Paris

This week I enjoyed Paris.

Me and my girlfriend have been going out for 18 months. Our previous holidays have involved a night over in Brighton and a day trip to Swanage. A cynic would describe these seaside sojourns as embarrassingly outdated; I prefer to call them romantic homages to a fading British tradition. I love the seaside. My love of the seaside dates back to childhood when my brother and me would go there and visit my nan. Seaside children don’t know how lucky they are to have a beach as a playground. They forget how fortunate they are to have it; I guess in the same way taxpayers are with the NHS. My brother and me were never like that. We knew we had two weeks to make the most of sand and sea and we intended to dig every inch of it and swim every mile of it.

Swanage

I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say my swimming broke records. Not for distance. But for proclivity. I would be in and out of that water – come rain or shine- a hundred times a day. You see, I love the idea of the ocean but my body simply isn't built for it. I would always come out shaking like a leaf, teeth chattering and clattering, crying for the towel like a petulant tennis player. As soon as I was dry though, I would forget my physical anguish and jump straight back in. I like to think David Walliams saw me as a child and the memory of my tenacity inspired him to undergo his Comic Relief challenge.

However I do appreciate that swimming in the rain isn’t to everyone’s tastes. Even if the phrase is close to the beloved Gene Kelly musical. So when my girlfriend asked me to go to Paris with her, I romantically didn’t say no.  There were two reasons why it was going to be a lovely weekend: one – it was my girlfriend’s birthday. Two – her friend was going to be performing there in Singin’ In The Rain. Her friend Clare is phenomenally talented and been in West End productions of Hairspray, Shrek and Charlie and The Chocolate Factory, but this was going to be her biggest role to date -we couldn't miss it. Joining us on the trip would be friend’s Zoe and Bev with their significant others, Gareth and Tariq. Gareth was getting a later train so the five of us met early and had champagne in Kings Cross’ Champagne Bar. As enjoyable as it was, I did feel a little bit decadent sipping bubbles in the afternoon. After last week’s blog on inequality, here I was the archetypal champagne socialist. I ignored my class guilt though when I surmised even Marx must have had a bottle of plonk to celebrate his Manifesto getting published.

"We're in it together."

Arriving in Paris, we headed to a lovely seafood restaurant that Zoe had booked. Now our party was a difficult one to cater for: Harriet is gluten-free and Bev has a nut allergy. As good as Zoe’s French was, nut allergy simply does not translate. Despite Bev saying no nuts, the waiter proceeded to list every nut one by one: “What about peanuts?” What about almonds?” “What about walnuts?” To which Bev would reply each time, “No nuts.” It felt a bit like a surreal Vic and Bob sketch where the catchphrase was “No nuts.”

"No nuts."

The next morning we went to see the sights. The first one on our list was the Eiffel Tower. If you haven’t heard of it, it’s a building that couples are photographed in front of to prove they’re in love. If you haven’t got a picture in front of it, then you legally can’t get married. It’s true. I was once at a wedding where they did the, “Do you know any lawful reason why these two people can’t be married?” And a lady stood up and said, “They’ve never been to the Eiffel Tower.” The whole congregation gasped like a plot twist and the priest threw out the marriage.

Next we went to the Louvre. I had absolutely no ambition in seeing the Mona Lisa. The Mona Lisa didn’t really become famous until a museum employee stole it in 1913. If anything we should be going to see a painting of the thief because he’s done more to make that painting a phenomenon than da Vinci. Art should be observed and pondered; it shouldn’t involve a queue. The Louvre doesn’t even do a fastrack so you can get quickly to the front. No wonder Lisa’s got a wry look on her face: probably thinks we’re daft fighting over her like that.

Press conference for the Mona Lisa.

In the evening we went to the Théâtre du Châtelet to see Clare play Kathy Seldon, the lead female in Singin’ In The Rain. Due to the popularity of the performance (musical theatre is less ubiquitous in Paris so is hugely popular when it arrives), we had to sit separately: the boys were sat up with the Gods and the girls were sat down with the mortals. Initially I was worried I wasn’t going to see anything but by craning my neck into the downward duck I found my view wasn’t so bad. Ashamedly, I’m not familiar with the film. I like old black and whites so I’m not sure how I’ve missed it. The story chronicles the rise of ‘talkies’ in place of silent cinema. Two actors have to adjust to this transition: Don Lockwood, a grafter who got himself to Hollywood via his bootstraps; and Linda Lamont, a talent vacuum with the voice of one. Over the course of the story, Clare’s character Kathy becomes Don’s love interest and muse, inspiring him to put art over commerce. Her performance as Kathy was brilliant. She dances, sings and acts brilliantly. To be good at one thing requires hard work; to be good at three requires complete dedication. It’s really pleasing to see that being rewarded with sell-out crowds. Afterwards, we went up to her dressing room. Unfortunately, everyone was lovely and civil; I was hoping for backstage jealousies and acute neurosis like in Birdman but it wasn’t to be.

Clare in action.

We then hit the town and went into a bar for drinks. By this point we’d all been up since nine and had walked the width and breadth of the city. I was a spent force. I needed a pick me up. Rich, Clare’s boyfriend, instigated a round of shots. I’m a big fan of tequila so I ordered a flaming one - because I’m a big fan of spectacle too. Ended up having three of them. I slept pretty soundly that night.

The next morning, we went to the Notre Dame Cathedral, which my lovely girlfriend told me is famous for having two clocks that were once set to different times. The reason for this was to apparently confuse the devil if he returned to Earth. I have since looked this up and found no evidence of this. Is this true anyone? I do like the idea of the Devil being hell-bent on destruction then on seeing two different times, thinking: “Well, there’s no point now. If I’m going to destroy the earth, I want to know what time I’ve done it. (Shaking fist) Bloody clocks always stand in the way of world domination.”

The Devil hates it when the clocks change.

Lastly, we went to a gluten-free restaurant that Zoe had organised. For Harriet this was manna from the Gods. So many times she has her choices limited but here she had free rein to eat her fill. I never thought wheat substitutes could make me so happy, but seeing her sweet face beam was a lovely sight.

I had a great time in Paris. It’s not as good as the seaside, but it's a close second.

Maxine Peake

Marcel Marceau: national treasure?

This week I've been thinking Maxine Peake is brilliant.
Currently Comic Relief is trailing a sketch where celebrities compete to be named ‘Britain’s National Treasure.’ Personalities taking part are former racist, Cheryl Fernandez-Versini; topless feminist, Katie Price; and industry anarchist, Russell Brand. Last week I watched a programme fronted by a genuine national treasure: Maxine Peake.

Maxine Peake began her career in Paul Abbot’s, Shameless. When Shameless first aired it was a completely different show to what it became. Originally, Abbot pillaged his childhood for storylines: like the Gallagher children of the show, he too had a feckless father and absent mother. Despite documenting the hardship of being poor, a rich vein of humour ran through the show. Over time Abbot wrote fewer episodes, ceding control of his autobiography to ghostwriters who- judging by their caricatured take on character- took most of their plot-lines from The Jeremy Kyle Show. In many ways the direction of the show is a metaphor for the country’s view of the working class: what was once viewed as a 3D set-up is now mocked as a 2D punch-line.

Maxine Peake is a passionate voice that challenges the pernicious image of the working poor. Last year on The Culture Show, I saw her visiting Manchester’s ‘People’s History Museum.’ In a building that documents the struggle of the labour movement, she spoke passionately about being a young Communist and lifelong Socialist. Later in the episode, she was seen performing Shelly’s 1819 poem, The Masque of Anarchy – a lyrical response to the Peterloo Massacre, where 15 protestors were killed by the State. Shelly’s invocation to democracy: ‘we are many, they are few’ was she said as pertinent then as it is now. At a time when Oscars are won on the playing fields of Eton, it is refreshing to still have an actor in the old tradition: northern, working-class and politically angry.

Maxine Peake at Manchester's 'Albert Hall.'

Flicking through the channels, I noticed she was presenting a show called Artsnight. A guest curates the show each week, giving them free license to choose the artistic content. It began with a round-table discussion between her and other women in the arts on what can be done to open up the industry to female voices. The general consensus was affordable child-care barred women from participation.

Peake then moved on to discuss Shelagh Delaney, a playwright currently undergoing something of a renaissance with revivals of her work up and down the country. I first heard of Delaney through Morrissey, my idol. Many of his lyrics were transposed from her 1958 play, Taste of Honey. Even if you’re not a Smiths aficionado, the film is a required watch as it shows a maverick at work: the black and white films of the time were escapist, loquacious swoons; Taste, on the other hand, was a taboo-busting, raw-wry celebration of non-conformity.

Next, Peake ran a feature on the band, Sleaford Mods. Although I don’t buy as much music as I used to, I read a lot of music websites and consider myself quite up to date with what’s going on. But to my disappointment, I wasn’t even aware they existed. I concurred with Peake’s view on the band: they are what this anaemic country needs. So many disempowered people are turning to the politics of hate because the establishment has let them down – these are depressing days. In response, Mods have written an album that drops its trousers over the privileged and, in a feat of verbal diarrhoea, proceeds to shit in their mouths. Apologies if that metaphor is base but it is representative of the scattergun humour of lyricist, Jason Williamson. The tune ‘You’re Brave,’ a satire on an antique collector’s party, is a great example of how cock, spleen and brain combine to create unique aural graffiti: ‘I just wanked in your toilet. Polish that you connoisseur. I’m a connoisseur. I conned you sir. Nicked your biscuits. Laughed with your mates. You fucking tit rifle.’

On one hand the words are coarse and repulsive; on the other he’s punned on the word connoisseur. Like the early series of Shameless, the band shows the irreverence and inventiveness of being working class. Given that so much attention is given to the former over the latter, it is important we have people like Peake championing creative outsiders.

The Artsnight show can be viewed here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b0551jtq

Newsjack

This week I’ve been listening to Newsjack.

There once was a time when Radio 4 comedy was under the control of the Oxbridge mafia. Anyone who tried to join ‘the family’ from outside the Home Counties was seen as interlopers, a threat to the syndicate. Thankfully, things seem to have changed. Now there are voices from other backgrounds. The station has even begun to notice there are more women than Sandi Toksvig. Pat-on-the-back satire and sanitized sketch shows are less frequent now; more exposure seems to be given to comics with an opinion: Bridget Christie’s recent Minds The Gap was a brilliant attack on sexism; Andrew O’Neill’s Pharmacist Baffler tackled homophobia and Susan Calman’s Convicted defied the oxymoron Glaswegian vulnerability.

Punt and Dennis: Oxbridge mafia

Another sign that radio has become more inclusive is the show Newsjack. Newsjack has now been running for a number of series, something I was unaware of. The ethos of the show is to celebrate new talent. The beauty of the show is anyone can contribute. You can be a comedian hoping to get work off the back of it or a moonlighter who just does it for a bit of fun. An added bonus is you get paid £20 for a one-liner and up to £40 for a sketch.

The topical show is presented by Nish Kumar, an accomplished comedian, currently enjoying plaudits for his recent Edinburgh show: Ruminations on Subjectivity. He does his own material at the top of the show, but from then on all the material comes from the public. This material is sifted from an avalanche of submissions and then performed by professionals in front of a live audience. 

Performers at work

The producers accept jokes in different forms: one-liners, sketches and vox pops. The only caveat is that it must be based on the week’s news. Given I don’t have a background in sketch comedy, I started by submitting one-liners. Here are a few I wrote based on last week’s news:

• Madonna blames cape for fall. Marvel respond by recalling Batman for safety checks.

• Nigel Farage removes pint and cigar to speak out against rumours of ill-health.

• OFCOM investigates ‘This Morning’ bondage segment. Producers have expressed excitement over possible punishment.

Although none of these got accepted, I do think they’re good jokes and felt confident writing them. The vox pops I really struggled with though. There, you have to make a 'talking head' funny. An example of one broadcast was: ‘I’m amazed Eddie Redmayne got an Oscar for his Stephen Hawking impression. When I did mine at work I got a disciplinary from HR.’ Here was my attempt: “I think Cameron’s right. Free speech in university should be curbed. They should charge £9000 a year for

it.” I just find writing a joke as a character in the 1^st person a lot more difficult than writing a joke in

the 3^rd person. From a writer’s point of view, I’m hoping to develop my skills over the series and maybe even give sketch comedy a go.

Generic writer's block pic

With four more shows to run, there’s still a chance for me and you to get something on. So have a look at the bottom of the page for details on how to submit.

Either way, listen to the show because it’s very funny and supports new talent.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/articles/1hDdvFLfWClPHW7zT3sq01S/submit-a-sketch

Newsjack is on Radio 4 Extra, Thursday at 10.30 pm.