A Very John Kearns Christmas

In getting married this year, we felt it right that we spend Christmas Day together. In previous years we’d exchanged presents in the morning and then went off to our respective families. After much toing and froing, argument and counter, rhetoric of the highest order, my parents won through and it was agreed that I would spend Christmas with my in-laws. (I’m too funny for my own good sometimes.)


Having been together for six years, I’ve enjoyed many a hot dinner with her family. But a Christmas meal is different. The routine, traditions and choices are completely idiosyncratic: some have passed through generations for centuries, as old as surnames. My family is small so present unwrapping doesn’t take very long: the youngest opens first, then it goes round in circles until the recylce bag calls a halt. The Girl has a bigger extended family so their approach is more free-form Jazz with no imposed structure and an improvisational quality to proceedings. At my house you’re onto the main course straightaway: a dinner so mountainous that Ranulph Fiennes would have second thoughts. At her house there was a starter to ease your course, a float down the Nile before the Pyramids. What was similar though were the crackers across crossed arms, lame jokes and carousing. It was a lovely day and I appreciate how lucky I am to say that.

Contemplating my mum's Christmas dinner.

One thing that I circled my Radio Times for, but didn’t listen to on the day - because of the all eating - was A Very John Kearns Christmas. I first saw John Kearns in Edinburgh 2014 where I was fortunate to get in. I was lucky because Kearns was the talk of the town. The previous year he won Best Newcomer for Sight Gags for Perverts and there was industry talk that he was going to go one better and win Best Show for Schtick (he did). With his elevated standing, Kearns could have been in a bigger room, but because of the nature of his character he opted to stay on the Free Fringe, thence the queue to see him. I really enjoyed the show, but it wasn’t what I expected. I had read a few reviews so I knew it wasn’t going to be big gestured, radio mic stand-up. However, I didn’t know it would have more in common with Tony Hancock and Alan Bennett. It took me a while to settle into the wry rhythms; by the time I did I was charmed. I’ve been following his career ever since, particularly enjoying his 2015 Radio 4 series.


John Kearns is the creation of John Kearns. Before winning Best Newcomer he wondered whether he would ever make it. Like many comedians, he tried on many hats, attempting stand-up in different ways, with none making great waves. In 2012 at a charity fundraiser he donned a badly fitted wig and fake teeth; in doing so, he found his voice and character. This costuming is explained by Kearns in a Sunday Post interview, ‘With stand-up so many go on, and everyone is a lie, everyone’s wearing a mask.’ John Bishop might appear an everyman, yet he writes those routines in a mansion. Every comedian is playing a character, amplifying certain things, playing down others; it’s just some literally put on clothes to make the lie more apparent.

Kearns' seasonal special is framed around the idea of writing to an absent friend at Christmas, updating them on what’s passed and what’s to come. It opens with the postman bringing the post; after a few doorstep pleasantries, Kearns slams the latch, complaining, ‘A postman with gloves - it ain’t right. I mean what postie don’t like the feel of paper.’ The John Kearns character is a traditionalist, a nostalgist that likes things just so. When he sits down to write his missive, he deliberates on how to begin. It’s a rumination that culminates in him using ‘hark’ - after all, ‘Hark, ‘tis, you’ve got to use these words in December.'


Kearns is a man that knows language. As a former guide in the House of Commons, he was at the centre of discourse; his skill as a linguist is evident in this work. He describes a tacky gift from a neighbor taking pride and place in his parents' living room: ‘Imagine getting this and then imagine keeping it.’ Later, he talks about his family meal, describing how the cheese was so strong it ‘started asking people outside for a fight’ and how the Christmas Pud is ‘doused in Athenian brandy.’ Kearns is a details man; he doesn’t deal in the broad brushstrokes of arena comedy, favouring the minutiae of people, places and things.

John Kearns

Alongside the pinpoint description there are wonderful flights of fancy. The preparation for the Christmas meal is described with all the urgency of an Embassy siege; there’s codenames, radios, people in position, setbacks and crises before news gets through that everything’s ok. Later, Kearns muses on how Raymond Briggs’ had the biggest impression on how he perceived Santa. From there, Kearns imagines being Santa’s wingman, soaring across the sky, recommending service stations in the clouds, only this time it’s not Reading on the M4 with M&S and Arlo’s Pantry and Kitchen, but the make-believe Viking that has a Farmers Market, replete with local cheeses and 'weird bread.’ This surreal episode best sums up Kearns’ craft: he takes a humdrum topic like motorway stops and invests in them something magical, putting an extraordinary twist on the ordinary.


Interspersed throughout Kearns’ account are genuine recordings from his family Christmas where his mum talks Mass, his dad cracker jokes and his gran fish and chips. What most families talk about isn’t profound, but it doesn’t make it any less important. Our silly habits, traditions and in-jokes are what tie us all together. Kearns recognises this and celebrates it. A Very John Kearns Christmas is very John Kearns indeed: few comics could capture a special time in such a way.


A Very John Kearns Christmas is available on BBC Sounds.