worth in your life,

but it absolutely doesn't.

Here is an example of one such quote that was posted.

So I did one of my own, tagged Cheryl in.

"Follow your own path."

I did another one as well.

"Follow your own path." You get the gist. You get the gist.

I've gone one further as well. I've set up my own hashtag.

It's "hashtag bullshit quotes I've just made up." And I have two rules.

I can't have thought about the quote for longer than ten seconds,

and then I post it, whatever it is, in a nice font onto Instagram,

tagging the sort of people that do this.

So Cheryl Cole, the Kardashians, Cara Delevingne.

She can get in the fucking bin.

It's this sort of thing, just to give you an example.

"Life is for the living. If you're not living, you're dead."

It feels nice. There's a rhythm to it.

It means nothing. I made it up in ten seconds.

This one's a sciency one.

"In science, a negative attracts a positive."

My absolute favorite. This has done so well on social media. I'm so proud of this.

"Life is like a box of chocolates.

It doesn't last long if you're fat."

Some wholesome advice, that one really.

If you see these, please "@me" in or put the hashtag. I love reading them.

I might make a blog of them. They're a fascinating insight into humanity at this stage.

One person I wasn't familiar with before-- a few people linked me to--

is a pornographic actress-- Watch out.

She's called Isis Taylor.

I can't do-- I can't put a picture up for legal reasons, so I've done a drawing.

That's my drawing of her. She posts a lot to Twitter.

She also, foolishly, on one occasion,

posted her e-mail address.

I sent her a little e-mail, didn't I?

"Dear Isis, I have been a loyal and devoted fan of your work as an actress

for a number of years now,

and have long thought that you are a beautiful and talented performer.

However, my opinion of you was changed

after I read a recent front-page newspaper article about you.

I am shocked and concerned, Isis,

to learn that you have taken over swathes of Iraq and eastern Syria...

and intend to create an Islamic caliphate in the region.

I implore you to see sense and return to your porn career in San Francisco.

Yours with concern"-- I used an alias-- "Paul Paulington." I don't know why.

No reply.

I have been trying to solve the problem of ISIS.

Don't worry. Not the porn star, the terrorists. Any members of ISIS in, or...

I was thinking why would you join ISIS.

I was trying to work out why you'd join them.

The people that join ISIS feel like there's a lack of love in their lives.

I don't think you can join ISIS if you feel loved.

And I was thinking, where is there an abundance of love?

And I realized it's Grindr.

So I've signed up to Grindr, posting as an ISIS militant. Go with me.

Grindr, if you don't know, it's a gay dating app. That's what it is.

Bloody hell, you know about it, don't you?

It's not dating really either. It's just a fuck fest really, but, um--

The first conversation was with Craig.

He said, "LOL, are you ISIS?" I said, "Yes. Death to the West."

He said, "OMG, I know a drag act called Alexandra Burka. You'd love her."

Alexandra Burka? I'd go and see that.

But I was in character as an ISIS militant,

so I wrote, "Doesn't sound very good."

He said, "Yeah, to be fair, it is shit. Wanna meet?"

So success. Somebody willing to love someone from ISIS.

Next one was James. I was pleased with this.

James put, "Wanna blow?" I said, "What building?"

He said, "Okay.

Tell me more about yourself."

I said, "I serve the Islamic State."

He said, "I serve in Wagamama's."

I didn't reply for a bit 'cause I was a bit busy.

Then he sent me another message. "If you could do anything, what would do to me?"

So I said, "I would destroy you and your civilization."

He said, "That's hot.

Where shall we meet?" I said, "In hell."

He said, "Is that a nightclub?" There probably is somewhere.

Final one. Oh, Barry. Bless Barry.

He put ASL, which means age, sex, location, if you're not familiar.

I said, "18, male, Syria."

He said, "Syria," question mark.

I said, "Yes, I'm Syrius."

He said, "Ha ha, I'm in Milton Keynes."

I said, "Milton Keynes is full of whores. They're all going to hell."

He put, "OMG, tell me about it."

Gays are so funny, so funny.

Ongoing project, that one. Ongoing.

I did have to be weird with someone in real life recently.

I went on a stag do.

Right.

I'm trying to get that right. I think it's all in the neck.

You fuckin' what?

That's it. It's close, isn't it?

It's amazing how close to vomiting that is.

Is it there?

That's it. Close.

This is a front for insecurity. I've got it.

I struggled to connect with my father. I've got it. I've got it.

I'm actually quite lonely. Yes, I've got it.

No, I didn't go with absolute lads like that.

I went with old school friends of mine. We went to Lisbon.

They have a nickname for me, which is why we've done the show at this theater.

It is The Duchess, so I am The Duchess at The Duchess. It sort of fits, doesn't it?

They've got a whole backstory for The Duchess.

The Duchess has a butler called René.

I don't know why he's called René, but I love it.

And René will provide people for The Duchess to make love to that he's found on Tinder.

I'm obsessed with Tinder. If you don't know what I'm on about,

it's a dating app where you get a picture of a human.

If you like the look of them, swipe right.

If you don't, swipe left, and you never hear from them again.

Quite an abrupt way of measuring a human, I feel.

It wouldn't work in real life. You wouldn't walk round a bar going, "No!" It's a bit much.

"No!" Maybe you would. I don't know how you live your lives, but--

They're nice guys. We've been friends for years.

But there was a new guy on the stag who I'd not met before.

Johnny, in the TA.

Johnny actually works mainly in financial services,

but he went on about the TA a lot.

I don't even know what it stands for.

I think it just means the Army. I don't know.

Um--

How would I describe Johnny? A full cyunt would be about right.

He-- He'd met gay people before. He'd met straight people.

But he'd not met anyone bisexual.

I'm bisexual. I'm not sure if that was made clear to you at the door.

Um--

Out of interest, are there any bisexuals in? You don't have to cheer.

Whoo! Oh, loads of you. Hi. Hello. Welcome. Welcome.

Somebody down here. Great. Marvelous.

When you say you're bisexual, are people confused by that sometimes?

Yes, you're nodding. That's the thing.

I get it's confusing, 'cause I was confused when I first emerged sexually.

My first kiss, when I was about 16,

was with a woman outside the Snobs nightclub in Birmingham.

If you don't know it, the name is ironic.

And, um,

we were both very drunk, and she burped in my mouth.

And that triggered my gag reflex. So I was then sick on her shoes.

No, they were only from New Look. Chill out.

But it made me think for a long time I was full gay,

because I thought that women made me physically sick.

That's what I thought.

People say you're greedy as well.

Oh, fucking hell, spare me.

It's not about the frequency of sex.

It's about who you are attracted to. That's all the word means.

I am-- I can't speak for other bisexuals. I can't speak for other men.

I feel there's a presumption that all men are up for it at all times.

All men are going, "I'll fuck that." I don't have that libido.

Maybe that makes me unusual. I just don't have it.

I look at a very comfortable sofa

in the same way that I think most people look at a sexy person.

"The things I'd do to that.

Lie down and a snack, that's what I'd do."

Tinder for sofas, swipe right the whole bloody day. That's what I would do.

It's called Airbnb. I know it's an app. And, uh--

I also get very frustrated with the language of sexuality as well.

We've got work to do there.

The three main words that we use are "homosexual," "heterosexual" and "bisexual."

All of these words just to do with gender, and only gender.

For example, if you say you are a heterosexual male,

literally all that means is you are attracted to women.

But you won't be attracted to all women.

You'll be attracted to a type of woman.

Blonde, brunette, your partner, whoever it is.

And so I feel like it's more nuanced that that, more complex.

I prefer the word "pansexual,"

then people think you're fucking things in the kitchen, so I don't even start.

I don't know what I want really,

'cause sometimes I just want us all to be fluid and no one ever comes out,

but then you would never have the coming-out story.

And my favorite story in the land is a coming-out story.

It's my friend Sam.

He's a full gay, and he lives at home with his parents, as I do.

And he just got the confidence one night.

And his mum was in the bath.

So he knocked on the bathroom door.

She put a towel round. She came to the door and said, "What is it, Sam?"

And he went, "Mum, I'm gay."

And she went, "Well, I don't need this anymore."

"I said gay, not incestuous."

Running for the towel.

I love that story so much. I love it.

So, yeah, I get that it's confusing.

I'd happily have a conversation with anyone about it, at any point.

Sexuality is fascinating. It's something we should talk about more really.

But... Johnny in the TA,

his response to his confusion was to sort of try and bully me.

It's the worst form of bullying, because it's sort of undercurrent.

You couldn't prove it, but it was constant.

It was things like--

I think this reveals a lot about him.

Every time he got drunk he kept getting his knob out and showing it,

going, "You like that, don't you?"

I bloody don't like it. Jesus. It was a car crash of genitalia.

His knob did to my knob--

You know when you touch a snail on its eye and it goes bla-la-la-la...

Ugh!

Vile. Turned it into a vagina.

I told Mum that he kept getting his knob out,

and she went, "Too much Afghanistan."

What does that mean?

Like there's a perfect quantity of Afghanistan?

"Oh, no more Afghanistan for me. I'm so full of Afghanistan."

He, uh-- He presumed I was gay. Often people do.

How could you? I don't know how. But it's fine. I think it's interesting.

When I said, "Oh, no, I'm actually bisexual,"

I think he thought I was asking for sex advice with women,

because he immediately went, "Oh, well, women like to take control in the bedroom."

I didn't ask, but let's see where this goes.

"Well, when I'm with a girl, I'll be like, 'Go over there.'"

Why is she over there?

How long's your cock, Johnny?

"You've gotta be the boss in the bedroom."

I haven't got time for invoicing, do some accounts midway through.

Oh, this was awful as well, 'cause he was really hypersexed, a really high libido.

We were in central Lisbon. This girl walked past us,

and he leant over and said, "Oh, she's fit, isn't she?"

I said, "She's clearly underage."

"There's grass on the wicket. Let's play cricket."

People still saying that sort of thing?

So to appease it, I made up my own rhyme.

"If you want to be a gent, get their consent." You know, just a fun one.

A bit of--

I didn't wanna be at loggerheads with him for the whole time,

'cause I'd never been to Lisbon before, so I wanted to see that.

I'll ask about his life, see if I can get him to open up.

So I said, "What's it like being in the TA?"

He went, "Oh, well, probably go on a tour in the next couple of years."

"Oh, a tour. What are you doing? Arts centers? Theaters?" Just keeping it light.

He went, "No, this isn't a tour like what you do. This is proper war."

Proper war? Somebody's not done a gig in Wigan, have they?

I actually love Wigan. The reason I mention it

is a good friend, Karen Bailey, a stand-up,

has this rule, which a lot of comics abide by.

If you do a gig and it's hell and you die on your arse,

you spend the money on something you want rather than on your bills.

And I've wanted this necklace for so long. It's a little trumpet.

It's the Blow Your Own Trumpet necklace.

But it's £110. I just can't justify that.

I couldn't justify that on a necklace.

Then I went to Wigan.

I did a gig for £120.

They were homophobic. They hated me.

Thank you, Wigan.

The favorite thing I've ever bought. Oh, the worst gig.

The worst gig was on a Virgin flight for Virgin Atlantic.

I wasn't allowed to talk about it, contractually, for a while.

I am now. They're wankers. I agreed to it on the basis the people on the flight

would know some comedy was happening.

They didn't.

It took off between Edinburgh and London, it was.

Cabin crew did their announcements,

and then they were like, "Joe, perform."

So I stood up. Front row were a load of businessmen on laptops.

At one point, one of them did laugh. I thought, well, I've done well there.

Then I realized he was watching Friends.

The second row were a Muslim family with children, all wearing hijabs.

I'm sure very nice, probably not into poo-out, knob-in gags.

Somebody tried to walk out.

I was meant to do ten minutes.

I did two minutes, 43 seconds, they helpfully told me afterwards.

And I don't check Twitter. I don't search my own name, but Mum does.

She found this tweet which was, "Just on a Virgin flight between Edinburgh and London,

and one of the cabin crew got up and did some shit comedy."

Lovely. Well, that'll go on the DVD, won't it? Smashing.

Yes, Johnny in the TA. Did not know what to do about him for a while.

Then I realized I know exactly what to do about you, Johnny.

I'll use Claire's wisdom. I'll use Claire's philosophy.

I'll be ever so slightly weird with you.

I don't think this was this weird.

I said to him, "I don't like the name Johnny. I'm going to call you René."

Every time he said something hurtful, often it was misogynist,

it just made me think he was the butler to The Duchess,

and it just took the sting out of everything he tried.

God knows how it worked, but he hated it. I managed it maximum four times.

We were in a nightclub that evening.

A woman walked past us, and he leant over

and went, "Look at those great jugs," about a woman.

It's the 21st century. The only time I've said, "Look at those great jugs"

is in the glassware section of John Lewis.

It's the only time that's acceptable now, I'm afraid.

And I went, "Ooh, yes, lovely jugs, René."

And he grabbed me. He went, "Right,

let's get this sorted before the rest of the stag do continues.

You've got two choices. We can be friends or you can keep calling me René."

Hmm.

Do you know what? I'll take route "B," please, René.

I didn't. I agreed to it, reluctantly,

'cause I was trying to be diplomatic

and we were sharing the same hostel together.

Lads, lads, lads. And I just avoided him for a couple of days.

I did go into the group one day.

I said, "I'm just off to the shop to get some shampoo. Does anyone want anything?"

He went, "Can you get me some condoms?" I bought him condoms.

And he looked and went, "I don't like these. They're too tight."

Any condom you buy you can fit over your own head.

If it's too tight, you have a medical emergency, don't you?

Maybe he was using them wrong. Some sleeping bag system. I don't know.

"Love it in my little condom."

He came out the shower one day, his body out and a little towel round him,

and I spotted a tattoo on his hip there.

I don't have a problem with tattoos. I don't have any myself.

But it was a quote, and you know how I feel about quotes.

Claire wanted a quote tattoo at one point, but she doesn't really read.

And she said to me, "Do you know any good quotes?"

I said, "I'll google some." I found one that she quite liked.

It was, "I believe in one thing only-- the power of human will."

And she was like, "Oh, that's lovely. Who's that by?"

"Stalin."

I'd googled "quotes by evil people." That's what I'd done.

She could have had it. She could have had it.

So get it. Get a quote tattoo. Fine. Do whatever. I don't care.

But just make sure you've read the book the quote's from.

I said to Johnny, "Can I see that quote?"

He went, "Yeah. A few of the lads at the unit, we got drunk and got tattoos.

Can't remember what it means exactly. It says 'cogito ergo sum,'

which I think means 'I think I am.'"

Some of us may know this. It means "I think, therefore I am," so he was close.

I thought about it.

I said, "Johnny, you do know that quote's by a guy called Descartes?

You do know Descartes's first name was René?"

"What?" "Google it." And he googled it.

"Fuck off." Trying to scratch it out.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

"You do know Descartes was a very prominent homosexual?"

He wasn't. I just made it up. "What that quote means is, 'I think, therefore I am.'

What it means is even if you think just a little bit that you're gay, you are gay."

Actually--

We are not friends. He found out I was doing stand-up about him. He was ever so upset.

Rang me up. I said, "Don't worry. I've changed your name.

They don't know you're called Peter."

What I'm going to do is tell you a final thing, and then I'm going to fyuck off.

So this is my favorite thing.

It's come as a result of me being a bit weird with somebody online.

A friend of mine was looking for somewhere to live in London,

which, as I'm sure you're aware, is quite expensive,

quite difficult, increasingly.

He found somewhere on Gumtree that looked kind of promising.

Did a bit of e-mailing back and forth.

Realized pretty quickly this is probably a scam,

so he sent all the e-mails he'd done already over to me

and just did the subject heading, "Do your absolute worst."

A girl called Gemma who was supposedly advertising this property.

I sent her a fresh e-mail. "Hello, Gemma. I'm contacting you

regarding the apartment listed on Gumtree.

I'm interested in a viewing and wanted to arrange. Regards. Joe Lycett."

I used my own name on this one.

I got a reply. "Hello, Mr. Joe.

The flat is situation in the London borough of Islington,

a beautiful area with parking facilities."

I had a look on Google Maps for the nearest facilities.

They are Pentonville Prison.

"To do the viewing, I need to come to you from my residence in Stockholm.

This is obviously very expensive for me,

so I need assurance that you are interested and have available funding.

I need you to pay deposit of 220 US dollar,

which you will have returned to you immediately on viewing.

This is to be arranged by my trusted partner Money2India.eu."

Hmm.

Nothing suspicious about that.

"I will also need your current address to send documentation to.

Please contact me to arrange. Thanks. Gemma."

So I just turned the weirdness up just a little notch.

"Hi, Gemma. Thanks for your speedy reply.

What a coincidence that you are in Stockholm.

I am on holiday there right now."

I wasn't, of course. I was in my garden in Birmingham, having a glass of prosecco.

"Let's meet and discuss and arrange the viewing.

My current address is 118 New Oxford Street, London WC1A 1HL."

That is the address of a Dorothy Perkins.

"Regards. Joe Lycett."

She replied, "Mr. Joe, I am not currently in Stockholm actually,

but I'm on business for the next three weeks in Berlin.

The best way to secure a viewing is to pay the deposit using money to India.eu.

Thank you. Gemma."

So I just turned the weirdness up just another little notch.

"Guten Tag, Frau Gemma.

That is so crazy.

I just booked a holiday to Berlin next week.

Where are you staying? I can't wait to meet you."

I also put "Ich weiss das ist ein Betrug,"

which is German for "I know this is a scam."

She didn't spot it. She said, "Mr. Joe,

I will be very busy and will not be able to see you.

You must pay the deposit or I cannot secure the viewing. Thank you. Gemma."

So I left it another couple of days,

and I just sent, "Gemma, I'm here. Where are you?"

I have been to Berlin about a year or so ago,

so I attached a picture from that holiday at Potsdamer Platz,

just to give it a sense of realism, put the willies up her.

She replied, "Mr. Joe, I'm no longer in Berlin on business.

If you would like a viewing, pay the deposit.

I'm happy to reduce to 200 USD through my trusted partners at Money2India.eu. Gemma."

So I replied, "Gemma, what a pity.

I'm here all alone, and I realize I don't know what you look like,

so I've just been shouting 'Gemma' for an hour.

I suppose I will have to pay the deposit.

I hope you don't mind, but I have an old friend who works at the FBI,

and I'm just going ask him to do a quick check to make sure this isn't a scam.

Thanks. Joe." Pretty quick reply to that one.

"The property is no longer available. The check will not be necessary.

Please confirm you received this." I didn't reply. Got another.

"Mr. Joe, did you receive my e-mail? The property..."

To be honest, I got quite a few of these.

Quite manic, in bold, this kind of thing. I really panicked her.

"Mr. Joe, property no longer available."

I left it another couple of days, and then I replied.

"Frau Gemma.

In order to secure cancellation of FBI check,

I need you to pay me a deposit..."

"of 300 USD through my trusted partner Money2Joe.org.

Either that or perhaps just an apology

and the promise that you'll stop trying to scam people out of their money

and find a more honest way to make a living, wherever you're based.

Thanks. Joe."

To be honest, I didn't expect a reply to that one, but I did get one.

"Mr. Joe, I'm sorry.

I promise to make a better life. Gemma."

Amazing. Amazing.

So I replied, "Gemma, apology accepted.

And remember, money isn't everything.

Often the prosecco in Aldi is better than the one in Waitrose.

Follow your own path."

-Thank you so much for coming out.

Bless you, bless you. Thank you.

Um-- Now, what I might do-- I've got a couple of options.

Do you know what-- I'll read--

This is a little side project that's going on as well.

I've got so many side projects, and none of them are useful in any way.

There's a clairvoyant that's based in Birmingham who--

I don't know if there are fans of clairvoyants in.

She has this flyer that she's been putting round old-man pubs,

and you know I love an old-man pub.

Advertising for her work.

But one of the things on the flyer says,

"Free first reading over SMS text message." You know what I'm like.

So I'll read to you what I sent to her.

Hang on. I'll have to change the name.

"Hello. Rebecca." There we go. "Hello, Rebecca.

I'm trying to contact someone. Can you help?" That's what I sent her.

She said, "Yes. First reading is free. Who are you trying to contact?"

I said, "My name is Joe, and I'm trying to contact my mother, Helen,"

who is alive and well.

She said, "Do you have anything of hers to hand?" I said, "A scarf."

She said, "Hold the scarf in your hand.

Text the first three words that come to mind.

It can be anything. Don't try and edit yourself."

So I did "casserole," "Ford Focus," "abusive."

She said, "Okay, I'm getting something.

There's something to do with glasses.

It could be a pair of glasses, something made of glass."

I said, "Yes. That makes sense." She said, "She's got a problem with the glasses.

Is there anything that might link to?"

I said, "She wears glasses."

She said, "She's saying she's sorry."

I said, "Okay. What about?"

She said, "She's just saying sorry about the mess."

I said, "Okay, that's fine. Does she say where she is?"

She said, "I'm not sure, but she's happy where she is. She's smiling."

I said, "That's good for her. Does she know when she's going to be back?"

"She says she'll see you soon. She'll make it up to you about the glass."

"She's saying to me to smash the glass."

She says, "I'm not sure. I've lost contact."

I said, "Okay, I'm going to smash the glass."

She said, "What glass? I don't think she wants you to put yourself in danger."

I said, "I'm outside the house without my keys. I have to get in somehow."

Then she put three question marks to that.

Then I put, "Oh, she just got back. It's okay."

"She just got back? Is she even in the spirit world?"

I said, "What? No, of course not. She went to the garden center."

"Please don't contact me again."

I said, "Okay, sure.

Everything you said was true though.

She was happy. She loves the garden center."

Thanks again, guys.

Thanks.

Oh! Bye.

Hit it!