Pierre Novellie "You Sit There, I'll Stand Here", The Stand, Glasgow. Saturday 16th May, 2026

 

Certain elements of this gig will remain memorable (esp as I've now typed them out). 

Firstly, it was a sell-out, so the staff advised us not to leave any spare seats. However, the seat legs were touching, only leaving sufficient space for the arsecheeks of a toddler. It soon became apparent that, as the show was attended by adults, most of whom were larger than a toddler, someone in each row was going to draw the narrow straw. We bailed to the benches at the back rather than squeeze beside a random stranger and watched in amusement as the losers discovered that they'd won the booby prize.

The man in the middle wishes he had no arms

Excuse me while I sit sideways for the duration of the show.

Thirdly, (I'll get to secondly later) I'd had little sleep, writing up my High Life blog into the wee hours, then up early the same day to give the dogs a long walk (not like the film - we all came home). We'd also dined at The Kelvin beforehand (lovely meal), so my brain was fighting a losing battle between post-prandial soporification and the negligible alerting effects of Coke Zero and Irn-Bru. Essentially, what I am saying is I wanted a nap.

It was a struggle. Pierre is low energy. His observational comedy is in his words, not his actions. When I closed my eyes, they didn't want to open again. The nod-off alert jump freaked me out a couple of times. Which was a shame because he was funny. The set detailed his recent life changes, including his move with the love of his life from Central London to the suburbs. 

He's now discovered a kernel of middle age is growing within him, despite only being thirty-five. He now finds himself commenting on the quality of other people's parking despite not having a car. He believes there are two types of people: dishwasher stackers, who know how to fill a dishwasher logically, and dishwasher artistes, who believe randomness is an expression of personality. Like magnets, the two types are mutually attracted to one another, as every relationship must have one of each. He can't blame everything on his autism, though he did admit his publisher was annoyed at him because they wanted to place his self-help book about the condition under Comedian Memoir, and he said 'No'. Flatly refused to budge because it wasn't a memoir, even if that marketing would have made him more money. 

I missed some of the other bits, but I did stay focused for his finale, detailing the grand move across London. His fiancée couldn't be present on moving day, and he'd just returned from Melbourne, but rather than rearrange the moving date with the moving company and incur an £8 penalty, he insisted he could do it without her. The tale grew funnier and funnier the longer it went on, as mishap followed mishap. For example, he realised he had become the wierdo on the underground as his treasured frozen steaks defrosted around his neck, multiple tote bags becoming soiled with blood. 

Secondly, the preshow music playlist wasn't long enough and repeated randomly. Maybe it was so short because these are the only songs he likes, and therefore, why play others? I was a bit freaked out by this. 

Where Were You? by Mekons
Come On by Jules Tropicana

That's Entertainment by The Jam

Where Were You? by Mekons

Things Can Only Get Better by D:Ream

Fugue State by Vulfpack

Come On by Jules Tropicana

TV Star by Du Blonde

Lowly by Young Fathers

Where Were You? by Mekons

Wait for the Moment by Vulfpack

Fugue State by Vulfpack

Come On by Tropicana

   

Kurt Cobain lives?

I understand the image on the left: Pregnant women get to sit. 
But the one on the right?
If you have a puppet (or doll) on your lap, perch against a standing pensioner?
Surely not?
(Pictured on the Glasgow Subway carriage wall)

I don't know why I wrote the bits out of order. Perhaps I was trying to mix things up. I don't like it, but won't change it. A few people have commented that they think I'm edging along the Autistic spectrum. I'm beginning to accept that they may be correct. 

Pierre was good. Next time, I'd like to see him in the evening. Make it happen, please.

Ticket Price: 2 x £17.50 = £35.00, plus Booking Fee £1.60 = £36.60 from The Stand (on member
presale).

The High Life - The Musical, King's Theatre, Glasgow. Friday 15th May, 2026.

What a stoater of a show! 

It could so easily have gone wrong, resurrecting a single-series sitcom as a stage musical after thirty-plus years. But with the main cast back and a cracking script, they pulled it off (dearie me, I've already descended into innuendo).

I'd not had a good day. I'd frittered away my morning on indecision, broken a soup bowl at lunchtime and ended up having to bathe the dog after the afternoon walk (if she's not eating it, she's rolling in it, and sometimes both). 

We left early to avoid potential motorway traffic, but the M8 roadworks were gone. As such, we arrived in town so early that we had time for a drink in Hengler's Circus. A glass of white for the lady and a can of 'ginger' for me (that's what we called Irn-Bru, and other fizzy drinks, back in the day). The pub was full of rockers downing cheap pints before heading to The Garage for AC/DC UK & Dizzy Lizzy. 

At the King's, I was slightly disappointed that the staff didn't direct us to our seats dressed as Air Scotia flight attendants. That would have been cool, though prohibitively expensive. The sound of aircraft zooming overhead replaced any pre-show music. Amber spotlights spun propeller shapes across the auditorium walls. We spotted screens on the Grand Circle balcony displaying the orchestra conductor. There was a real buzz of anticipation amongst the audience.

I bought a programme (only £6). The cover was cleverly designed to resemble an in-flight magazine. I didn't bother with the other merch. I can't picture myself ever wearing an Air Scotia T-shirt with "oh dearie me!" on the back.

An announcement reminded us that no nuts were allowed in the auditorium because of a cast member's extreme allergy. Then we spotted TV presenters and interior designers Colin and Justin sneaking in just before the lights dimmed. Those two facts are unrelated.

The show itself was sooooo gooood. The choreography is fantastic, the songs funny (I spotted allusions to Les Mis and Hamilton) and the script is packed with so many Scottish references that sassenachs would need a wikipage to understand them all (there's name checks for Lorraine Kelly, Nicola Sturgeon, Sheena Easton, Sidney Devine and Lena Zavaroni, amongst many others, as well as more subtle ones such as naming two characters Logan and Milroy). The cast, especially the four leads, were brilliant. This wasn't ham, this was Marks and Spencer's Best Ever Mature Ham, sliced with satire and lightly spiced with in-joke references (even a Traitors joke). I had tears in my eyes from laughing. It was funny to hear the laughs roll across the audience as people caught some jokes at slightly different times.  

Louise McCarthy was hilarious as Heather, but I'd especially like to commend Kyle Gardiner for his role as Mylie. As a comic performance, it was up there with Kenneth Williams in expression. I could see him playing the Doctor one day (assuming he has the chops for drama, too).

We had two empty seats beside us in the stalls. Two ladies pinched them during the interval, alerted by their friends in the row behind. They were good value. "Auchterarder doesn't have many Ubers", one witheringly said to the other. 

This show is definitely a five-star experience. The standing ovation at the end was well deserved. Whatever blues I'd been feeling beforehand were definitely blown away. You could say I'm living the High Life.

Ticket Price: 2x £59.50 & Transaction fee £3.95 = £122.95 from ATG Tickets

Interval music:

Fly by Night by Rush

I'm Like A Bird by Nelly Furtado

Venus by Lady Gaga

Exit Music:

Apple by Charli xcx.

HORSE at the Month of Sundays (matinee show), The Bungalow, Paisley. Sunday 10th May, 2026.

I was especially excited for this gig, being able to catch Horse in such a small venue. It was quite a coup for The Bungalow to rein her in, especially as she recently sold out The Barrowland. 

We had 'unreserved' seating tickets, so we headed down early and parked nearby on George Street. The queue at 12.35 pm only had about half a dozen people waiting. A little after 1pm, the staff lifted the shutter and let us in. Tickets checked, a 'D' marked in turquoise pen on the back of one hand, we headed in to choose where to sit. 

No. That wasn't happening. All the tables had reservation laminates on them, surnames added in marker pen. What we had to do was play a game of "Find Your Table". We lucked out with a spot near the front with an unhindered view. 

The hour before showtime flew by. I read a little, 'Shazam'd the preshow music, and watched the fun and games play out as people sat at the wrong tables. It seems some in Paisley can't read. Shocker! It all got sorted, and it turned out that a couple of tables at the front remained empty. Maybe the respective parties didn't realise and sat elsewhere.

One of the No-Shows

We were so close to the front that we could almost taste Horse's chewing gum. Indeed, she referred to us as being in her pebble-dash zone, meaning saliva spit, not an explosive rear evacuation. 

Horse explained that she didn't usually play the guitar on stage, though she often wrote her songs with one. This added pressure: she couldn't use her hands while she sang, except to play the guitar. She also needed to tune the guitar between songs, much to everyone's amusement, especially when bassist Lorny T had to step in to correct her when she'd tuned it in the wrong key. 

This was Jenny Clifford's fourth outing on guitar (and vocals) with Horse. She seemed much more relaxed than she had been at the Barrowlands.

The set was advertised as being an hour long, but was actually closer to two, not that anyone was complaining. Consisting of classic singles, B-sides, album tracks and one cover, she captivated us with her voice and music. The atmosphere felt so intimate, the audience mostly behaved, and it was a genuinely lovely experience. Horse comes across as such a lovely, gifted person. 

After the show, I pinched a setlist from the stage. We could have waited in the merch queue for an autograph and/or a selfie, but didn't. I was happy with my souvenir. 

Once again, Horse did us proud. Writing this several hours later, I'm still feeling giddy (up).

Setlist:  

Ticket Price: (unreserved seating) 2 x £26 plus Booking Fee £5 & eTicket fee £0.50 = £57.50 from Tickets Scotland. 

VIDEOS

Never Not Going To

And She Smiled

You Could Be Forgiven

The Speed of the Beat of my Heart

PHOTOS 

Preshow Music:

Benny And The Jets by Elton John

Out Of Touch by Daryl Hall & John Oates

More Than A Woman by Bee Gees

Africa by Toto

Have You Ever Seen The Rain by Creedence Clearwater Revival

Tom's Diner (featuring Suzanne Vega by DNA

Little Lies by Fleetwood Mac

Use Me by Bill Withers

Changes by David Bowie

Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God) by Kate Bush

Don't Stand So Close to Me by The Police

Rocket Man by Elton John

Girls by Sugababes

Outro Music

Move Over Darling by Doris Day (band dance along)   

Admiral Fallow Stripped Back Instore Performance - Assai Records, Glasgow. Saturday 9th May, 2026

A free gig from one of my faves, well, four of them, performing a stripped back set for their adoring fans. I was so jealous of the bloke to my right, taking videos with his undisturbed view,  while I had a tall, bald chap blocking my eyeline. Loads of kids formed a creche down the front (literally - they were all toddlers), Louis commenting that one was dancing so much (his son?), the taller people at the back would do well to copy his moves.

The sound was crystal clear, the music beautiful. A lovely atmosphere. Shame I couldn't wait to get anything signed, as I had a parent to collect from the station (rail, not police).

  

Setlist

Avalanche

Living For You

The Paper Trench

Tuesday Grey

Headstrong

Dead Against Smoking (Louis fluffed the lyrics after his phone screen switched off)

Guest of the Government

Four Bulbs

Free gig (unticketed)

Sauchiehall Street was hosting a mini festival today. These guys were on stage as I headed for Central Station (2pm).

 

CANCELLED -The Wonder Room, voco Grand Central, Glasgow. Friday 1st May, 2026

Event refunded.

Good afternoon.

Due to the ongoing impacts of the Union St fire, Voco Grand Central Hotel is still closed. The hotel is within Glasgow City Council's exclusion zone and cannot reopen.

Unfortunately, this means we are unable to host The Wonder Room and need to cancel all upcoming shows in April and May. This is a difficult situation that's outside my control or the hotel's.

I appreciate that some of you will have waited a long time to get tickets for the show and will be disappointed that the shows have been cancelled.

Once we have confirmation from the hotel that we can reopen, you will be contacted with a private link to buy tickets for future public show dates before they are on public sale.

In the meantime, refunds will be issued to all customers via Evertbrite. You do not need to do anything. This may take a few days to process as per Eventbrite's Terms & Conditions.

I'd like to extend a massive thank you to everyone who has bought a ticket and supported the show. It really means a lot to me. Hopefully, we'll be able to welcome you very soon.

Cheers.

R x

Overview

An intimate magic show performed in Glasgow.

The Wonder Room is Glasgow magician Ryan K. Davidson’s new one-man show in residence in one of the city's most historical and iconic venues, offering a unique, up-close experience of magic and storytelling to a strictly limited audience.

Set in an intimate, purpose-designed suite in the luxurious voco Grand Central Hotel in the heart of Glasgow, The Wonder Room opens its doors every week by ticket or invitation only.

Each show is limited to 20 tickets, ensuring everyone in the room is a participant and not merely a spectator.

WRITTEN AND PERFORMED BY: Ryan K. Davidson

RUNNING TIME: 1 hr 50mins without interval

AGE RESTRICTION: 16+

Ticket Price: £50.16 for two from Eventbrite.

Tim Key "Loganberry", Monkey Barrel, Edinburgh. Monday 27th April, 2026

 

I am struggling to find the words to review this show. Tim's unique take on comedy encompasses outrage, shouting, stamping his feet, reciting poetry and stressing parts of words in an unusual manner (e.g., scroTUM), all under the guise of being an underdog who's award-winning and artistically famous.  

The show is about what happened while he was writing it. Sitting in a cafe, with his special pen (blue, green, red, AND black), he sets out to write his next award-winning opus. He's distracted by the waitress, by the unexpected appearance of Greg Rusedski (why not?) and by the invitation from Gabby Logan to appear on her Midpoint podcast, triggering a rumination about his life - at 38, half of 76, he might be regarded as middle-aged, so what does that mean when he's actually 48? {he's actually 49, but not when he wrote the show}

As we enter the performance space, he's already on stage, in his dishevelled suit, shirt open at the collar, wearing a white baseball cap. He acknowledges our arrival with a nod as he paces slowly around the tiny stage, sometimes facing the wall or grasping the microphone stand. He pulls nervous smiles like a child. He does this for nearly twenty minutes while the audience fills the sold-out venue. 

I'm sitting at the side, right against the wall, probably one of the worst views in the room. The bloke behind me is standing up, chatting with his female company. Suddenly, I feel a wash of beer slap against my head, splashing inside my glasses, soaking down my front. 

"Oh, sorry, mate," he quips casually. 

An innocent accident, but I feel rage boiling. I've got beer blotches expanding across the front of my lime green shirt. Nothing I can do, though, much as I want to confront the bloke and retaliate by chucking the remainder of my Irn Bru can across his face. I use my shirt tail to dry the inside of my spectacles. Fucker! Now, my drive home from Edinburgh will be stinking of beer. Yuck!   

Eventually, Tim steps off the stage and wanders to the back of the room. A spotlight hits him as he recites a poem, beginning the show. He ambles towards the stage, kicking a carrier bag forward. He lifts it and throws it from a distance onto the stage, joining it shortly afterwards. He puts on a tie (he's not a barbarian) and opens the bag, taking out a can. He pulls the ring. Lager sprays in the air like a fountain, which he struggles to stem using his hand and jacket. He's got it all over him. He blows the foam off the top of the can into the audience, reaching the third row, then takes a drink. Suddenly, I'm not the only one in the audience beer-infused, but at least when it happened to them, it was part of the show. He passes the can to a man in the front row to look after (he'll request its return several times throughout the show).  

He talks about his mother, his father, being single and a celebrity. He should be a catch. He's got eight thousand pounds in the bank. He lets the waitress kiss his Richard Osman House of Games suitcase. He doesn't care. She's allowed. 

Every poem is bizarre, a vignette of truth and humour, a word painting of his world. He recites them from cards the size of playing cards, discarding them onto the floor when they're done. 

His outbursts away from the microphone rail against the injustices of his life. He has no kids. He's frozen his sperm. "No grandmother wants to visit a block of frozen cum," he rails. 

The sixty-eight-minute show takes a turn near the end when a poem introduces us to his malignant melanoma - the C-word. He'll say it. He's not scared. That cunt of a doctor told him he had cancer. The swear word punctures the tension. He had it removed. He's fine. He goes on Gabby's podcast.   

So ends his tale of mortality. We should be blessed for hearing his wisdom. He walks off, with his stick and bindle (he's ashamed he had to Google the word) over his shoulder, to continue his life as a lonely traveller. 

It was an experience unlike any other show I've seen. No wonder it received multiple five-star reviews. I'm glad I made the trip to Edinburgh, even if I came home stinking of beer.

Ticket Price: £46.00 + Booking fees £2.64 = Total £48.64 from Monkey Barrel (Presale)

Craig Ferguson "Pants On Fire" Tour, O2 Academy Glasgow. Sunday 26th April 2026

 

"So you know, this show has been rescheduled from Saturday, 21 June 2025. If you’ve already got tickets, they’ll still be valid, so hang on to them; your ticket agent will be in touch to tell you more.

Craig Ferguson is a multiple GRAMMY-nominated, Peabody and Emmy Award-winning actor, writer, producer, director and comedian with a diverse career that encompasses film, television and the stage. Join him on his 'Pants on Fire' UK tour."

There's a reason John Mulaney can support 13 Vietnamese. His ticket prices were more than double that of Craig Ferguson, Cumbernauld's top international comedian (sorry, Stuart Mitchell). Okay, John brought two more comedians than Craig, but tonight Craig gave us our money's worth: an hour and a half of him telling stories, all of which were true, except for the parts which were not. 

The preshow music was entirely by Talking Heads, from the album '77', tracks so obscure that Shazam found them too tricky to identify. To be fair, the audience was noisy, and the music wasn't, so the app didn't have much of a chance. It even failed to identify Psycho Killer. 

It did recognise:

Don't Worry About the Government;

Uh-Oh, Love Comes To Town;

Happy Day;

and No Compassion.

He came on pretending to play the bagpipes in a high-energy opening, marching about the stage, wiggling his ass and showing off his fake skills. When he cut the music, he explained why there wasn't a support act: they cost money. Why fork out for a less good comedian, when he could be less good himself and keep all the money? 

But surely, Craig, you don't need the money? You live in America and have won numerous prestigious awards for your work. 

Yes, this is true, but... look at it this way. He's playing a rescheduled date on a Sunday night in a former cinema in the Gorbals area of Glasgow. How well do we think his career is going?

He pulled out some special memories that only we would appreciate, like when his dad explained to him as a young lad, taking him for his first beer, that any woman smoking outside a pub was really a prostitute. He swore this as fact, despite the evidence to the contrary. "But, Dad, she's my Sunday School teacher".

Craig has perfected the buffering head-wobble/rictus-grin expression to punctuate anything he's said that's slightly dodgy. He admits he's not always been on the right side of right. In 2017, he recorded his Tickle Fight special in July, but by the time it aired in December, the whole world had changed because of #MeToo. Suddenly, using "Can Your Pussy Do the Dog?" by The Cramps as your intro and outro music didn't seem like such a wise choice. 

He's also not proud of himself for his repeated use of the palm plant over his face to represent the cumshot ending of every porn film. He knows it's wrong, but it makes people laugh, and that's his job.

He remarked early on that he would be using a "reverse callback" using the word "Ting", explaining that the word would appear in a joke later on in the show. I found that a clever spin on a commonly used comedy convention.     

He told us tales of offloading a $300 classic car to Jay Leno as a present when the host finished up on The Tonight Show, only for Jay to speak to the top people at Ford, who souped up the car so much that it became the most expensive car the company had ever made. 

Craig bought a haunted castle in Ayrshire because the price was about the same as a small apartment in the Hollywood Hills. He lived there for a few years but sold it when he realised the amount he was paying Scottish Power to heat it would fund a large apartment in the Hollywood Hills.

There were other stories, but I'm struggling to recall them now. I think that's because he often veered off on tangents, which were probably scripted, but came across as spontaneous.   

He finished on a joke, a simple one: setup/punchline, one of the first he ever heard. It was one of Bernard Manning's, so I won't repeat it here (because I can't remember it). Then he left the stage to the sound of The Cramps. What a cheeky boy!

As the night progressed, the woman on my left (who had one helluva barking cough) became more vocal, answering Craig's questions at a conversational, not heckling, level, often expressing agreement or chuckling as she repeated his punchline to herself. She hadn't been drinking and seemed normal in every other way. She was with her husband. It must be nice to engage with a comedian on such a deep level, where you think they are talking only to you. Maybe I just wasn't listening properly. I can't even remember the last joke Craig told.

Full Price Ticket: £32.50 x 2 = £65.00
Service Fee: £4.40 x 2 = £8.80
Venue Facility Fee: £1.75 x 2 = £3.50
Handling Fee £2.85

Total: £80.15 via Ticketmaster