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Ladies and gentlemen,

please welcome to the stage

the amazing Kevin Bridges!

Thank you.

Thank you!

Thank you.
Wow. Good evening!

Good evening.
Good evening, Cork!

Thank you.

Thank you, people of Cork.
Thank you. Yes!

This is... This is an honor.

Thank you, good people,
first of all,

for coming out
to this very special recording

here in the stunning
Cork Opera House. What a venue.

Nice and intimate,
we can see

right into
each other's eyes here.

It is... I was unsure

whether I was going
to record this tour,

and then there was
a bit of debate,

and then I was in the cinema,
watching Oppenheimer.

Cillian Murphy.

And I thought, "Where do they
make such handsome bastards?"

Where on this earth?
Get these people...

Get these people on camera!

And then, look at
this front row here, so...

The guy's
even wore... Is that a hoodie?

Good man. That's it, front row,

in the opera house,
on the telly.

"Where's my PE kit?"
Good man. That's decent people.

Real people!

Shorts as well. Just a last...

a final run out for the spring/
summer collection, this guy.

It's exciting. Well done.

Well done for coming out
for a laugh.

It's important, innit,
in this...?

A hundred percent, mate.

Wow, what the fuck
happened there? Somebody...

"A hundred percent, mate,"
somebody replied.

You don't need to reply
to everything I'm saying.

It's no' fucking Gogglebox,
mate. I'm right here.

I'm going to
hear you. You know what I mean?

It's not actually the telly.

We're just... making the telly.
You're here at the...

- Anyway what's your name, mate?
Mick.

- Mick. Where are you from, Mick?
Dublin.

Dublin. You're fucking answering

before I've even finished
the question.

Coming down here trying to get

his wee fucking voice
on my special!

- Anyway...

Exactly.

Fucking langer.

- Yeah!

Mick never thought I had that
in the fucking chamber, eh?

As I was saying, Mick,

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

It's a tense world, innit?
It's edgy. It's volatile.

We've lived through
a lot of shit.

We don't know
what's coming next.

It is important to take a bit
of time to have a chuckle.

We've got a war going on

that has dominated the news
this year,

which is... it's quite hard
to find humor in that,

but there's always an angle,
no matter how bleak.

For example,
I thought it was quite amusing

when the rest
of the NATO countries

were trying to convince Germany

to send some tanks in to assist
in the fight against Russia

and Germany were unsure
as to how that would look

because it would be
the first time

that German tanks
would be mobilized in Europe

since the Second World War.

I thought that was quite funny.

To me, that was like watching
an ex-alcoholic,

and his pals are trying
to convince him he can have one.

Saying, "Come on, Germany, man,
nothing mental. Just...

Just a few tanks. I don't mean
a fucking mad one."

And Germany's going, "I don't
know. I've still got the fear!

I still look back and cringe
at who I used to be, boys.

I don't know if that's me
anymore."

I was watching, waiting for it.
Soon as one German tank's fired,

Germany's fucking,
"Right, where were we?"

It is, it's exciting.

This is my first special.

That's what you need
to call it these days.

A DVD is really...

But a special, that's what
the Americans call it.

It's not quite as convincing
for a Cork audience, a special.

"Oh, what makes it
so fucking special?"

It is... That's the jargon
these days.

However...
However, the war is... I know.

Ireland, you've been
helping Ukraine. I've seen that.

See, every other country is
sending them weapons.

Just rooting for them,
"Come on, wee man. Come on.

Here, use that.
Use that, wee man.

I'm no' fucking hitting him.
Fuck that!"

But, Ireland, you're different.

You're sending nonlethal aid,
so well done.

Just sending them boxes
of Tayto.

"Try the new Buffalo Hunky Dorys
if you get a chance, lads."

It is. This is my first show,
first one in a while,

now that the world
is back to normal.

It's good to see Russell Brand
back on the telly.

By the time...

By the time this is released,
that could be a legal issue.

But it did take me back.

Sex addiction.
Remember that shit?

We used to celebrate creeps
at the turn of the century.

I don't just mean
just celebrities.

They used to be
fucking everywhere.

People coming on daytime telly,

opening up
about their sex addiction.

These guys, smarmy,
"I must have bedded...

I must have bedded
over a thousand women, yeah."

And you'd have Eamonn Holmes
sitting with a semi.

"And do you ever have
more than one woman

in the bed at the same time?

Ruth, would you let the man
answer the question?"

"Sorry, mate,
you were saying there?"

A lot has changed in my life.

I don't know how
much you followed me

over the years here in Cork,
but a lot has changed for me.

I've done stand-up for
almost 20 years, which is scary.

- It is.

I'm the old... I'm the old pro.

I've become a husband.
Now, this is...

I used to go on these stages

talking about empties
and house parties,

and now I'm a husband.
I got married.

That's a big step
in anybody's life, innit?

Romantic. I proposed.

Big Kev proposed on a safari.
There we go.

Big Kev proposed in Africa.

Got myself a good deal
on a diamond.

Done a bit of haggling
with the local rebel militia.

I became a husband

and then I became a father
as well for the first time.

- Thank you.

I never thought I would see the day

I'd be a husband
and a father and I'm 36.

And... you start going, "Am I
fucking... Am I old? Am I?"

I'm still relatively young, innit?

But I'm at an age
where I now appreciate

reminders
of my relative youth.

Like, cos I've dabbled, right?
I've dabbled in being old

and it did not suit me
and it was refreshing.

I said something old
a few months ago.

I was putting something
in my kitchen bin,

and I was looking out my window

and there were children
in the street

just playing a game,
an old-school game.

They never had their tablets
or devices,

and I thought it was quite nice.

And as I was putting my trash
in the can, I said to my wife,

"Isn't it great
to see children out playing?"

And as soon
as that sentence left my mouth,

the young me
was still in there, saying,

"Wow, Kev,
what a nonce comment."

"Far too young, Kev,
far too young.

Decades away from being
able to stand at the window

making such a statement.

Don't fucking wave at 'em, Kev.
One of them's seen you.

You'll get the front door
kicked in, Kev. Thirty-six, man!

You ever seen a 36-year-old
lollipop man, Kevin? No.

Cos it would be arrestable
to apply for such a vacancy."

I'm still new to the game,
the fatherhood game.

You need to decide what kind
of dad you're gonna be.

If you're gonna take the Dwight
York hands-off approach or...

If you're...
gonna get in there...

If you're gonna get in there.

See, my...
See, my son was born...

My son was born in 2021.

What a time to enter the world.

What a decade
it has been so far,

and I hope there'll be a time
we can look back

and laugh at the fucking
surreal madness

that we have lived through.

I was born in the '80s
and we love the '80s, right?

We still celebrate the '80s

and I sometimes ponder
if there'll be a day

when my son has grown up
and I'll walk into his bedroom

and I'll see him standing there
in the mirror

with 24 toilet rolls
under his armpit,

a face mask under his chin,

deep throating a cotton bud,
going...

And I'll be saying,
"Where are you going?"

And he'll be saying,

"It's a '20s night, Dad,
at the student union."

And this madness will come back.
I'll be saying, "Who's going?"

"Oh, just me and no more
than five other people

from three different
households."

Remember all that shit
we lived through,

where only three households
could socialize?

Having to be ruthless,
planning any social event,

having to break it to your mate
who lived on his own

that he cannae come
to your barbecue

because he's a waste
of a house.

"I'll just tell him,

'Sorry, Gary,
you're no' coming, mate.

I can get four in there.

Mate, it's my birthday.

I'm no' playing a four-four-one
on my birthday.'"

We did live through it.

We've got inquiries
going on everywhere.

Every country's having
an inquiry

into how Covid was handled,
inquiries worldwide.

I don't know if you followed,

over the UK, we had two years
under Covid restrictions,

whilst the House of Commons
was like fucking Magaluf.

I think that's what happened.

Boris Johnson and them,

they were partying
the whole way through it.

The proper lockdowns as well,
April and May 2020,

right in the midst of the family
quiz, sitting, your head shaved,

the whole family, like marines.

Saturday night, iPhones propped
up against Yankee candles.

"How many hearts
does an octopus have?"

The whole time, Boris Johnson
was on the decks,

fucking, "Order, order!"

Whilst we were in supermarkets
forgetting tomato purée,

petrified to perform
a three-point turn

up a one-way aisle.

People glaring at you,

"My dad's got asthma,
you maniac! That way!"

I think Covid... I think it's
gone. I'm pretty sure it's over.

I don't know if it is.

I think there's still lockdowns
in China,

but it's fucked off home.

After... After a successful
world tour, it's back.

- It's gone.

And I don't know.

It killed six million people.
Wow!

I know. It's big numbers,

but I don't know
if that's hall of fame

when you look at the rest
of the big pandemics

throughout human history.

You know what I mean?
The real big hitters.

The Spanish flu,
that killed 50 million.

The black death killed
200 million and Covid, six.

Covid was even claiming assists
towards the end.

Covid... Anything!

"My 95-year-old grandfather
died from Covid!"

"Come on. That's a tap-in, man."

A bit of black ice
was getting him.

We can't have Covid running away

like Alan Shearer
celebrating that.

But it got the whole world
closed. That was impressive.

We'll never see that again.
Even McDonald's closed. Wow!

Even churches, even places
of worship forced to close.

That was massive.
What a time in human history.

We witnessed a time where

organized religion
listened to science.

Wow! That's a big one.

For years,
they've dismissed everything

the scientists had to say.

"The Big Bang? Nah.

Evolution? Nah.

A dry continuous cough
and changes

to your sense of taste
and smell?

Fucking shut the cathedral!

These geeks have got
a point this time!

Somebody sanitize
the synagogue!"

Two Christmases got canceled.

I don't think religion
can ever recover.

Jesus's birthday,
canceled, twice.

A big birthday as well,
a 2021st, innit?

- Just fucking gone.

Gone.

That's what my son
was born into. Anyway, it is.

Fatherhood, it's new. Thanks to
you people. I don't know, again.

A bit of my backstory

for those of you unfamiliar
with my previous work.

But I grew up...

I grew up in an area that you
could describe as humble, right?

And then for the past...
for the past maybe decade,

I've lived in a nicer part
of the city of Glasgow.

I've lived amongst
the upper middle classes,

the upper echelons,

and I've never quite fitted in
there, right?

But... But now
my son has been born,

it has granted me
my citizenship, right?

I'm having to accept
that my son's gonna have

a totally different upbringing
from me. Even their names...

Kids have got names
like Phineas.

Your parenting is being judged.

I'm having lunch in a café.

I hear, "Phineas, Phineas,
if you don't finish your tofu,

there'll be no almonds."
I'm sitting...

Phineas is beating his dad
at chess

and I'm on the table
beside 'em,

hungover, close to tears, wiping
bolognese off a smashed iPad.

See, my wife
took my son into a class.

I don't know if any parents
in here have ever heard of this,

a class called baby yoga.

I said to my wife,
"This is insanity.

This is a middle-class
radicalization of our son."

Baby yoga, right?
She signed up for a block.

I never knew
babies needed yoga for a start.

I never knew babies
were suffering

from tight hamstrings.

Babies were terrified
to go on the see-saw.

"Can't do that."

-"I cannae.

I cannae afford
any more sickies, mate.

I'm at nursery
four days a week now.

I cannae fall further behind.

There's boys in that class

can hang their jacket
on their own peg now.

I cannae afford to risk it."

And I was laughing at baby yoga,
and my wife said,

"No, it's just a nice way for me
to meet other new mothers."

Which means I'm going to have
to meet other new fathers.

I'm getting dragged
on these double dates.

My wife's going,
"Fiona from baby yoga

has invited us over for dinner.

Her husband Gavin
sounds like a nice guy.

I think you'll really get on
with Gavin."

I probably will, but I'm 36 now.

I'm not really taking on
mates anymore.

The transfer window closes at 30

for any realistic chance
of a meaningful friendship.

My wife says, "It'll be nice.
We'll go for dinner."

I'm in the living room.

I'm having to socialize
with the people

who I have mocked
over the years

for your entertainment.
I'm sitting...

"So, Kevin, do you watch
Formula One, Kev?

You an F1 fan, Kev?

Big, er, big Grand Prix
on Sunday, Kev."

"Fuck me, man.
You have any absinthe, Gav?"

See...

See, people are people,
I believe, right?

I don't judge anybody
for their class.

I don't mean
to be a reverse snob.

This is a new expression
I learned

when you mock
the upper middle classes.

They're just different people
from what I'm used to.

I was walking my dog and this
is when I like to eavesdrop.

I was walking my dog
through my neighborhood

and I heard a kid,
a schoolkid, boasting,

boasting about being
the best swimmer in his school.

He was boasting to his mates
about being the best swimmer,

as though that carried
some form of playground clout,

to be regarded as the best
swimmer at school. He's going,

"Everyone knows it's me
for a fact.

Ask anybody in the school
who the best swimmer is.

I guarantee they'll say me.

I'm the best swimmer.
It's just a fact.

Everyone knows that.

Everyone knows it's me.
It's just a fact."

And I was walking away, contemplating,

did I know the best swimmer
at my school?

And I came to the conclusion, no,

because it was irrelevant, right?

It was never a means with which
to forge yourself a reputation.

That was done through
being good at football,

being good at fighting,

or being fucking mental, right?

Those were the three
accepted forms of currency:

football, fighting,

or bouncing a Bunsen burner

off a supply teacher's
Ford Fiesta.

That's how you earned respect
in a working-class school.

Never did I witness
anybody strip to their Speedos,

shouting, "Fucking come on!

I'll take you a length, then.
Come on!

Name your stroke, mate!
Name your stroke!

I'll get my dad down here

to butterfly every
fucking one of youse!"

And it made me look back
on my own upbringing.

That's what parenthood does.

It makes you realize
more than ever

how much your childhood
shapes the person you become.

And I looked back
on my own school life.

I was shite at football.

I was not particularly mental.
I never knew how to fight.

I certainly never knew
how to fight.

I was in a couple of fights at
school. I lost them all heavily.

But I was at a school...
I was at school at a time

where a bit... a bit
of bullying, in moderation,

could be beneficial
for your character development.

Right? Once you've been beat up
a couple of times,

there's life lessons there.

"There you go, Kev.
You don't know how to fight.

Stay out of fights."

And I have carried
that aversion to confrontation

well into my adult life.

And I've realized
that can leave you vulnerable.

Especially
when you become a parent,

you need to learn to stand up
for yourself within reason.

Like, especially amongst
the upper middle classes

cos they can be
very confrontational people,

because they don't
necessarily associate

confrontation with violence.

Now, I'll give you an example, right?

I... I live in an apartment, right?

And I've got
one upstairs neighbor,

and I used to have a bike

and I kept the bike
at the door of my apartment

rather than bringing it inside,
just out of convenience.

And I never knew this was
irritating the upstairs dude,

until one evening,
he came to my door

to ask me to bring my bike
inside my apartment

because in his words,

"It was ruining the esthetic
of the communal hallway."

Now, that is a guy

who has never been punched
in the fucking face.

- That's a guy...

That is a guy who has never been
dragged from a moving dodgem

and leathered at the Christmas
and New Year carnival.

He does not come from a world

where he sees how that
could easily turn ugly,

to go to somebody's door
to ask them

to move their bike
from their door.

If I was to go to somebody's
door with such a request,

I would be fully prepared
for physical combat. I would...

I would assemble
a bit of backup beforehand,

draft in a few cousins.

"Aye, it's his door, mate.
Aye, his bike.

Cos it's fucking
ruining the esthetic

in the communal hallway."

I could have stood up for myself
in that situation.

I could've said, "Mate,
it's my bike. It's my door."

I could've fought
prick with prick,

but because of my childhood,
I apologized to the guy.

I said sorry
and I brought the bike inside

and then
I closed the door.

And that man shuffled off
back up the stairs, having won.

And I closed the door,

and it's just me and my bike
and the door's shut.

That's when it becomes an issue,
cos the voices in there...

the voices in there
become like a pop-up virus,

"Fucking pathetic, Kev,
absolutely embarrassing.

That was tough to watch, Kev.
Fucking..."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Let me
just bring the bike inside.

Sorry for your inconvenience.

Kev, get a new bike if that's
the way you're gonna be.

Get a wee basket on the front, Kev.

That's the kind
of bike you should get.

Get some ribbons
on the handlebars, Kev.

Get a wee bell. Ding-ding!
Here comes Big Kev."

"Oh, I'm so sorry!

Kev, get a wee bichon frisé

and stick it in the basket
when you go for a cycle."

And that
is the psychology of men,

cos those minor defeats,

they stay on a file
somewhere in there.

You believe
you have deleted those cookies,

but they stay in there.

That is why men lose the fucking
plot with wireless printers

and... and broadband routers.

Because the minute they feel
uptight and frustrated,

every minor defeat
they have ever accepted

replays like a montage,
a compilation in there.

You'll be trying to pair
a Bluetooth speaker

in front of your whole family
on Christmas Day.

"Device not recognized."
You're clicking and clicking.

Everybody sees you're starting
to get freaked out

and they start trying to help,

"Kevin, have you tried moving it
further away?

Sometimes the Bluetooth
can actually be too close.

I read that somewhere.

Kevin, is it updated?
Does it need an update perhaps?

Kevin, have you tried turning it
off and back on again?"

"You've fucking literally
just seen me trying that!"

"Oh, my God, Kevin.
We don't need music that badly."

"It's not about the music!
It's about that prick in 2019

that made me move my bike
from my fucking door!

I'm a coward! I'm a coward."

I'm trying to look after myself.

I've lost a bit of weight
as well. Er...

- I've tried... Thank you.

- I lost weight before.

What was that?

Up the Celtic!

What did you shout?

The Celtic!
- Have I got a fucking lazy eye?

It was clearly somebody there
and it's just moved.

You shouted, "Up the Celtic."
Right.

That's good, but was that...

Why did you just
shout that randomly...

in connection to weight loss?

- What's your name, sir?

- Cillian.
- Cillian.

Cillian? Is that the name
here in Cork? Cillian.

- Where are you from, Cillian?
I'm from the north.

You're from the north,
as in the north of Ireland

or the north of Cork?

I just need to know how...

how much we've zoomed in
on the Google map here.

The north of this city
or this country?

The country.

The country.
All right, fucking relax, mate.

Wow, that's an accent, innit?

"The fucking country."

"There's a
fucking bomb in the biscuit tin.

Everybody, get out.
Everybody, get fucking out."

I was up there.

I love it, going up there,
up the fucking north.

I wanted to open
a Chinese takeaway

on the Shankill Road, Cillian.

I was... I was gonna call it
The Orange Wok, right?

I thought it'd be funny.

I thought it'd be
a good business venture.

The family...
The family meal deal, 1690.

- That's the price...

Everybody phoning up,

"Can I have the
fuck Sinn Fein chow mein?"

-"Oh, not a problem."

There we go. That was for you,
Cillian. Can I carry on here?

- Right, thank you. Good man.

Started talking about
my weight-loss journey.

It was actually...
I used to be a big dude, right?

Right, I lost weight
probably about eight years ago,

er, and then the body positive
movement showed up.

Just as I had lost weight,
it became acceptable

and celebrated to be fat, right?

I doubt you can even say that
word anymore, cos it's fat...

Even fucking Ann Summers,
in the window,

they've got lingerie models

just standing in fucking
gravy-stained suspenders.

See...

But we never had that support
back when I was a big dude

and it's a shame
for guys like myself

that just lost weight
at the wrong time, right?

Cos my weight-loss journey
probably started on the telly.

I played in a charity
football game, Soccer Aid,

the ITV show, and it was
the rest of the world

against England, right?

Ex-footballers and celebrities,
and I was quite excited.

This is back when I was
a big fella. I was a portly lad.

But I was invited to play
for the rest of the world.

José Mourinho, he's the manager,

and I was told
I was gonna get five minutes

on the pitch, Old Trafford,

in front of 70,000,
live on the telly,

millions watching at home.

I'm quite excited. The football
fans among you will know

that five minutes on the pitch
probably implies

you're gonna get brought
at minute 85.

So I'm in the dugout, on
the subs bench, just chilling.

The game's going on,

then it gets to minute 60
on the clock, minute 60.

José Mourinho turns and tells me
to go and start warming up.

I'm thinking, "Fuck me.

I'm getting half an hour
on this pitch."

"That's it, Kev.

The gaffer must have seen
something in training."

Going down the stairs,
I break into this jog

alongside
the advertising boards,

"Whoa, Kev, keep a bit
in the tank, man, 30 minutes.

You'll take a clutcher here."

I'm just standing,
trying to remember

some stretches
from PE at school,

just settling for that bastard.

Then I get shouted back up.

Then I get brought on the pitch
and then five minutes later,

I get brought
straight back off the pitch,

subbed on, subbed off,
humiliated on national telly

and then I stupidly checked
the Twitter comments

and the vile trolls
had fat-shamed me.

They had made a video
with the Benny Hill theme tune

in fast-forward mode
of me jogging on,

my tits bouncing
through my jersey,

trying to control a pass

and then jogging
straight back off again.

I was fat-shamed and it
motivated me to get in shape.

Then as soon
as I lose a bit of weight,

you can no longer
fat-shame people,

so that is a miscarriage
of justice

for somebody who'd done 28 years
of their life as a fat bastard.

The body positive movement
can fuck off.

I done... I done 28 years
for a crime

and upon my release, I find out
it's no longer a crime.

That's what I went through.

- I'm trying...

I'm fucking...
I'm trying to stay...

I'm trying
to stay relatively fit.

Once you become a parent,

you need to try and work

on getting a few years
towards the end.

That's all I can hope for.

Just trying to keep
a couple of stone

in a savings account
for later in life.

- I tried at the gym.

- What was that?

Somebody's translating.
Thank you.

We've got somebody here
to interpret

for whatever the fuck
you just said there.

What did he say?

"Fair play to your eyesight."

Fair play to my eyesight.

I don't...
Do you understand that?

No? OK.
Fair play to my eyesight?

Even he's shrugging
his shoulders. Look.

He literally just done that

as if he's managed
to confuse himself there.

Is there a bag of spice getting
passed about that balcony?

- The fuck?

"Fair play to your eyesight!
What do you mean?"

Wow, this is why
we record the special here,

because it's a bit mental.
Good people.

I was gonna ask you
your name, mate.

But that is maybe
a bit too advanced.

It's good.

Anyway, what was I talking...?
The gym! The gym! That's it.

How old are you, mate? The guy
in the white jumper there.

Nineteen.
- Nineteen, the youth.

What's your name?

Odhran.
- Owen?

- Odhran.
- Oran, Oran. O-R-A-N?

O-D-H-R-A-N.

- Oh, for fuck's sake, man.

This is like Deal or No Deal.

I could've went
to anybody there.

And I somehow hit the fucking
quarter of a million box.

Er, say how spell it again.

O-D-H-R-A-N.

- O-D-H-R...
- D-H is silent.

D-H, it's silent? All right.

So, Oran. Is that enough if I
just call you Oran? Good man.

Wow. Just you shut up.
This'll blow your mind.

Yeah, this is a fucking quantum
physics lecture now.

"But why would a letter
be silent?" "I don't know, mate.

It's just the way it is.
Calm down."

Oran, Oran.

What I'm saying
is the young... the generation,

the youth,
you take the gym serious, right?

This new breed of young people,

they make the gym
a hostile environment

for somebody like myself

who's just in for a bit of
physical and mental maintenance.

The youth, they no longer
drink as much, right?

They no longer smoke hash.
They no longer sniff glue.

The youth,
the Instagram generation,

they're straight in
with the protein shakes,

on the steroids, in the Octagon

with their wee skin-tight
hot pants,

69-ing their best mate.

These wee... trained assassins.

They're everywhere.

These gym fiends
carrying these big water...

ridiculous-sized
water containers.

Every city center
I've been in recently,

these young guys
are swaggering through.

I know you're supposed to drink
three liters of water a day,

but you don't need to carry it
in the one container.

Call center-sized
water dispensers.

You want to say,
"Excuse me, mate.

How long did you intend

to spend away from a running tap
this afternoon?"

"Are you traveling 40 miles
to the nearest village

to fill that up every morning?"

That's where I went,
and I was at a class in the gym.

See, I don't know
exercises, right?

The gym to my generation
used to be

you go on the treadmill
for five minutes.

For as long as "Insomnia"
by Faithless lasted

You would maybe speed it up
towards the end,

then you would do
a couple of them

and then sauna, steam-room,
vending machine, home.

- That was the gym.

But now the kids
have got programs.

Got a program. Strength goals.

"Strength goals, man.
My program."

I went to the class.

The guy's telling everybody
the circuits to follow.

He's shouting out exercises

I'd never fucking heard of
in my life.

He's going, "We're gonna
start off with one minute,

one minute
of Bulgarian bag spins."

"One minute
of Russian split-squats.

One minute
of Romanian dead-lifts."

I'm thinking,
"Do you have any exercise

which originated
in a happy country?"

- Fuck this.

None of this was designed

to help anybody's mental health, mate.

These are all the products
of brutal Soviet regimes!

And we're paying
ten quid to a capitalist

to attend a gulag
on a Saturday morning.

And I'd never done
a squat before.

For those of you unfamiliar,
the squat,

it's all the Instagram,
wellness, fitness influencers.

It looks good, the squat,

but there's a dark side to the
squat they don't tell you about

and I learned this
in a painful manner,

in a painful and degrading
and humiliating manner.

I was holding a bit of weight
there, a kettlebell,

and then you need
to lower yourself

into a seated position,
and it looks good.

It's probably good

for your physical health
and mental health.

But I don't yet believe
that the human sphincter...

...has evolved
to withstand such pressure.

- I was doing these every week

and adding a bit of weight on

until, one day,
I just felt an intense pain

and a very specific unique pain
that I had never felt before

in the most intimate of orifices
in the male body.

And I don't mind
being candid here, Cork.

I felt a proper...
Like, flights to Switzerland,

Dignitas, end it all.

What the fuck
have you just done here, Kevin?

I had to leave the class
and then leave the gym.

I had to drive home
on one arse cheek

as the pain
gradually intensified

and basically, I gave myself
piles, I later learned out.

I don't mean...

You need to discuss
these things, hemorrhoids.

I'd never suffered from piles
or hemorrhoids

until I tried
to get myself in shape.

I don't mind opening up.

It is important
that we discuss rectal health.

I will gladly be the poster boy
for rectal health awareness.

You get one arsehole in this life.

Look after it.
Don't suffer in silence.

Ex... Exactly.

I was terrified. I had to rush
up the stairs into my bathroom.

I had to pull down my shorts

and inspect my own arsehole
in the mirror.

I'd never seen piles.
I'd only heard about them.

I thought it was only women

who'd just given birth
who got them, or old people.

It's quite a scary...

When you first see
foreign bodies

growing from your arse,
it's alarming.

"What the fuck
have you done here, Kev?"

I had to get my iPhone and turn
the torch on just to get a...

Quickly locked the bathroom door

in case my wife walks in
and just sees this.

"Oh, I've set up
an Only Fans page!"

- I'm looking in the mirror...

going, "What the fuck is this?!"
It's scary.

Piles!
That's the bit.

I phoned. I panicked.

I never knew that hemorrhoids,
they're relatively harmlessly.

I just panicked at the time.
"What the fuck is this?"

I phoned the doctor.
The doctor refused to see me.

That is a bit of Covid debris
I hope we can eventually lose.

The over-the-phone
doctor's consultation.

Cos there's some situations

you just need a doctor
to see it for himself.

You... You need the fucking
fair play to your eyesight

off the doctor.

- You need...

- Right, especially...

I just believe the over-the-
phone doctor's consultation,

there is way too much dependent

on your use
of descriptive language.

I don't think you should need
to be Oscar Wilde

just to get yourself
a prescription.

I'm in the mirror. How the fuck

am I gonna explain
what I can see

to a doctor, over the phone?

I'm trying to workshop
some imagery. Er...

"It's kind of...
you ever play snooker, Doctor?

You ever...
You ever been playing snooker

and too many balls
get potted into one pocket?"

To cut to the story,

I was basically told I had piles

and it was nothing
to worry about

and the doctor told me to go
and buy a cream and it was fine.

I don't know if anybody
knows the name of the cream.

The cream is called Anusol.

Right, that is...
that is how subtle

these pharmaceutical geeks

decided to make the name
for that cream, Anusol.

They could've called that anything.

They could've gone as niche

and as esoteric as their big PhD
brains would allow, but, no.

They went for a cheap laugh
at the expense

of people's poor rectal health.

Anusol. I had to go to Boots
to buy some.

My wife accompanied me.

And we got to Boots
and on the Boots shelf,

they never had the Anusol
that I required.

I thought, "I'm just gonna
have to leave it then.

I'll just need
to suffer in silence."

My wife said, "No, usually
in Boots, if you walk over,

they've got extra stock
behind the counter."

I said,
"Are you fucking insane?"

"You want me to walk over

and ask that guy
if he's got any Anusol cream

for my external hemorrhoids?"

I said,
"I'm just gonna leave it."

And my wife
called me immature.

My wife called me a child,

called me a baby,
told me to grow up

and I just stood
letting her insults

bounce off
my gormless expression,

patiently waiting in the hope
that maybe she would suggest

that she walk over on my behalf.

he's going, "First of all,
Kevin, it's called Anyu-sol.

Not Anusol. Anyus..."

I said,
"Are we talking Spanish here?

I don't see
a squiggle above the N.

You cannae... You cannae
just conceal the word anus

inside another word

and expect people to manipulate
the pronunciation.

Do you look at the planets?
Oh, look at Uran-yus? No.

Don't try
and defend big pharma."

And then my wife said,
"Fine. I'll go over."

And that's true love.

That's when you know
you have married the one.

I watched my wife... "You're
my everything, my soulmate."

I've got Spandau Ballet playing

as I'm watching my wife
walk on over.

I don't know
if I loved my wife more

watching her walk up the aisle
on our wedding day,

or watching her
walk up this Boots aisle

on this, the darkest of days,
for my rectal health.

I turn to the shelf and start
putting together my meal deal.

The afternoon's
suddenly looking promising,

a BLT, a packet
of tangy cheese Doritos.

I look over to see
how my wife's progressing,

and she has got her elbow
on the Boots counter,

engaged in dialogue
with the Boots worker

and then her upper body

gradually begins
performing a 180,

as she is pointing back over...

Fucking grassed on
and exposed as a coward!

I went to put my juice
and my sandwich and my crisps

under my left arm

so I can wave
at the Boots worker,

wave a wee acknowledgement

as she is mentally processing
an image of my shattered hoop.

So, I made a full recovery,

you'll be glad to know,
people of Cork.

- That's it. Thank you.

My arse is back in the game.
That's why you need to watch.

Let that be a lesson, any of
the gym people, with the squats

and all this... all the high
protein, all the high protein...

"Strength goals, man.
Strength goals."

It is. It's a shame, innit?

Every nutritionist
is always dragging,

like, bread, for example.

As you get slightly older,

I believe you just find
the foods that suit you.

Bread's your best friend, man.

Don't listen
to these protein extremists.

Yeah, bread has been...
Bread got cancelled.

Bread has been treated
like a sex offender

since the Atkins diet.

Every single diet
involves cutting out bread.

Everywhere you look,
"Don't eat bread.

Bread is making you tired."

Really?
You ever seen a duck yawning?

That's...

That is a simple bit of research
that anybody is free to conduct.

I've never took my son
to the park,

walked up to the pond

and seen fucking quack-quack...

Quack, quack.

"Oh, look at the ducks, son.

They're fucking exhausted,
aren't they? Wow.

Too much starchy carbohydrates,

that's what that is, pal."

I think that would be an asset

in this hectic, modern world
if bread made you tired,

if it was that easy
to be tired on demand.

I'm tired.
I'm tired the whole day.

I'm tired. I spend
the whole fucking day exhausted,

and it's only when I get to bed
at night

and eventually turn off
the telly,

and I close my eyes, that's when
I come alive. Right? My...

My mental health
is quite, quite good

until the evenings
and I know...

I know as soon as
I turn off the telly,

and it's just me,
alone, inside of me,

I know I've got exactly
one minute to get sleeping,

or somebody
is gonna storm the cockpit.

And we are gonna lose all
contact with air traffic control

and go way off
on these turbulent journeys.

And that is when I would need
a wee bedside baguette

just to take the edge off.

- If...

I try... I try so hard
to take a sleep serious.

I put my phone
away in the corner.

"You stay there, phone.

Don't come near me.
Stay on the charger.

I'll see you tomorrow.
I'm here for a sleep."

I'm lying awake,
scared to turn off the telly.

"I don't think
you're tired enough, Kev.

Just keep flicking, man.
Keep flicking."

Australian
traffic police, I'm watching...

"How fast
were you going there, mate?

Yeah. What does the sign say,
mate? What does the sign say?"

"That's it, Kev. It's his voice,
or whatever voice is in there.

I don't think you're tired.
Keep flicking."

I'm away up the back
on the History Channel,

The Rise and Fall
of Adolf Hitler,

a nice wee
soothing bedtime story.

They always stick that guy on
at two in the morning.

I'm lying watching him.
His mental health was poor.

- Wow.

He killed himself.
It just shows.

You don't know what's going on
inside somebody's head.

I'm watching that guy. He was
the picture of self-assurance.

He's standing
in front of...

Standing in front
of hundreds of thousands,

oozing self-confidence, going...

I don't know
what the fuck he's saying,

but it never once sounded like,

"Guys, I'm struggling."

That's when
I'm lying awake, going,

"When did that start, man?

How did you end up like that?"

That's why you need to open up
way before it gets to that.

I'm angry at Hitler's mates
back in the day.

They must've seen signs
when that bitterness descended.

As soon as he got
knocked back from art school,

I bet there was nights,
having a few beers,

Hitler's on his sparkling water,

wee chip on his shoulder
cos he got rejected.

Fucking,
"See these fucking Jews?"

-"Whoa!"

"Fuck's sake, Dolf."

Everybody has
a nickname back in the day.

Maybe that was Hitler's.

"It's not the Jews' fault
your paintings are shite, Dolf."

"And fucking ditch that tache.
You're creeping out the birds."

And that would've been it.

That would've been
the end of him.

I'm lying awake contemplating
alternative histories.

Hitler would just be...
maybe even a stoner,

with these fucked-up
thoughts, innit?

Just walking about Vienna.

"Imagine the whole world
had blond hair and blue eyes."

That's where
my brain goes at night.

That's why you need bread, man.

Lying awake, just watching...
watching Hitler,

cos I know,
that's what happens to me.

That's what happens.

As soon as I turn off the telly,
as soon as it's just me,

alone, inside of me,
the minute passes

and that wee voice comes in,

"I wonder what happens
when you die, Kevin."

Here we fucking go.

"This is a daytime conversation.

Why do you ask this shit
at night?"

"Ah, you're always too busy
during the day, Kev.

You're always hiding, fucking
hiding. I'll be here, Kev.

Every single night,
I'll be here waiting.

You can hide all day long,
on Instagram

watching Ashley Banjo
get a haircut,

but I will be here, Kev.

I wonder what happens
when you die, Kev."

"I don't fucking know."

"You better have a think,
cos you're gonna die."

"That's fucking right.
I'm gonna fucking die."

"Everybody's gonna die, Kev."

"That's fucking true.
Everybody's gonna die."

"I wonder how many people
have ever died."

-"What do you mean, like, ever?"

"Aye." "That's a good question.

I wonder how many...
That is a good question.

Do you think more people
have died

than there are alive
right now?"

"Surely, Kev." "I wonder

how many people
there's ever been then."

"Do you mean, like, ever?"

"Aye, everybody
who has ever died

plus everybody alive right now."

"Kev, that is
a fantastic question."

"How many people
has there ever been?

That's a terrific question."

And that's when you feel your
phone in the corner, going...

"Kev! I know that, mate! Kev!

Kev! I know the answer, bro!
Come on down!

We'll make a fucking night
of it, me and you, bro!"

-"Come on out of bed, man.

Come on out of bed!"

And I'm up
and I'm out of the bed

and I'm crouching down.

"How many people
has there ever been?"

"Good to see you, Kev, mate.

I thought you'd fucked off
for the night.

I love these nights
when it's just me and you.

'How many people
has there ever been?'

Always a great question
with you, Kev.

'How do you say
turkey in Turkish?'

That was a good one as well, Kev.

Remember on holiday in Turkey?

You were eating turkey.

You should've said
to one of the staff,

'What do you call this?'
That would've been funny.

'How many people have...'

Kev, have you seen
a cat's dick?" "No.

That's weird. Why have I never
seen a cat's willy?"

"Let's have a look, then, Kev.
Google Images.

There we go, two in the morning,
looking at cat cock.

That's why I love you, Kev.

Kev, what about Bitcoin?
Come on.

Once a week, me and you
attempt to finally understand

how Bitcoin
and cryptocurrencies work.

This could be the night
it eventually sinks ins.

Let's have a wee look, Kev.
Come on. Just pay attention.

'How does Bitcoin...?'

Well, Bitcoin operates from
a decentralized network,

using encrypted peer-to-peer
blockchain technology.

Kev, see you can get

a white chocolate Kinder Bueno
these days?

I still see the Kinder Bueno
as quite a new thing,

but you get things like that.

They've been out for ages,

but you still see them as new,
like euros.

When did the euro originally
come out? 1999! Holy fuck!

You were only 13 back then, Kev.
That is how fast time moves.

You're gonna die, Kev.
You're gonna fucking die.

Look at the size
of that cat's willy.

Is that even a cat?"
That is why...

That is...

That is why if I just had
a wee multiseed bagel,

I could just...

I could just control-alt-delete
into a wee peaceful slumber.

That's all you need to do.

We need to watch the phones.

Everybody's the same.

Everybody's hooked
on the phones.

That's what's causing
the mental health epidemic.

Somebody recommended
jogging to me, right?

Just to make you look calm

and all that stuff,
and I tried it.

That's the two positive
lifestyle changes

I made recently.

I tried to take up jogging

and I tried to cut back
on social media.

But what I learned
is that jogging

is in a co-dependent
relationship

with social media.
I learned it.

I managed a 5K, right?

That was quite...
For a former portly fella,

I was quite chuffed

that I managed to run
for five kilometers.

And then my brain felt valeted, right?

Your brain floods with dopamine

and endorphins
and serotonin, right?

You feel...
You feel like Ric Flair.

You're just walking about going,
"Whoo! Whoo!"

But that bit of your brain

that Mark Zuckerberg controls
is also there,

saying, "Kev, you think
that feels happy?

You think that's dopamine?

Wait until you screenshot your
time and your distance covered

and your calories burned
and post it on the socials

and every like that you get

is gonna spike that dopamine
even further."

And that's when I thought,
"This is a form of gambling."

That's what social media is.

If life presents you
with a moment

of genuine
offline happiness

and fulfillment, you need to
learn just to cash out, right?

Cos it can backfire,
as I learned.

I posted my time and I'm excited

cos I know every like

is gonna spike
that dopamine even further.

I got greedy.

I doubled down on the dopamine,
cos I'm chasing the likes.

That is the social media
currency, the like.

But it's a volatile market

and the snide comment

will always be strong
against the like, as I learnt.

I'm euphoric, posted my time
and then the comments came in,

"Were you fucking
pulling a caravan, Kevin?"

- Honest, yeah.

"Did you walk it, Kev?

It looked like you moon-walked
it at that pace, ha-ha."

Strangers are bonding
in the replies.

And that's when I realized

happiness is found offline,
genuine happiness.

Like, I enjoy a Sunday morning
these days.

I enjoy a Sunday
as a family man.

And shortly after...
shortly after my son was born,

I was...
I was in bed on a Sunday.

My son was having his nap
beside me, under my arm.

I'm in bed, my son,
just there sleeping.

My wife came over and she said,
"Aw," and she joined us.

And it was a Sunday morning.
The Simpsons is on the telly.

And then my dog came in

and jumped up beside me
on that side,

I'm sitting going,
"This is life. This is it."

You feel your soul expanding,
but Zuckerberg is there...

...saying, "Kev, this is what
we play for, man.

This is...
This is wholesome content, Kevo.

Get the selfie. Get it. Post it.

The baby, the dog,
the wife, the Sunday,

the family goals.
Get it on there, Kev."

And I know
how that would've went.

I was tempted, but I thought,
"No, this is how this'll go.

I will post a picture.

I'm happy, I'm fulfilled,
I'm greedy.

I'm suddenly
at the high-stakes table

and the likes
would come in

and all the comments,
'Oh my God, Kevin, too cute.

Oh, my God, too cute!

Oh, my God.
Wholesome content. Oh, my God!

Oh, my God! Just this.
Oh, my God, thisssss!

This is everything, Kevin. Oh,
my God.

Oh, my God.
Family is everything, Kevin.

Savor every moment.
Oh, my God.'"

But I'm fully aware
that in there,

there's gonna be,
"Your dog's a cunt."

- I'm fully aware.

I know the dopamine chips
can only pile so high,

but at any point,
the dealer can just go, woof,

and I would abandon my family,
abandon the moment.

Suddenly, I'm on a stranger's
page.

"My dog's a cunt?
Who the fuck is this?"

Clicking on his pictures,

"Is that his dog?
His dog's a cunt."

Then my wife would hear.

"Did you just call
somebody's dog a cunt?"

"Aye, cos he just called our dog
a cunt. Whose side are you on?"

We're arguing.
My son would wake up crying.

My dog would sense tension,
jump off the bed.

The Simpsons would finish.

That wee Hollyoaks
opening guitar tune would start.

That wee...

So, that's my point.
When the fun stops, stop. Right?

Just... Just accept happiness
when it presents itself.

- That was the point of that bit.

That's what I think.

I'm quite new to Instagram.

I know it's a bit old school.
I just joined up recently.

I never knew how it worked.

My wife's on Instagram
and I was on my wife's page

and there's a picture of my wife
with this stunning guy.

And I was like,
"Who the fuck is that?"

Then I looked closer
and it was me.

Right? I was like...
I was a solid ten.

I was smoking.
And I said to my wife,

"How did you manage
to get that out of this?"

She said,
"Oh, I just used a filter."

I never knew
that's what Instagram is,

just turning munters to rides
in one click. One click!

And we looked amazing.

This is what we're selling.
Everybody does the same.

If you're somewhere shite,
you can just take the pictures

and make it look good
and convince...

Me and wife are standing
on a romantic city break.

We're in front
of some ancient building.

I'm looking at the picture.

The memories are coming back
and I'm thinking,

"Wait. We never spoke
a fucking word that afternoon

on that wee
romantic mini-break."

That is the harsh reality
of a real relationship.

The romantic mini-break,
it's good for maybe a day

and then day two, you realize

you've signed up for
a school trip as adults,

having to put
a wee itinerary together,

going to look
at more buildings,

having to read placards,
visit abandoned prisons,

having to look at statues,
just killing time between meals.

Fucking hell, another gallery,
another museum.

Scared to look at the time.

"Far too early to suggest
an Irish bar, Kev,

far too early. Wait.

It's only half eleven, Kev.

Don't you dare suggest

a nine-euro Heineken
at Dicey O'Reilly's.

Come on, Kev. You've got
one more gallery, Kev."

And then what happens
on a romantic mini-break,

maybe day two or day three,

a silence descends
between you and your partner,

a silence from nowhere.

You'll be aware you're being
a bit quiet yourself

and you're also aware your
partner is being a bit quiet,

but you know if you're the first
one to accuse the other one

of being a bit quiet, you know
you're lighting a fuse there

that could ignite and combust

into a weekend-defining
argument.

So, what I have learned,
one little bit of advice,

what I have learned is when
you feel that silence descend

between you and your partner,
start making comments.

Start saying shit. Say any
old shit. Just get shit said.

Start building yourself a case.

Start saying shit that you can
later rely on as evidence...

...for when you're accused
of being the one being quiet.

And then when it does eventually
come to the hearing,

you storm in there

with your body of evidence.
"Me? Me? I'm being quiet?

I've fucking hardly shut up."
"And what've you said?"

"What have I said?
As soon as we left the hotel,

I said I wished I'd grabbed
a pain au chocolat

from the breakfast buffet,

cos I usually get hungry
about 11.

You said fuck all back.
One-nil to me straight away."

"Then we passed Darren's Bar.

I said
we should take a photograph

and send it to Darren,
cheer him up a bit

cos he's having a hard time.

Not that you would give a fuck.

Different if it was
one of your pals. And then..."

"And then on the promenade,

the guy on the Segway
came past us

and I told you the guy
who invented the Segway

apparently died
by segwaying off a cliff.

That is a strong conversation
piece. I got fuck all."

"Then I told you how many people
there's ever been.

Four-nil.
A hundred and 18 billion.

- That is fascinating.

What's your name, mate?
The guy with the Hugo?

What's your name? Owen.

Again, a lot of originality
in the names.

Owen.
Man, how old are you, Owen?

Seventeen? A youngster.

Wow. It's good that I'm still
getting the youth.

Although, that is, er, scary.
And age, it's a number, innit?

Don't you worry. We've got
a few older people in,

but it's subjective, age.

I believe you're young

for as long as people laugh
when you fall in public.

You're young. Right?

In my opinion,
that is the only accurate age

for the aging process.

- Thank you. That's...

I learned this.
I tripped over a curb

and I tried to resist
the momentum

and I eventually hit the deck.

And upon impact,
I heard laughter

and I looked over and there was
a van full of workmen

and one of them
was even performing...

...a full-on wanker sign,
going, "Wa-hey!"

And it was embarrassing, until
I thought about it a bit deeper

and I thought, "No, Kev.
Enjoy these moments. Enjoy this.

Enjoy this, Kev,
cos there'll come a time

when you'll have a similar fall.

You'll hit the deck
and you will not hear laughter.

You will not see the wanker
sign, or hear the wa-hey!

You'll hear, 'OK, sir,
what's your name? Sir?'

'Sir, can you hear me?
He's not responding. Sir?

I'm just gonna try and move you,
sir, OK?'"

That must be a terrifying moment
for any senior figure,

being forced to confront
your own mortality

in such a crass circumstance.

So, next time you see an
old person who's fell, just...

- Just bear that in mind.

Before you rush over there,

asking for emergency
contact details,

just know there might be
a young soul in that...

Inside that decaying mammal,
there may be a young soul.

And if you rush over, that young
soul could vanish forever.

- Whereas a wee...

A wee wanker sign, wa-hey!

Make that old man feel alive.

"I wish I got that
on video, mate. Wa-hey!"

I'm noticing people
in senior positions

are younger than me
for the first time.

That's a new one, innit?
Politicians.

Football managers
are younger.

Jesus.

He was 33 when he died.
That makes me feel old.

Wow, Jesus would've been
three years below me in school.

- Wow.

I don't know if
I can worship him.

He's a wee guy, man.

He'd have got put in a headlock.
"Jesus!"

"Turn that Capri-Sun into wine,
Jesus, or you're getting..."

Running up behind him

and kicking his sandals off
from under his feet.

But he was ripped, Jesus.

I don't think he gets enough
credit for the shape he was in.

Any time I'm in Mass
and I just kind of daydream,

it always strikes me
when you see Jesus on the cross,

he had a six-pack.

He never touched the bread
at that wedding.

No way did he put starchy carbs

in that wee welterweight frame
of his.

He'd be
on Instagram if he came back,

doing fitness tutorials.

-@JCPT, standing.

"Only my da can judge me"
tattoo.

I like Jesus.
You can have a laugh

and you can joke
about him. It's good.

He takes a joke, in my opinion.
Doesn't he?

Cos people get upset

at comedians these days,
don't they?

People are always complaining
about jokes.

It happened to me. Cancel...

Cancel culture
is what they call it.

I don't know if anybody's seen

that I caused uproar last year.
Me!

I caused controversy.
What had happened...

I'll tell you the story.

What had happened
was I had a show in Glasgow

on the evening
of the Queen's death, right?

Now, the story...

I know I don't need
to explain myself

in this part of the world, but...

- We'll probably...

We'll probably get the editor
to take that cheer out

just in the interests
of Anglo-Irish relations.

I had a show on the evening
of the Queen's death, right?

And what had happened,

I will explain myself
as a comedian, right?

The Queen's death
was confirmed at 6:45 p.m.

The doors to my show
had opened at 6:30 p.m.

Now, the show is going ahead,
and as a stand-up comedian,

you've got a few options there.

You... You can either
cancel the show,

even though
people are already in,

or making their way there, then
everybody would go fucking nuts,

or you start the show

and don't mention a news story
of that magnitude,

which had just broke,

which would be fucking weird
if I just came out,

"Has anybody seen the price
of a KitKat Chunky these days?"

Or you can start the show

and make a couple of jokes
about the situation

and then move on as normal.

Now, I chose option C.

The show went ahead
as a mark of respect

to the hardworking people

who had paid money
and babysitters and hotels

and all that stuff to come for
a laugh. So I chose that option.

And what I said was,

"She hung on in there
until the doors had opened.

She would've wanted my show
to go ahead."

Right? Which is funny.

And then in a dig
at the UK government

and their handling of the energy
price crisis at the time,

that she wouldn't be
the only old woman

to die in the coming months.

Right? Which was
fucking true and funny.

And then I said
the new head of state

is King Charles, a wee dog.

And that was it.
We moved on. Everybody laughed.

But somebody had recorded
a video of me opening the show

and uploaded it online

and that's where
the problem starts.

See, people who come to comedy
shows tend to be sound.

You come here for a laugh.

You don't come here for
an evening of good points.

"I hope I agree
with this person.

What a fucking night. I've never
agreed so much in my life."

- You come for a joke.

But somebody recorded a video
and put it online

and then I began trending
on Twitter.

For those of you unfamiliar
with Twitter parlance,

trending
means you're in trouble.

It's like being out
in the corridor

and everybody's
going fucking nuts.

And that's when
I realized that Twitter

is the VAR for stand-up comedy.

Cos everybody on the night laughed

and then the jokes
went to a Twitter VAR check

and they were disallowed.

That's what happens at every
comedy show in the world.

There's a check.

There'll be something
this evening.

There's something every night.

"I didn't like it when
he said cunt,

because my mum's a cunt."

There's always something
for these people.

And...

And, Owen, you're 17.
Owen, right?

Your generation,
you get the blame

for being easily offended.

That's what we say. Snowflakes.

That's what they call
your generation.

I mean, I don't blame them.

I just try and move
with the times, right?

I know they're a bit strange,
aren't they?

- You know what I mean?

They're a bit like...
I don't know.

They make me feel older
than I should feel.

Like other new celebrities, YouTubers.

I don't know who people are

until they're fighting
Floyd Mayweather.

- That's a strange age to be.

I'm saying, "Who's Logan Paul?"

"I don't know,
but a ten-year-old

would put a knife through
your windpipe

for a bottle
of his energy drink,

so he's done something right."

Fucking 25 quid for a bottle
of juice.

And then they're chain-vaping
their wee disposables,

their wee Elf Bars.

What happened to the youth

is the big tobacco companies thought,

"Not enough young people
are smoking cigarettes,

so why don't we get a packet
of Marlboro Red

and a packet
of Haribo Tangfastics and..."

"...and empty them into
a blender and get that liquid?

We'll put it in
a wee heated element

and take couple of puffs."

That's what started the vaping.
They're a strange bunch,

with their vapes
and their bottles of Prime,

and they're always fucking
whining about something.

The youth of today
are a strange bunch,

and if Michael Jackson
was still alive,

he'd be saying,
"I'm no' sharing a bed

with these fucking weirdos!"

- He'd be saying... Nah!

He'd... He'd be saying,
"Get me an adult in here

for a decent conversation!"

"Oh, it's my anxiety."

"Shut the fuck up, shamone!"

See, I don't believe
that they should...

Even Covid, that was...

The way children
were represented during Covid,

all that time
that they missed off school.

That was all you would see
on the telly,

the wee stressed-out
dweebs complaining.

"We are being robbed
of our futures.

Covid has stolen
our education from us!

We'll never get this time back

and we are
the forsaken generation!"

And that's when I thought,
"Fuck off!"

There's no way that was
an accurate representation

of every child's attitude to
such lengthy spells off school.

Would it have been too much
to have heard from the kids

who hit the jackpot
during that whole time?

They never had to sit exams.

Wow! What a time
to be fucking stupid!

Stick one of them on the telly.

I bet some belters made it to
university the past few years.

Put them on the telly.
Cheer people up a bit.

"I was gonna do
travel and tourism,

but I got
into medical school."

"It's cos I've got
emotional intelligence,

everybody tells me!"

That's the new polite way

of telling a child
he's a fucking dunce, innit?

See, I'm trying.
I try and keep...

I don't want to be a dinosaur,
Owen. Right, I'll tell you...

I try and stay open-minded.

I try and stay...
I try and understand

the generations
behind me and all that.

I try and stay woke.
It's just hard.

It's hard to keep up with
the constant software updates.

There's always something new,
like... I'm helping my mum.

My mum is in the process
of moving house, right,

and we found a box
in my mum's loft.

We're clearing out
all the old shit.

Found a box full
of my old school books

and a bit of nostalgia
got the better of me.

I'm looking through
all my old school books

and on the front
of one of the school books,

there was graffiti.

It said... This might be a bit
Scottish, but I will translate.

It said, "Your maw."
Right, you get that.

It said, "Your maw's got baws."

Right? Baws are balls.

It said, "Your maw's got baws
and your da loves it."

- Now this...

This was a very common insult
in Glasgow in the late '90s,

but I'm now reading it in 2023,

thinking how this has aged beautifully

into an empowering, uplifting
message of self-acceptance.

If I showed that
to Owen's generation,

they would get
fucking emotional.

"Oh, my God.

Isn't that just beautiful
what they wrote?

'Your maw's got baws
and your da loves it.'

Your mother found the courage
to embrace her true identity

and your father was supportive.

Beautiful."

See, that's how woke a city
Glasgow is.

We don't get enough credit

for how open-minded
and progressive we are.

And sometimes, we don't mean it.
Sometimes it's very subtle.

Like, I was in a taxi in Glasgow

and the taxi driver
had recognized me

and he was telling me

how difficult it is
to be a comedian.

He's telling me, right?

He's going... Right, every taxi
driver in Glasgow is a savant.

He's going, "Must be hard, eh?

Must be fucking hard
being a comedian.

You cannae joke
about anything these days.

You cannae say anything."

And then the conversation

naturally led to the subject
of Sam Smith

and the driver...

The driver said, "Sam Smith.

Did you see what that cunt
was wearing?

Did you see what that cunt
was wearing at the Brit Awards?"

And I thought,
"Bravo, driver, bravo.

You have educated yourself.

What a proud moment this is

to hear such
a progressive attitude."

Because in Glasgow, "that cunt"
is a gender-neutral pronoun.

- I thought, "Bravo, driver.

This has given me hope.
If you had said,

'Did you see what he was
wearing at the Brit Awards?',

I would have stormed
out of this taxi in disgust!

I would've said, 'Don't you dare
misgender that cunt!

How dare you?'"

There's always been
easily offended people

and I will defend
millennials like myself

and the generation
younger than me,

cos 36
is a good vantage point

to tell the youth what the older
people used to be like.

They were
the original snowflakes.

They were easily offended.

And it's summed up in a game

that a lot of you
probably played,

the game called chap, door,
runaway in Glasgow,

er, knock... knock a door, run,
knock-a-dally,

knock down ginger,
whatever it was called.

The game has largely
gone extinct, Owen.

The game, it involved...
You would come home from school.

I'll tell you the premise
of the game,

for those of you unfamiliar.

You'd come home from school,

you would change
out of your school uniform

and into your civilian wear

and then you go and would
meet up with your associates

and you would patrol
your neighborhood aimlessly.

And then, at one stage in
the evening, you'd play the game

where you'd walk up
to people's houses

and you would knock on the door
and run away,

confident in the knowledge
that the man,

always the man of the house,
was gonna come to his door,

expecting to greet somebody
as the knock suggested.

But instead, he would see
you and your associates

fleeing his property
and laughing,

and that would trigger
a reaction so strong in that man

that he would abandon
whatever plans

he had made for his evening,

whatever he was gonna watch
on the telly,

whatever he was gonna eat
for his tea, insignificant.

The only thing
on that man's mind

from that moment henceforth

was hunting you
and your associates down

for as long
as he deemed necessary.

Now, that's a fucking snowflake.

You never damaged his door.
You never entered his property.

You knocked the door
and ran away.

Now for context,
as a millennial,

if somebody knocks on my door,

I'll look at my wife.
My wife looks at me.

We both look at our phones.

"Did you just order some...?
Are you waiting for somebody?

Are you expecting anything?
No. Same here.

Let's just stay calm and
hopefully they will fuck off."

Or maybe one of us
would tiptoe over to a window

to get a visual on the door,
stealth-like.

And if there was nobody there,

and I'd just seen kids
running away,

I would think, "Thank fuck!"

I thought there was actually
somebody at the door.

I thought I was poised to have
a human interaction there,

an unplanned human...

Who needs that shit
on a Tuesday night in 2023?

I was quite enjoying
sitting on the couch

in the basement of my mind.

I thought I was gonna have
to come up to reception

to go live
and greet somebody!

I could only imagine
saying to my wife,

"I'm heading out there

to hunt these wee bastards
down." Unthinkable!

"Where's my Trespass fleece,
darling? I might be a while!"

"I cannot be expected
to show restraint

in the face
of such blatant provocation!"

I could only imagine my wife
on the phone to her mother,

"A bunch of kids knocked
on the door and ran away,

so that'll be Kevin
for the night."

They're the snowflakes!

They were the real snowflakes,
the older generations.

I remember spending hours
in exile,

cos you'd knocked
on the wrong door.

Having to hide in bin sheds.
The street lights would come on.

Somebody in your platoon

would eventually crack
and start crying.

"Do you think he's still
fucking coming for us?"

"Just keep your voice down.
He could be anywhere!"

"I just really...
I just want to go home.

This has been hours.

Why do youse always knock
Harry McMaster's door?

You know he's a loose cannon!"
"Just fucking shut up!"

"It's all right
for everybody else.

I'm the one that needs
to walk back past his door.

He's gonna get me on my own!"

Children reduced to tears

for knocking a door
and running away.

That's a snowflake.

Right, if that was me,
I would just stand at my window

and say to my wife,

"Isn't it great to see children
out playing?"

- That's how we handle that!

- Anyway!

Ladies and gentlemen,
what an audience!

Er, what a venue! What a city!
Thanks for listening!

- Take care of yourselves.

Thank you!

Goodnight! Peace!
Thank you! Thank you very much!

Yes, thank you.

That's just a wee optional
ending for any....

for anybody
who really needed a piss.

Er...

Thank you, genuinely.

The warmth in here's been
amazing and it's appreciated.

- So, thank you, people, yes!

- It's er...

I hope I finished
on a nice message,

a bit of hope
for the young team there.

Just trying to defend 'em,

cos they've got a lot
going on, haven't they?

We've got climate change
and stuff like that.

Every news story's so intense,
innit? And it's quite hard.

That's a difficult one,
if you're Scottish or Irish,

to really give a fuck!

I know it's a serious issue,
but we're only Scottish.

We're only Irish.
It's quite hard to have...

It's pretty low down
on a list of immediate concerns,

the planet getting warmer.
Like, we even hosted

the United Nations Climate
Change Conference.

That was held in Glasgow
in November 2021.

Glasgow in November!

That is a tough fucking crowd

to spread alarm
about the planet heating up!

We had Greta shouting at us.
"How dare you?"

"What the fuck have we done?
It's fucking freezing!"

"If we don't act now,

the planet's gonna
be two degrees warmer by 2050."

"Oh, no!"

I might need to ditch a vest!

In Scotland, we'll reap
the benefits of climate change.

We'll become, like,
a resort when...

Cos we love...
We appreciate...

We appreciate nice weather

more than any country
in the world,

and maybe it's time
to switch it up a bit.

Maybe nice weather has been
wasted on too many countries.

Well, like Iraq.

- Like Iraq.

In my whole adult life,

I've watched the news
go live to Fallujah

and it's never a happy story.
There's a big blue sky.

The reporter's
got a wee short-sleeve shirt on.

He's never reporting live
from a pool party. He's never...

"So, Gordon, back to you
in the studio."

Getting fucking, "Whoa!"

It's always misery. Oh.

"Violent clashes here
between Sunni and Shiites."

Come on, man.
Religious violence in that heat.

It's too nice a day for that.

- Come on!

Leave that to Scotland
and Northern Ireland, man.

Sectarian violence
is a winter sport!

Why do Catholics and Protestants
hate each other?

Because it's fucking raining,
that's why!

I've got hope. I've got hope for
the youth. Like, I believe...

Childhood, that's what kids
need to realize.

When they're suffering
and they're worried about stuff,

but I think a lot of kids

need to realize
that life is long, right?

It's not about
being a kid, right?

For example, some people just
don't suit being certain ages.

I was shite at being a kid.
I was quite anxious and nervous,

but then, my time came.
I came good in the end, right?

A school bully, for example.
A school bully is just somebody

who was good at being 15
when you look back at life.

The youth,
they've got it difficult.

They get cyberbullied.

We don't know what that's like
to grow up online.

At least...
There's always been bullying,

but at least back in the day,
the hours were better.

It was only Monday to Friday,
nine till three,

excluding summer holidays,
Christmas, Easter.

It was a skive realistically
in comparison to them.

They can't even play
the PlayStation

without getting abuse
over the speakers,

as I learned during lockdown.

I bought myself a PlayStation,
playing FIFA. I'm a bit rusty.

I'm getting hammered
by kids online

and I'm playing Liverpool.

I'm getting beat about five-nil,

and then a Scouse accent starts
blaring through the telly.

The kid I'm playing
wants me to quit the game

because I'm boring him.

I'm no' giving him
enough of a challenge.

He's going, "Fucking seriously,

why are you still fucking here?
You're so shit.

Just fucking quit the game, lad.
You're so fucking shit."

And the longer I played on,

the more hostile
the abuse became.

"Seriously, lad, if you don't
fucking quit, I'm gonna find ya!

I'm gonna slit your fucking
throat, lad, when I find you."

And my wife walked in
to ask me if I was all right!

It took me straight back
to school,

like when my mum
had witnessed me being picked on

and you try and downplay it.

I'm going, "Aye, I'm all right.

He's having a laugh.
It's my mate!

Cos I threatened
to slit his throat last night.

That's just our humor!"

I look back and that's what
I will teach my son,

that your time comes.

If my son was ever
being bullied, I'll teach him

a school bully is just somebody
who was good at being 15,

somebody who abused that power

and everybody else
was a work in progress.

If my son was being bullied,
I would take him to Ladbrokes.

I'd take him to the bookie's
on a Friday afternoon.

I'd take him to my
old school bully. I'd say...

I'd say, "We're not gonna laugh
at this guy, son.

We're gonna learn from this guy.
That guy.

See that guy that just punched
the fruit machine?

That guy.
He was an amazing 15-year-old.

Oh, he was the main man.

If you were ever late
for a class in school,

you'd be sprinting
down the corridor.

He would be standing
in the corridor shouting,

'Run if you're gay.'
And you would have to...

Cos we lived under his regime

and that's the stuff that
made you the man at being 15.

But the problem is
that life is not about being 15.

And that is pretty much
where we left that guy.

One day, people just kept on
running down that corridor.

That's where we left that guy.
That's what happens.

Just get to know yourself.
Your time will come.

What was that, son?

Ah, I never seen him swim.

I don't know,
but that's your man."

-"Just get to know yourself.

Be an individual."

Anyway, ladies and gentlemen
of Cork,

can I hear a massive
round of applause

for my wife Kerry
and my mother Patricia

who have traveled over
to see the show this evening?

And this is
a... an emotional one.

This is the first special
that I've recorded

without my dad being here.

Those of you
who maybe read my book

know my dad took me
to my first gig when I was 17

and we drove all round Scotland
playing pubs to 15, 20 people,

and I never believed it would
come to selling out places

and recording specials,
but my dad did,

and it's a pleasure
to prove him right.

He passed away this year,
so this is for my dad.

To Big Andy Bridges!

Thanks for listening.
Take care of yourselves!

Thank you! The craic has been
mighty as always in Ireland.

- Take care! Thanks!