Original subtitles

This programme contains very strong language and adult humour

MUSIC: (What's the Story) Morning Glory? by Oasis

# Well

# What's the story morning glory?

# Well

# Need a little time to wake up... #

Ladies and gentlemen of Glasgow,

please give a warm welcome to the brilliant Kevin Bridges.

APPLAUSE AND CHEERS

Wow.

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.

The Hydro, yes!

Good evening.

19 nights in here. Thank you, people of Glasgow.

APPLAUSE AND CHEERS

19. 19 nights, 12,000 people, 35 quid a ticket.

I have never masturbated to a sum before.

It is quite good.

It's good. Good to see people coming for a laugh.

It's important in this tense and uncertain world in which we live.

The world is scary. It's fucked at the minute.

I've got PTSD just watching the news.

Every day, earthquakes, tsunamis,

Donald Trump, Brexit, Kim Jong-un, Vladimir Putin, ISIS,

global warming, a refugee crisis, sexual harassment...

I think if you believe in God, you've got to acknowledge

that the guy is in over his head now.

It's getting a bit much for God.

God has lost the dressing room, in my opinion.

Donald Trump is the President of America.

As a comedian, it's quite difficult to make that any fucking funnier.

That's how angry people got. He got elected because he speaks his mind.

That's what his supporters admire about him. He speaks his mind.

They say that as though that's a positive.

Fucking pubs. Pubs are full of old guys who speak their minds.

But you don't ENCOURAGE them.

You just let them speak for a few minutes and then you

put a hand on their shoulder and you say, "Enjoy your night, mate."

That's it.

That is how Donald Trump should have been handled right from the offset.

"We're going to make America great again."

"Enjoy your night, mate."

Simple.

That is the only reaction that man deserved.

It's like listening to a fucking taxi driver.

Everything Donald Trump has said I have heard before

from a Glasgow taxi driver.

"See these fucking immigrants? I'd build a wall."

"And I'd make them pay for it, I'd fucking make them build it.

"That door's not shut right, pal"

"Global warming. It's a load of shite, mate. I don't believe it.

"5p for a plastic bag in these Asian shops.

"Where's that money going? Where's that money going?"

"It's probably going to ISIS, driver."

"Fucking going..."

"That's exactly where it's going. See, guys like me and you?

"We get it, mate, we get it!"

We've got Brexit, that's going on.

What a fucking pain in the arse that has become.

Whichever way you voted, what a colossal hassle it is.

I wish Theresa May would just shut up, right?

And maybe... Maybe it would go away.

That's it.

APPLAUSE AND CHEERS

Not even waiting for a fucking joke there.

"That's superb, Kev."

I wish she would just acknowledge the hassle it's become.

Just shut the fuck up

and maybe the EU would forget that we voted to leave.

They don't seem in any hurry for us to leave.

We don't have a fucking clue how to leave.

Shut up and see how long we can linger, right? Just an option.

Just an avenue we should be exploring.

If they ever chase us up, we just play dumb. Simple as that.

"We voted to leave? Did we?"

LAUGHTER

"When?"

LAUGHTER

"During 2016? Fuck, now you're going back."

See, I'm 31 now. Right, 31.

I'm still kind of young, but no longer "the youth".

That's what your 30s are.

You're just realising that you're in the real world.

You realise that your mates are getting married and having kids

and they're changing.

The legends from your adolescent years are now fully immersed.

I've got a mate, Craigy, who's now called Craig. That's sick.

It's hard to watch a man having his Y removed.

LAUGHTER

It's what happens. As soon as you turn 30, Craigy becomes Craig.

Stuarty becomes Stuart.

Shagger becomes Ian. It's sick.

LAUGHTER

I know I'm never going to see Craigy again.

I'm going to see Craig, however, on Facebook every Sunday morning.

A photograph of him standing, looking devastated,

in a children's soft play area...

LAUGHTER

..with the caption, "Family day. My world. My life."

It's painful for me to watch. I'm going, "Fuck me, that's not Craigy.

"That's Craig I'm looking at."

I'm zooming into the picture,

I'm zooming into Craig, searching for Craigy.

"Craigy, I know you're still in there. I will find you, Craigy.

"I know there's still a bit of Craigy in you, Craig.

"I will find you. The eyes are the window to the soul.

"I will salvage the remains of Craigy.

"I will find the guy who burnt his eyebrows off trying to light

"a joint off a disposable barbecue.

"I will find him."

LAUGHTER

No longer the youth. I see the youth. I see the kids.

It's new to me watching a generation of youth coming behind me.

These wee fucking dweebs that we're creating. I see them.

They start talking when I walk into a cafe or somewhere.

"Oh, my God. It's Kevin Bridges.

"Is it actual? That's actual Kevin Bridges.

"Actual. Is it actual? It's actual, actual Kevin Bridges."

And you just see a smartphone appearing,

some wee guy recording you,

about as subtle as 9/11.

Just sitting...

LAUGHTER

I've no idea I'm on Facebook Live wrestling with a vinegar sachet.

LAUGHTER

See, I don't think that's a childhood. I feel for them.

Social media is destroying their mental health.

Becoming hooked on these phones, becoming self-obsessed, self-aware.

It's dangerous. Childhood should be a time for not giving a fuck.

It should have been sacred.

CHEERS AND APPLAUSE

Where's the characters?

Childhood was a time to be a weirdo and embrace that.

I used to idolise the weirdos in my school.

The kids who did not give a fuck what anybody thought,

the kids who would spend lunchtime

and playtime on their own, just running around the playground.

They did not conform to any peer pressure.

They were not affiliated to any social circle.

They operated alone, just running lap after lap of the playground.

They would have their jacket on backwards.

They would have the hood covering their face, eyes closed,

making motorbike noises as they're doing lap after lap,

alone in their own mind,

tearing up the highways of their fucking imaginations.

Just... "Ny-owwww!

"Ny-owwww!"

Circling the playground, the whole school would be watching.

"There he is. Chrissy Shenkle! Chrissy Shenkle."

But the more you shouted Chrissy Shenkle's name,

the faster he drove that fucking Harley.

"Ny-oww! Ny-ny-owwwww!"

But these days, you're never going to see a Chrissy Shenkle

because we would destroy him.

Somebody would record a video of Chrissy Shenkle on his chopper

and upload that video to social media.

People would begin laughing at Chrissy Shenkle,

who had never even met Chrissy Shenkle,

and then somebody would feel sorry for Chrissy Shenkle and diagnose

Chrissy Shenkle with attention deficit and hyperactivity disorder.

That mockery would immediately turn to sympathy.

"How the fuck can we help Chrissy Shenkle?"

At no point in that one-minute video did Chrissy Shenkle

request anybody's assistance, but this is social media.

We need to make it about us.

"Let's set up a Just Giving page for Chrissy Shenkle."

CHEERS AND APPLAUSE

"We don't know Chrissy Shenkle's financial situation,

"but we're going to raise him five grand.

"I'm going to do a bungee jump for Chrissy Shenkle

"and the ADHD Awareness charity.

"I'm going to grow a moustache for Chrissy Shenkle."

It would be everywhere. Celebrities would get involved.

Fucking Peter Andre, Ollie Murs

doing the motorbike challenge for ADHD Awareness.

Chrissy Shenkle would get invited on The One Show,

no idea that he is on The One Show,

running around the sofa on his chopper.

"Ny-owww!"

The kid would be massive.

Leading football teams out at cup finals!

And then the Daily Mail would reveal that Chrissy Shenkle's auntie

is a benefits cheat.

LAUGHTER

We would put him right up there and then when the time is right...

HE MIMICS AN EXPLOSION

We'd destroy him.

You see, I was invited to do a talk at my old school.

I was invited because I'm an example.

I'm an inspiration to these dweebs.

I get invited.

And I thought it was going to be a laugh, but it was a serious talk.

I saw the head boys, the prefects with the badges,

kids who would've been fucking finished at my time at school.

The big perm. "I'm the head boy, Kev. Just want to say..."

And they were asking me questions. It was a Q&A.

I was like, "All right, fucking better take this pretty serious."

The kid, he started off by asking me what kind of child I was at school.

I told him, I was honest.

I told him I was quite a nervous child, I used to worry,

I was anxious, I was overweight. I got called names.

I got called Fatty, Fatty Boom Boom, Chonk, Chubber.

And the kid never laughed.

He was deadly serious and he said,

"Oh, so fat shaming existed when you were at school?"

That is when you realise how rapidly time is moving.

I'm telling these kids about the '90s

as though it was the fucking Victorian era.

He's asking me if people were fat-shamed at school in the '90s.

If you're fat, you get fat-shamed.

You get skinny-shamed, specky-shamed, sporty-shamed,

ginger-shamed, buck-teeth-shamed, dog-breath-shamed,

big-ears shamed, your-dad's-an-alky shamed.

Your-mum-would-get-it shamed.

LAUGHTER

Adidas-four-stripe-trainers shamed.

LAUGHTER

And you had to accept it, or you got can't-take-a-shaming shamed.

School could be brutal. I was anxious.

I don't think I would be a comedian if I was not an anxious kid

because I would have passed my exams.

I remember forgetting how to spell the word "who" during an exam

because I got myself worked into such a frenzy about how much

this exam was going to define my entire life. I'm writing this essay,

I'm flying through it. "He had wanted to know who..."

I came to the word "who" and...

"Come on, Kev, fucking write 'who', man. Come on. Who! Who?

"How the fuck do you spell who? H... It's H, isn't it?"

A W at the start is so far from your mind.

"It's definitely not going to be a W at the start

"because it's who, it's not wha-ho."

LAUGHTER

And then you start overthinking it and it's a downward spiral.

"Come on, Kevin, you need to write 'who', mate.

"This is far too long to be spending on the word 'who'.

"'He had wanted to know who...' Hoo. H, O... Kev, that's going to be how.

"You need to write 'who'. The guy never wanted to know how.

"He wanted to know who. Fucking write 'who'.

"Kev, fucking 'who', mate, come on!

"Everybody else is waiting, Kev. Look at that exam clock.

"The minute hand's fucking accelerating, Kev.

"You're stuck on the word 'who'.

"You're going to be a junkie, Kev. You're going to be a junkie.

"Just calm down, Kev, get that voice out your head.

"You're going to be a junkie." "I'm not going to be a junkie."

"Fucking spell 'who', then, junkie boy. Junkie! Junkie! Junkie!"

"Just settle down, mate. H... You've got H. Let's get who. H, O...

"You got ho. You need to get 'oo' on the end of ho.

"How can I make 'ho' 'who'?

"H, O, E..." "That's a garden tool, junkie boy!"

"Get that voice out your head, that is doing you no favours here.

"H, O... Oo. H, O, O.

"He had wanted to know ho-ho?"

"We'll fucking send you to a different school

"if you hand that in, Kev."

"He had wanted to know ho..."

"Is that what you want, Kev?

"Going fucking pheasant-beating with Chrissy Shenkle every weekend?"

CHEERS AND APPLAUSE

By definition, I'm a millennial, but an older millennial.

I can relate to both worlds, right?

I still remember a childhood without the internet.

You had to make up your own games.

I'm probably the last generation who will remember a childhood

without the internet, will remember having to learn how to be bored.

Just going on a fucking walk, just being you, just picking up

a fucking leaf off a hedge and just crushing it.

Just going on a fucking walk.

Making up your own games, picking up a stone and thinking to yourself,

"If I don't hit that cable box, my whole family are going to die."

Remember that game?

LAUGHTER

The happiest days of your life.

"You missed it, Kev. Best of three. Come on!"

Your mum shouting you in for your dinner.

"I'm trying to save everybody's life here."

But then I remember getting the internet.

At first, that was exciting.

It was just something that you plugged in

and then as soon as you unplugged it, it was gone.

It never dominated people's social time,

never ruined people's mental health. It was just the internet.

You would go on it for an hour, sit on a chatroom.

We were the original vile online trolls.

"I'm talking to an American guy.

"There's a guy in America, I'm sitting here and I'm talking to him.

"This is fucking amazing! 'You are a dick!'"

LAUGHTER

"Just called an American guy a dick.

"No, he's in America, I'm here! Just called him a dick!

"The guy replied, the guy's replied!"

"Where you at, motherfucker? Where you at?"

"I'm at your mum's house, mate. Ha-ha-ha-ha."

LAUGHTER

"This is fucking brilliant, isn't it?"

MSN Messenger, that was the very first...

CHEERS

That was the original social media. They were easier days.

If somebody asked you to send a photograph of yourself

on MSN Messenger,

"Sorry, I don't have a scanner."

It was simpler times.

You never had kids becoming image-obsessed

because only about 12 photographs of you existed in the '90s.

You're not going to send one of them to a girl you're talking to online.

"This is me and my dad on a pedalo in Majorca."

LAUGHTER

An hour goes by.

Only 17% of the photograph has downloaded down the screen.

Trying to keep the conversation going whilst

looking at the top 17% of you and your dad just standing...

Your wee plastic tube around your neck where you kept your pesetas.

LAUGHTER

"I'll send the rest later, my mum has to use the house phone."

LAUGHTER

It was never designed as a habitat

where relationships could grow, the internet.

You get all these wee dweebs, if they fancy somebody,

they can just click 'Like' on a few of their pictures

or send a direct message and that is what creates a generation

of these wee horned-up sex gremlins.

These fucking apprentice rapists who are being created

because they have never handled rejection face-to-face.

They have never received a knock-back from point-blank range.

They've never felt the emotions

walking up to the girl that you fancy in a school disco,

feeling your heart bursting through your Sergio Tacchini polo shirt.

"I'm going to have a fucking clutcher here."

It's bursting right through.

Your cheap, shitty Spar hair gel starts running into your eyes

as you're sweating.

Your mouth's dry, there's a cold bit of sweat going down your spine.

You feel it trickle right into your arse crack as you're advancing

on the potential love of your life.

And you knew you had fucked it up as soon as you arrived there.

The way you were presenting yourself, you knew you'd fucked it.

But before you knew it, the words were leaving your mouth.

"Would you get off with me?"

Time would slow down. You would hear yourself saying the words.

"Wwwoooooouuullldd yyooooooouuu ggeeeeettt oooooofff

"wwiiiiiitthhhh mmeeeee?"

Hanging in there for the slight chance that she'll say yes,

and it was always, "Naw."

And it was painful. It was humiliating.

It crushed you. But you had faced the fear.

You never called her a bitch.

You respected her decision.

You respected yourself. You had conquered the fear.

You were getting back in the game.

"Would any of your friends get off with me?"

You were rising from the ashes like a phoenix here.

"Listen, if you hear of anybody who wants to get off with me,

"just spread the word. Big Kev's in the corner, eating a Freddo,

"drinking a Capri Sun, looking for love."

That's it. Fuck social media.

It's time, the time is up.

It's fucking destroying people's lives. Fuck it, right?

We need a revolution. Or they at least need to stop calling it

"social" media, in my opinion.

Because there's nothing social about it.

Right, you don't want to socialise in these places. If Facebook...

CHEERING Right, exactly.

If Facebook was a pub, you would probably have a look around and go,

"It's full of pricks in here. Let's go somewhere else."

Simple as that.

As soon as you... CHEERING

As soon as you view it in those terms, the illusion disappears

and it's a lot more straightforward to disconnect.

If your Facebook page was a pub, would you sit in a pub,

a guy you went to school with trying to sell Herbalife,

would you sit in that fucking pub?

Your second cousin who wants to be a blogger

and she can only speak to people in inspirational quotations.

Would you sit in that fucking pub?

"Guys, I just believe that yesterday is history

"and tomorrow is a mystery, you know?"

"I really believe that. Isn't that such a nice thing to believe?"

You'd get a fucking jerrycan full of petrol

and go back and torch that pub.

A guy you work beside whose gran died years ago and he mentions it

every time he needs a few likes.

You know, these sick fucks. "Just having a sad day today, guys.

"I'm having a really sad day.

"I'm just thinking of you, Gran. I know you're up there, Gran."

Whoring out your dead gran for attention.

Right, the lowest of the low here.

Right? I know.

CHEERING

I know that sounds a bit harsh, but fuck these people. Right...

"Gran, I know you're up there and every day is another day closer to

"seeing your face again, Gran.

"And I just want to say, Gran, that I love you and miss you. I know

you're looking down on me, Gran, and I know you are proud of me

"and everything I'm doing.

"And I'm so proud of you and I just...

"Until I see your face again, Gran,

"I just want to say I love you, Gran."

On Facebook! You feel like going, "Mate, your gran never knew

"how to turn the fucking volume up on the telly!"

"When she was alive, she never knew how to put the central heating on!

"Do you think she's died, went up to Heaven,

"somebody's presented her with an iPad upon arrival?

"Do you think your gran has done an IT course? Do you think

"there's courses in Heaven to pass the time, since it is eternity?

"'Oh, fuck it, I'll do a six-week IT course.'

"Do you think your gran is asking St Peter for the Wi-Fi password

"up in Heaven?

"St Peter like, 'It's on the wall, sweetheart.

" 'Paradi5e - the S is a five.'

"Fuck you and fuck your gran, mate."

I hope there is. I hope there is Wi-Fi in Heaven, if you get there.

I hope there's not even a password. I hope it just connects.

That's the least we can expect if we get to Heaven, isn't it?

The tech generation. Shit-hot Wi-Fi.

Hell, I bet Hell has atrocious Wi-Fi.

BT Openzone, that's what you get in Hell.

That is what every dead paedophile deserves, eternity on BT Openzone.

"How the fuck do you get on the Wi-Fi here? Fucking shite, innit?

"Saying I need to re-enter my details. Fucking..."

Jimmy Savile smashing a Samsung Galaxy...

I would like to believe, I would like to believe in Heaven and Hell.

I'd like to believe in God and...

Right, I grew up, I was raised a Catholic, right?

But I don't really give a fuck these days, right?

I don't really... I don't really bother.

But I respect people's... CHEERING

Right, OK, relax there. Religion.

Right. A bit of religion.

Famous fucking light-hearted subject in this fine city.

SOMEONE BOOS

"Boo!" Right, enjoy your night, mate.

The dangers of speaking your mind right there.

I respect people's beliefs. I respect, and I listen to the stories

about Jesus... Jesus, Mary... SHOUTING IN AUDIENCE

Shut the fuck up, so I can...

LAUGHTER AND CHEERING

Fucking Chrissy Shenkle up on the balcony there.

CHEERING

Talking about God, talking about the big man.

Our Lord, Saviour, Jesus, the Almighty... Ame-e-e-e-en.

Sounds amazing in here.

I listen... I listen to the religious stories.

Jesus, Mary, Joseph.

And I hope it is true, right? For Joseph's sake.

Right? I respect that guy's faith -

the strength of that guy's faith.

What a mentally strong guy Joseph must have been.

Right? He's in a relationship, they have never had sexual intercourse,

but one day his missus announces that she is pregnant.

And as far as I'm aware, Joseph calmly let her explain, right?

Not a...

He never raised his voice, he never punched a wall.

Not a plasterer in Bethlehem made a penny out of Mary's announcement.

Because Joseph had faith.

And Mary explained that the father of the child was in actual fact God,

and God had sent his only son to Mary, for her to give birth to,

so that his only son could go on to save the world from its sins.

And Joseph, fucking glass-half-full kind of guy, accepted that.

However, I would just have liked if the Bible had elaborated

ever so slightly on that entire episode.

In particular, the chapters where Joseph the carpenter breaks his news

to the rest of the building site.

I would like to have read some of those paragraphs, right?

The carpenters are on their lunchbreak, just shooting the shit,

and then Joseph tells them, "Aye, so Mary's pregnant."

They were probably high-fiving him, "Fucking, yes, Joe! Shagger!

"Yes, Joe! Welcome to the club, Joe!

"Fucking wee Joe! Yes, Joe!"

But then Joe puts a dampener on the enthusiasm by saying,

"No, the baby is not actually mine."

"What the fuck, Joe?" The carpenters think they're going to

have to go and fucking leather somebody.

And then Joe would say, "No, the baby actually belongs to God,

"and God has sent his only son to Mary, so that Mary can give birth to

"his only son, and his only son can go on to save the world

"from its sins."

And it was on that building site

where the concept of atheism originated.

It was not Ancient Greeks or academics or scientists

or intellectuals or Richard Dawkins.

It was workies who had the awakening by saying,

"Joe, she sounds like a fucking psycho." Right?

I hope it's true.

I hope it's true, I hope Joe had the last laugh.

Jesus is born - a son who can turn water into wine.

What an asset for a humble carpenter.

I hope that building site apologised to Joe every Friday night.

I hope they were heading back to Joe's. "Let's go back to yours, Joe.

"Wake up the wee man. Fucking yes!"

"I love going back to Joe's when the wee man's in.

"Brilliant, innit?

"We'll wait in the living room, Joe. You go and get him."

Joe's fucking staggering into Jesus' bedroom. "Wee man...

"You awake, wee man?

"Sorry, pal. Sorry.

"I know it's past your bedtime. Come into the living room, pal.

"Come on. Come on through.

"Here he is.

"Right, wee man, get your Uncle Abraham a wine."

I hope Joe was standing proud as fuck.

"Oh, he's different class, Jacob, isn't he?

"Boy's superb. Come on, we'll go find a blind cunt.

"Wait till you see this one."

Wee Joe. I like wee Joe.

That's a religious figure I respect. Wee Joe.

Just a stepdad, wasn't he? Just... I bet Jesus never even called him dad.

I bet Jesus called him Joe.

How the fuck was Joe to compete?

His real dad created the world in a week!

Joe's in the back garden, trying to make him a fucking rocking horse!

See, my life, my life has changed, right? Thanks to you people, right,

who buy tickets to see me and stuff. Right, that's... CHEERING

That's appreciated.

I grew up, I grew up in a working-class area, right?

Clydebank, that's where I grew up. Some of you probably know that.

It's nice, I don't know how you would describe that to people

not from Scotland. I don't want to say "a shithole".

A nice, real... A real place. Real people.

People who have seen a dog's paw print in a human shite.

Real people.

That's where I spent the first 24 years of my life, right?

The past seven years I've lived in a middle-class area

with Gavin and Fraser and all the fucking Frisbee chuckers, right?

That's where I live, right?

I find it hard to meet like-minded people in my new life.

I was getting a bit of work done recently in my house, right?

I was getting a new kitchen, and the job was on for about a week.

And every morning I was talking to one of the kitchen fitters, right?

And just about 20 minutes, made the guy a cup of tea and we would just

have a talk. And instantly I thought, "I like this guy.

"This guy is sound as fuck." Right?

Now, that's an endangered species - the sound guy, right?

It's a dying breed - the sound as fuck, the brand-new guy.

Right, it's all these Love Island wankers these days, guys.

Who wear chinos and don't have any fucking socks on under their shoes.

I can't socialise with a guy without any socks on,

because it's bad for my anxiety levels.

"Mate, you're going to get blisters on the back of your heels,

"and it's really stressing me out, right?"

Can't be associated. Right, it's a fucking human requirement.

Food, water, shelter, socks.

"Right, get some socks on, mate.

"Fucking get some Elastoplast or something before it's too late."

But this guy was different. Sound as fuck.

Every Netflix documentary he recommended was a fucking belter.

One of those guys, if he wanted to put on a song at a party,

you would escort him to the docking station because it's guaranteed

to be a TUNE! Right? What a guy.

So it was the Thursday night, and the following day the kitchen

was to be finished, and I said to my girlfriend, I said

I liked that big guy, but it was a friendship with an expiry date.

I said to her, "I'm going to miss that guy.

"I'm going to miss him. He was sound. He was brand-new."

And my girlfriend said, "Well, why don't you see if he wants to

"go for a pint?"

And I said, "What, like, ask him out?"

And she said, "Aye, ask him out."

And before I knew it, I was blushing!

Because I'd never asked a guy out before.

And I said, "He'll... He'll... He'll probably say no."

And then she was getting right behind me, a bit of sister power.

"How do you know he's going to say no?"

"What, do you think he would go for a pint with me?"

"You're not going to know until you ask him."

"All right, I'm going to ask him, then. I'm going to ask him."

Every time I've got a spare minute on that Thursday night,

I'm in the mirror - "How's it going, my man? Do want to catch a pint?"

"Catch a pint, Kev? You going to throw a fucking pint at him?

"Relax, Kev! Relax!"

"Maybe get a pint..." "Kev, don't do the gun, don't do the gun.

"Do not do the gun. The guy is well within his rights

"to fucking crack you if you do the gun."

"You want to get a pint one night?" Kev, too desperate, Kev.

Fuck. My bottle crashed. I just envisaged walking on up there,

"Would you go for a pint with me?"

"Naw."

"Would any of your friends go for a pint with me?

"If you know about anybody who wants to go for a pint with..."

I've stopped... I've stopped boozing as much.

Right, I still drink, but I've stopped drinking as much, because

that is another thing I discovered, as soon as you turn 30,

the fear of a hangover eclipses the joy of a night out.

Right, teenagers, twenties, you see a tray of Jagerbombs arrive,

you see a good night ahead.

30s, you see a tray of suicidal thoughts in the morning arrive.

That is the harsh reality of the ageing process.

You drink a couple of these, you know the next day is going to be

spent on your couch, putting on Come Dine With Me just for some company,

just to have people there, just reassuring voices.

You're not even watching it, you're just staring at it, occasionally

paying attention, and then some old guy undercooks a Beef Wellington

and it's just too much, you've got a lump in your throat.

There's a fucking tear that's trickling down your face

as you're getting hit like a freight train with pangs of guilt

about trivial shit that happened years ago.

SOBBING: "He's just fucked up his... Oh, the old guy's just fucked it.

"He's...

"He's just fucked up his Beef Wellington.

"He only wanted to make everybody a nice dinner

and he's totally ruined it. The starter...

"The starter looked amazing, and then he just totally fucking...

"Why did he, why did he try a Beef Wellington?

"It's quite a hard dish to make."

And then that voice perks up.

"That's it, Kev, you piece of shit, eh?

"Remember your mum used to make you a packed lunch every day, Kev,

"even though you just put it in the bin and went to the chip van?

"Remember, Kev? Four years that went on. Every morning

"she was making you sandwiches

"even though they were just going in your..."

"Phone her, Kev." "I'm sorry!" "Phone her, Kev.

"Phone your mum." "I'm going to phone her, I'm going to phone her!"

Before you know it, you're dialling "Mum mob".

"Mum, I just wanted to say I'm sorry

"for every time you made me a packed lunch...

"..and I was just putting it..."

"Kevin, where are you? Are you on something, Kevin?

"Have you...?"

"Your mum thinks you're a junkie, Kev. She thinks you're a junkie.

"Junkie boy! Junkie! Junkie! Junkie!"

That is a hangover, 30s onwards.

Going to the bathroom every 20 minutes,

shitting out bits of yourself you need to keep.

That's what you've got to look forward to.

Having to gradually move off the pan, knowing that you need to

turn back and survey the devastation you have left in there.

"Right, Kev, that was a very aggressive bowel movement, Kev.

"Don't flee the scene, do not flee the scene,

"that needs a wee check, Kev. I think you might have

"done yourself a bit of long-term in there, Kev,

"so we're just going to count to three, pal.

"We're going to turn back and we're going to take a wee look at that

"and then decide the next step, OK, Kev? Let's.... Come on, pal.

"We'll get through this, right? One, two, three...

"What the fuck is that red bit, Kev?!

"Kev, there's a red bit in there, mate.

"The red bit, what the fuck, Kev?

"You've just shit the red bit out of your arsehole, Kev.

"You need to look at that, mate."

Get the phone out. "I have just shit the red bit out of my arsehole.

"The red bit has just fallen out my arsehole."

"That's it, Kev. You need to go to the doctors, Monday morning."

Just walking in. "Doctor, we're both adults here.

"I have just shat the red bit out of my arsehole."

That's what you've got to look forward to.

Your hangovers in your 20s -

"Oh, my God, I'm so hungover. Really need a Nando's."

"Oh, my God, I'm so hungover, need an arse transplant!"

It's just... I'm trying to drink in moderation these days.

Take spells. You need to take a wee bit of a preseason

before you get back into it.

I'm trying to drink... It's easy for me.

I live in an area with all these fucking juice bars, right?

It's easy to eat healthy when you live in a salubrious area.

I was in a juice bar - a JUICE bar - and I ordered myself what was called

a "stress buster" with a "libido shot". Right?

And as soon as I said that out loud, I thought, "Fuck, I've just revealed

"a bit too much of myself here.

"But that's fine, it's good to talk, Kev. It's good to talk.

"Open up to the guy. Get it off your chest, Kev. It's OK not to be OK.

"See what other juice he's got."

"Mate, have you got a juice that can stop me dreaming that

"there's an Alsatian chasing me through a scrapyard...

"..and every time I shout for help my teeth fly out my mouth?"

It's a lucrative market, fucking bullshitting people.

Everybody's falling for it. Even the smokers.

Right, I respect smokers.

At least you know you're killing yourself. Unlike this new breed of

the electronic cigarette user, these big machines that people are...

These fucking mopeds engines that people are puffing on.

And they're making the smokers feel shame.

"You need to quit the cigarettes, man, get yourself a vape.

"That's me been three months off the cigarettes.

"Yeah, I just really feel the freedom in my lungs."

This big fucking machine.

INHALES AND EXHALES LOUDLY

"You need to get yourself one of these, man."

Every city centre in the UK, these clouds are appearing in the sky.

You're waiting for the guy to reappear

dressed up as fucking Cher.

That's... That's the hand gesture.

If you're inviting somebody outside for a cigarette, it's that.

If you're inviting somebody outside for an electronic cigarette,

it's this. Right?

"Here, there's about 15 guys coming out.

"One of them's got a camcorder.

"They must be right into vaping, these boys, eh? Fucking...

"Bring yours so we've got two."

I've got a mate, he's a vapist.

Right, I was watching him.

I was in his flat one night, I was...

I was watching him and his vape, right, and he was charging

the electronic cigarette through a USB cable.

Right, that's how healthy it is.

Right, you charge it through a USB lead

and then put it straight into your chest.

He's got all his wee flavoured tobaccos,

putting about 70 watts of tiramisu into his lungs.

Charging his vape through a USB cable that was attached

to his PlayStation.

All the while he's still smoking on it.

This is a guy convinced he has made a positive lifestyle change.

I'm sitting back watching a guy smoking a fucking PlayStation,

right?

I'm saying, "Well, what games... What games have you got?"

He's going, "Oh, I don't play it. I just puff it.

"I just puff it now, I don't play it."

Sitting... INHALES AND EXHALES LOUDLY

His living room's like a fucking Galatasaray match.

"You're going to get a fine off UEFA, man! Fucking hell!"

Good... Good luck to anybody that's getting healthy.

It is. I lost weight. I just...

I just reversed the damage I'd done to myself in my childhood.

I used to go to a chip van every single day at lunchtime,

and then an ice cream van. Two of my three meals a day were from a van.

That's how you end up quite a sizeable dude, right? Now I live

in an area where the kids go to Pret A Manger at lunchtime.

"Shall we go to Pret A Mon-jhay?"

They're even pronouncing it correctly.

"Wee man, you're fucking 12. It's Pret a Mang-er."

As soon I... As soon I made a few quid, thanks to you people,

I lost weight, right? Simple as that.

Right, I hear politicians... I hear them.

I hear the Health Minister.

"Is there... Is there a link...

"Is there a link between poverty and obesity? We're not really sure.

"Is there a link there? We're going to commission a think tank

to explore a possible link between poverty and obesity.

"We're not really sure."

Aye, there's a fucking link!

You don't get avocados in a food bank.

Nobody donates quinoa or avocados to a food bank.

You try getting a fucking six-pack with the contents of a food bank.

Alphabetti spaghetti and a bowl of Frosties.

See if Joe Wicks can get you lean eating that shite.

I paid... I paid �1.99 recently for two avocados,

and I could only imagine asking my parents

to include avocados in their weekly shop.

My dad would... He'd have a fucking meltdown.

"A fucking quid?! A quid this cost, son?!"

He would come rampaging home from Asda on foot to confront me,

holding the avocado. "A fucking quid for this?!

"What the fuck is it? A quid?!

"What, do you get a fucking toy inside it, son? What is it?"

�1.99 for two avocados.

That's a double cheeseburger and medium fries

off the McDonald's Saver Menu.

That's a Big Mac and large fries

with a valid First Bus all-day ticket.

That's the link between poverty and obesity.

A wee reward from McDonald's for not walking somewhere.

That's the link.

Slimming World, that's the working-class diet.

That's what my mum goes on - every five years for a month,

she goes on Slimming World, and from what I can observe, the only days

she's on a diet is the Tuesday, the weigh-in day.

Seven o'clock, Tuesday night, in the function room of your local,

that is the weigh-in. Tuesday is the day that she diets.

I've seen my mum on a Tuesday, walking about her living room

like a fucking cage fighter.

Every radiator's turned up to five, the fire is on, the neighbours think

she's growing a skunk plant.

"I'm serious, son, I'm cutting weight, I'm shredding."

Scared to swallow her saliva in case she puts any weight on.

"Cannot wait to see

"that smug bastard Janet MacPherson's face tonight, son.

"She lost 3 lbs last week, I put on 2 lbs, and the way she looked at me,

"son, I vowed never again, you smug old boot, never again."

I'm buying into the hype. I want to go and watch the weigh-in.

I want to see my mum swagger into the function room of the local.

I want to see my mum walk in like fucking Conor McGregor.

IMITATES CONOR MCGREGOR: "You'll fuckin' do nothin', Janet.

"You'll fuckin' do nothin'."

I blame... I blame the geeks for the obesity epidemic.

I blame geeks for a lot of the world's problems, right?

But these geeks that have developed applications specifically designed

to send you fast food.

Just Eat and Deliveroo.

Right, Deliveroo - a medical student cycling three miles

to hand you a chicken tikka masala. Wow!

Answering the door in a pair of 1998 Brazil shorts.

"There's a couple of quid for yourself, mate. Get a nice book."

Right? What a breakthrough that is for the humble man.

Just you and your thumb deciding what food is coming.

You don't even need to relay the gluttony to another human being.

No wonder you're phoning a greatest hits Chinese, when you're just

ordering everything you have ever heard of from the Chinese.

And you've only said three, maybe four items, and the guy says,

"Anything else?" And you need to start editing your order

because he has just anything-elsed you far too early.

"Dad, I never got you your sesame prawn toast,

"the guy sounded fucking appalled. Sorry."

But you don't get that kind of judgment with your thumb.

You can spend ages just browsing takeaway places,

anywhere in the vicinity of your house.

Sometimes I'm on there for hours.

I don't even order, I just have a fucking perv, just looking through.

It's killed... It's killed something, right.

An app, ordering takeaway food via an app, right?

It's killed that excitement in the journey that you went on as a family

when you had phoned a Chinese.

Friday night, phoning a Chinese.

Right, you never had an app that you ordered the food and it told you

your order had been accepted, told you your food was being prepared,

it told you your food was on the way,

you even got to watch the driver pulling into your street,

watching the guy driving diagonally in a Toyota Prius.

"Fucking hell, Dynamo's a delivery driver now. Look at this guy."

It's killed something.

When you had phoned the Chinese, old school, Friday night,

phoned the Chinese, and when you hung up the phone,

you had fucking no idea the status or the progress of your order.

You don't know if the guy on the phone even took the order serious.

You don't know if he was just, "Aye, very good, mate.

"Aye, I'll fucking write that down, mate. Very good..."

You have no idea what was going on.

Sitting watching some shitty game show,

the whole family is aware that the Chinese has been phoned.

"It could come... It could come in ten minutes. It happened before.

"Remember that time it came in just ten minutes?"

"Aye, we got salmonella, but I would accept that the noo.

"I'm fucking starving."

20 minutes after the phone call, that's more realistic territory.

That's when the volume on the telly gets turned down

just ever so slightly

as people's minds begin to leave the living room.

We're now listening in for car engines anywhere in the area.

25 minutes, somebody takes a walk over to the window just for a wee...

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

30 minutes, somebody's up beside them.

You've now got two watchmen on the front line here.

Commentary. "Here we go, here we go, here's headlights, here we go...

"Oh, you bastard! It just turned at the last minute. Sorry.

"Sorry. At the very last minute.

"Honestly, I thought it was... What's that? Whoa, oh...!

"Taxi. It's a taxi."

"Would you two sit on your arse. It's not going to come any quicker

"whether you stand at the window or you sit on your arse."

Your mum is trying to get a lid on the situation

before it gets out of control.

40-minute mark, your mum is now up at the window

parting the two of you.

You've now got three on the front line.

Woe betide anybody who committed a crime in your street

between the Chinese getting phoned and the Chinese arriving.

Entire family's here who could give a detailed statement

on any activity that occurred.

Somebody's not putting dog shite in the dog shite bin.

Somebody's not putting plastic in the plastic bin.

We have got three hungry bastards at this window prepared to grass.

"Where the fuck is the Chinese food?"

There's fingerprints on the glass.

People's breath is steaming up the glass.

Caged animals at feeding time here.

45 minutes, "I'm going to go and get the plates and the knives

"and the forks so at least when it does come we're ready."

Your mum has given everybody a plate,

the telly has been fully muted, we're sat back down,

we've got a knife and a fork and a plate,

we're sitting with our knife and our fork and our plate

as the time is ticking.

The atmosphere is like the beginning of a fucking prison riot here.

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

One hour after the phone call.

"Fucking phone them back!"

"Phone them back!"

Your dad's getting involved.

Your dad is not prepared to sit back and watch his family starve

at the hands of the Lucky Panda.

"Fucking phone them back!"

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

"Phone them back!" I'm going to phone them back!

"I will phone them back!"

Your dad, who deemed himself incapable of phoning

to place the original order, but now there's an element of confrontation,

he's all over it. "I'll fucking phone them back, son."

"Put the number in, put the number in.

"I am too seething to type. Put it in, son."

"I'm perfectly calm. I am perfectly calm."

"Hi, we phoned a delivery about five hours ago."

"It's on the way?

"Is it on the way from fucking China, mate, eh?

"I'm saying, "Is it on the way from fucking China?"

"I'm perfectly calm. I am perfectly calm."

"It's every weekend with these arseholes.

"I'm calm. I'm fucking calm.

"Aye, well, it better be on the way, mate."

We have used up our only phone call.

We are now fully at the mercy at the hands of the Lucky Panda.

We're sitting there, knife, fork, plate, muted telly.

An hour and 10 minutes, an hour and 15 minutes.

Your dad...

Your dad starts eating a Kit Kat.

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

You've never seen such a rage come over your mother's face.

It's like it's not even your mother any more.

She cannot believe what she has just seen.

"You're... You're eating a Kit Kat?

"An hour and 30 minutes we've waited and you've decided,

""I'm going to have a fucking..."

"It's going to be here any minute

"and you've decided you're going to have a Kit Kat.

"See you...

"You're a bastard.

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

"A fucking moron and a clown.

"You're going to have fucking chocolate between your teeth

"trying to eat a chicken satay with chocolate.

"You've just ruined your fucking meal.

"I don't know why I ever married you."

"Do you know what, you're a fucking..."

The atmosphere is volatile.

And then there would be a chap at the door,

the Lucky Panda had come to bring some harmony back in the family.

Grab the money, wanting to be a hero, sprint to the door,

open the door, and it was not the delivery driver.

That look.

Whichever family member or friend

had picked such an inopportune time,

even if it was an elderly relative,

your gran braving a harsh winter's evening

just to return some Tupperware or a few tea towels,

you try so hard to offer a warm greeting.

"Gran..."

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

"Gran, cards on the table, I'm fucking gutted to see you.

"I thought you were the Lucky Panda delivery driver.

"Everybody in the living room

"still thinks you are the Lucky Panda delivery driver,

"and thinks that I'm going to walk in with a bag full of Chinese food.

"Instead, I'm going to have to walk in with you,

"so the humane thing to do is for me to shout in and let them know

"that you are here so they can get their Gran's-here face on.

"'Gran's here! Everyone, it's Gran at the door, how wonderful.

"'Gran's here.'"

You can hear the murmurs of discontent in the living room.

"It's fucking Gran?" "I thought that was the food. It's fucking Gran?"

"Gran's here? This is the worst night of my fucking life."

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

"She's going to stay for a bit. We've just done ourselves

"out of a couple of onion rings and a spare rib!"

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

You're sitting... A minute later the Lucky Panda would show up

and everything was fine.

You've got it, the food's fucking there, you're parading the catch.

"What we have been through, we have earned this."

People are ripping the plastic bag apart.

Fucking hyenas ripping through boxes of polystyrene,

every bit of polystyrene that got ripped open revealed

another item of food that nobody ordered.

They have sent us somebody else's delivery. What a sickening twist.

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

"Don't let Dad see that. Don't...

Your dad is going to need shot in the neck

"with a fucking tranquillizer dart here."

But it's too late, he's grabbed it. "Who the fuck's that?

"Who the fuck is Cassidy? Cassidy? Who the fuck...?

"They've not ordered any rice.

"Which sick bastard phones a Chinese and does not order rice?"

We have been sent the Hoose Rices's Chinese.

Ladies and gentlemen of Glasgow,

what an audience. Thanks for listening.

Take care of yourselves. God bless. Thank you.

What a crowd! What a city - as always.

Peace. Thank you, goodnight. Thank you.