Jarlath Regan - In Bits, Pavilion Theatre, Glasgow Friday 6th June, 2025

Since I retired, my inner Victor Meldrew has bloomed. Take tonight, for example. I had tickets for an accomplished Irish comedian, who was playing the Pavilion. We headed into Glasgow early but got stuck in traffic, most of which was probably heading to see Kylie at the Hydro. I'd have liked to see Kylie, but the tickets were expensive, and I'd already bought tickets for this fellow. That doesn't mean that my missing Kylie didn't fester deep within me.

We get a drink in Walkabout before the show. I need to pee, so I use the gents, only to find they have a bloody attendant sitting beside the sinks handing out sheets of toilet paper for us to dry our hands. I don't use any of the aftershaves or deodorant he's cluttered around the sinks, but still feel obliged to give him some change. I'd only intended to spend a penny, but it ended up costing me a pound (note to self, don't empty out your wallet of small change). 

The gig is fine. Jarlath performs two sets, with a brief interval, allowing the venue to sell snacks and alcohol. The chap next to me buys a pint and a mini tube of cheese and onion Pringles. Their whiff makes me boak. Seriously. It turns my stomach big time. I have to resort to sucking a Werthers Original to block out the noxious vapour. (Yes, I'm so old I carry Werthers now) I want to get back at him but my farts are silent but not deadly. As ineffective as my rage. 

The theatre is warm, despite not being full, so I feel a bit sleepy. Jarlath's style of comedy is conversational, with a touch of blarney. His material is predominantly Irish-centric, discussing the energy of an Irish Mammy and the beauty of an Irish Goodbye, among many topics. There aren't many huge laughs, but the humour is consistent. He's charming and funny, and I enjoyed his comedy. He might not have had the big production values of Kylie's show, but I bet she wasn't prepared to greet whoever wanted to meet him in the lobby afterwards. He had a queue waiting by the time we got out, and I doubt any were there to ask for a refund.

We headed back to where I'd parked the car. The police were having an issue with an obstreperous youth in a Celtic top, who signalled an incorrect football score to them with his middle fingers (in tonight's friendly, Scotland lost 3:1 to Iceland - I'm assuming the country, not the supermarket chain, but you never know). The youth drunkenly refused to walk on, despite being telt. We missed what happened next, as my wife doesn't enjoy such forms of public entertainment.  

Sauchiehall Street now has more benches packed along its pedestrian area than shops. Is this the City Council's new approach to addressing the homeless problem? With fewer shops and therefore fewer doorways, these benches may be intended to provide an alternative sleeping location for the homeless. If only they'd thought to give the benches a solid seat, the homeless could have slept under them to keep dry when it rained (which is usually a lot).

This message is on every bin.
People Make Sauchiehall Street... 
Answers on graffiti, please.

We return to my car to find this...

Mine is the grey car behind the BMW. I've erased his five-digit private number plate from the image because I'm sure it was his second choice, after C4UNT was unavailable. He'd boxed me in so well that it took me six turns to edge past him. Thank Ford for parking cameras and sensors. I was not best pleased for the remainder of my journey home. Another BMW cut me up on Renfrew Rd, overtaking from behind me despite me indicating I was changing lane. 

My long-suffering wife, who had thoroughly enjoyed the comedy, having a thing for the Irish accent, asked me, "What does it matter really?" 

I kept quiet. 

What I was thinking was, "It matters because they think they're better than me in their flashy, expensive, fast cars. They think they can drive all over me with impunity. And I know they can, because the only response I've got is a toot of the horn or a flash of my headlights, maybe a rude gesture directed at their rear view mirror. Big deal.

When we got home, the stress continued when Poppy, my puppy, got in on the act. My wife handed me my slippers, and before I could get my foot into the second one, Poppy ran off with it, hiding from me behind the sofa. I get no respect from anyone.

If only I'd gone to see Kylie, everything could have been so different. 

I should be so lucky.

Ticket Price: £32 x 2 plus £3.95 booking fee = £67.95 from Trafalgar Tickets

Ed Byrne, Tragedy Plus Time, Pavilion Theatre, Glasgow. Sunday 22nd September, 2024

Tour blurb:

Attributed to Mark Twain, humour is defined as Tragedy Plus Time. Come and join Ed as he tests that formula by mining the most tragic event in his life for laughs.

We have received the news that due to a performance opportunity in New York, Ed Byrne will no longer be able to appear at the Pavilion Theatre on Friday 10th November (2023). We have however managed to secure a new date, and the show will now take place on Sunday 22nd September 2024!

I was dying to see this show. It had been the highest-rated of all the Edinburgh Fringe shows of 2023, with the press describing it as "poignant, touching, spiky and laugh-out-loud funny."  Laced with black humour, it recounted Ed's relationship with his younger brother, Paul, and the rocky times they shared up until Paul's death. My kind of comedy. Then, as you read above, the show was postponed. Fecker! Putting his desire to further his career over my need to laugh. How bloody selfish!

The two seats in front of us remained empty.

I had my heckle "About bloody time!" primed and then I remembered I'm as meek as a mouse with a voice that doesn't project further than my nose, so I chose to remain silent. 

Ed came on first to warm us up for his support act, Amy Matthews. He railed at the four empty seats in the front row, knowing they had been sold, commenting he reckoned that was the ultimate heckle, not turning up, knowing it was the best way to get under his skin. Then, instead of saying nice things about Amy, he undercut her introduction with playful jibes like "You'll know her from her blog, 'Ten Things I hate about Glasgow', updated hourly." All in impish fun. 

I can't tell you what Amy talked about because I closed my eyes and tuned out. My temporary mental absence might have been due to her Emily Blunt-sounding accent or her bland material. I could vaguely hear others laughing, so this one's on me. I'm sure she was delightful. 

Ed was brilliant. Given that his now-dead little brother was a renowned comedy director who helped up-and-coming performers fine-tune their shows, this was a perfect tribute to him. Every line was a killer, crafted for maximum comic effect. Yes, the material was dark but never shocking. Even the darkest joke he'd ever told was fitting in context. Even though Ed has been performing this show all over the world for over a year, he choked up at one point, retelling a conversation he'd had with his sister. He confessed that this was probably because he had family in the audience, his older brother (now just brother).

I'm glad I got to see this show now and not at the Fringe. There, it was constrained to one hour. Tonight, he gave us seventy minutes, even managing to throw in a funny topical aside about the Oasis reunion. 

The show was not a sell-out. That was a shame because comedy doesn't get much better than this. I hope he records it for posterity, though getting clearance for Sebadoh III (the album Ed played on his phone while a comatose Paul was dying in hospital) might prove costly.    

On the drive home, I thought I was getting chest pains, probably from all the laughing. I could have taken a detour to the Queen Elizabeth Hospital to get checked out but instead continued home, figuring that if I died within the next seven days, my wife would at least collect an extra death-in-service payment on top of my life insurance. That's how much of a caring husband I am.

Ticket Price: £27.50 x 2, plus £1.50 Postage and £2.65 Transaction Fee, from Pavilion Theatre (now Trafalgar Tickets).

Tommy Tiernan, "Tommedian" Pavilion Theatre, Glasgow. Saturday 6th April, 2024

This was the email I received prior to the event:

We're getting in touch with a reminder that the Tommy Tiernan show on Saturday, 6 April 2024, is a PHONE-FREE event. Here's some further information for you:

THIS EVENT IS A PHONE-FREE SHOW

WHAT IS A “PHONE-FREE SHOW”? Just as it sounds. Use of phones/digital devices will not be permitted in the performance space.

HOW DOES IT WORK? Upon arrival at the venue, Yondr (the phone-pouching company hired to do this) will have staff available to help you put your phone in a lockable pouch which you keep throughout the night. There will be ticket writers on site to assist if you had a mobile ticket on your phone. If you have reserved seating please take note of your Block, Row and Seat Number from your digital ticket before you arrive at the venue.

WHAT IF I HAVE AN EMERGENCY AND NEED TO ACCESS MY PHONE? You can unlock your phone from the pouch at any time by going to the clearly marked ‘Phone Use Area’ located within the venue. Please see any usher or Yondr staff if you need help finding it.

WHAT ABOUT BARS OR MERCHANDISE? Please bring your physical credit/debit card with you for use at the bar/concessions in the venue.

WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS & IS IT MANDATORY? Yes, it is mandatory. We’re convinced this makes for a better show for everyone involved. Our eyes open a bit wider, and our senses are slightly more heightened when we lose the technology crutch we’ve become accustomed to. And yes, it’s a non-negotiable deal.

I expected carnage with a huge queue of people around the block outside the theatre waiting to have their phones pouched. Instead, we found entry slick and fast, with slight security and no one questioning whether we had a phone as we bypassed the Yondr table and headed up the stairs. It did look odd, though, to see so many people entering the auditorium delicately clutching their pouches, unsure what to do with them.  

My wife asked me, "What if someone's phone isn't switched off and it rings? They can't open the pouch to turn it off." 

I smiled. "Wouldn't that be amusing!" 

Disappointingly, it never happened. (We left our phones at home). 

There are two empty seats on my left, despite the show being a sell-out. I speculate as to why: a sudden illness, a death in the family, a break-up involving one partner throwing out the other for spending all their time at work. Not that I'll ever find out. I enjoyed the extra room, though, being able to lean across without encroaching on someone else's space.  

The auditorium lights go down, a spotlight beam illuminates the microphone stand, and Tommy walks onto the stage without fanfare or introduction. Taking a moment to soak up the adulation from both sides of the audience, he then moves the stand out of the spotlight and takes the microphone. He makes a gleeful remark about us not having our phones, and we're off. 

Garbed all in black, topped with a woollen fisherman beanie hat, he stands before us as the Feral Philosopher King taking the stage to share his craic. He doesn't want anything to distract us from his craft. His pacing is measured and thoughtful, his language vulgar and forthright. He prowls the stage delivering his stories, digressing as the will takes him. He starts by acting out the many singing styles of Bob Dylan's career, then moves on to a story of a murdering paedophile on Death Row. He performs the condemned man's emotional final speech, delivered in front of both his family and the bereaved parents of his victims. He relates how he found Jesus at the end and how God has forgiven him for his sins. He believes he'll soon be up in Heaven, reunited forever with the babies he took from the people in front of him. Only this time, he knows better than to touch them. A dark and delicious punchline I hadn't seen coming. 

His tale about ordering a room service breakfast to his hotel bedroom and then fretting about how he'd look, a decrepit fifty-four-year-old Irishman in pyjamas, to the poor girl bringing him his food flies off wildly into his imagination. He figures she must have seen it all but then questions what she hadn't seen. He imagines a scenario where she finds him in bed with a woman, then two women, then triplets because why not, it's his fantasy. But what would he do with three women in bed at the same time? He then acts out what he'd have to do to satisfy them all, amending their positions to his tastes. His choice of phrasing is hilarious (the phrase, "her massive, three-gallon titties," stuck in my mind for some reason).

He rails at the accusation of him being offensive, for these are jokes, and offence is entirely in the ear of the beholder. He starts a story about a man with Down Syndrome and immediately berates us for not trusting him to make the joke about the situation, not the person. He tells us he was once scolded by a man in a small village in rural Ireland, who could not be convinced that the Down's Syndrome Association had seen and vetted the joke, dismissing his claim with a what would that lot know. There's delight in Tommy's eyes as he tiptoes along the safe side of the line. 

Despite claiming not to be into music, he manages to sing Ian Dury's Spasticus Autisticus while dancing energetically as he would have done at the school disco and then later gets the entire audience to participate in a rendition of The Eurythmics' Sweet Dream (Are Made of These) in his closer about performing for Prince Charles at his fiftieth birthday concert (they'd been on before him). That night, he brought the house down with his joke, and tonight, he did so again. Show over, he leaves the stage, his job done.    

As the auditorium lights signal it's time to leave, I rise from my seat, and my back twinges, bordering on spasm. Hobbling along the row, I notice a large woman in the row in front, walking as if she has one leg shorter than the other. I realise my gait looks similar to hers. As we reach the stairs, I am right behind her, and it now looks like I am mimicking her movement. Whenever the line halts, she turns around. To onlookers, it must appear that I'm trying to avoid her catching me doing an impression of her. 

My wife and I then walk back to the car along the ripped-up, pedestrianised Sauchiehall Street, past empty shop unit shutters that have become a canvas for unartistic graffiti and homeless beggars huddled in the shadows of shop doorways. We passed many girls of all ages heading for a night out in Glasgow. I quickly realised the amount of clothing the women wear is directly related to their age. The young ones are practically naked, while the older ones have sensible layers to keep them warm. I can't decide if the young ones believe they have more to flaunt or if the older ones just want the men to work harder to get them undressed. Not that it matters to me. The only woman I'm taking home tonight is my wife. If my back doesn't ease off, I'll need her assistance to remove my socks. This is what foreplay has become. She's asleep before I come to bed.

This is what a night of comedy from Tommy Tiernan does to a man but it's still brilliant craic.

Ticket price: £70.55 (inc all fees) direct from The Pavilion Theatre.

Tour blurb:

Tommy Tiernan’s brand new show, Tommedian, is a fun-fueled trip through the comic imagination of one of the best comedians in the world.

This is a wild, uninhibited and fiercely physical display of stand up. A madcap parade of characters, memories and ridiculous flights of fancy. Theatrical, poetical and slightly unhinged…. DON’T YOU DARE MISS IT !!!

Tiernan’s legendary record-breaking ticket sales extend across the world. The Star of Channel 4’s hit show Derry Girls and Live at the Apollo (BBC) and the host of his own highly critically praised improvised chat show on Ireland’s RTE 1.

Rhys Darby, 25 Years. Glasgow Pavilion, Tuesday 7th November, 2023

This Kiwi comic was another one on my bucket list. I'd never caught him during his Edinburgh Fringe days and, now that his acting career has taken off, he doesn't tour much so I jumped at the chance to see him in Glasgow. Knowing this was a best-of retrospective, I deliberately didn't rewatch any of his old shows, not wanting to be overfamiliar with the material.   

It's been a long time since I've been in the stalls at The Pavilion. The last time was probably to see Goodbye Mr Mackenzie back in the days when Shirley Manson was singing with them (I particularly remember her gyrating on her knees on the stage - can't think why). Back then, I was at Uni and probably didn't sit in my seat for very long. I certainly don't recall the seat being snug. Tonight, the armrests are gripping my love handles. When I have to rise to let a latecomer into the row, I have to make an effort to remove myself from the chair. I pitied the poor folk who were bigger than me, with their shoulders scrunched up, wedged between the people on either side. One larger gentleman appeared to have booked himself two seats and even then had to sit at an angle otherwise he would have smothered the young lady on his left. What I'm saying is Pavilion, you're going to need to modernise and give us bigger seats. We ain't getting any smaller.

The show opened with Janey Godley who did a fifteen-minute slot much to the appreciation of her home crowd. She may have terminal cancer but she's still got remarkable comedy chops and doesn't give a f*ck. She then introduced the first act, Steve Wrigley, another friend of Rhys and a fellow Kiwi. I'd never heard of him but he was good. The audience loved his humour.

Then we had an interval so the Pavilion could sell us fatties more confectionary and ice cream. How very Glasgow, providing more calories to people who already could barely fit into their seats. Actually, it could be more Glasgow. Here's a tip for your suggestion box, Pavilion management, add deep-fried Mars bars to the menu. 

Janey returned to introduce her old pal, Rhys Darby. If you don't know his comedy, his style is similar to Eddie Izzard, acting out increasingly outlandish scenarios and relating the characters' surreal and silly exchanges (only he does it in more sensible shoes and with less lipstick). He's a great physical comedian who also does sounds: the 'robot', three different types of doors and even the beep made by a self-checkout till. Themes and characters recur for comic effect building a strong set, despite it being cribbed from all of his shows over the years. 

The audience was obviously huge fans of his work and showed it with frequent cheers and rounds of applause but never to the extent of ruining the show. It was a fabulous night of comedy made all the more special by overrunning by a good half hour.

The drive home was an ordeal. Road closures and multiple car accidents added to the chaos. I did spot a man eating his pizza out of the box at a bus stop and thought, he looks like he's playing Battleships because of the way the lid was angled. Then we nearly decorated the car's radiator with a fox stole when the animal heard the first part of the joke "Why did the chicken cross the road?" and decided to look for itself. 

Janey Godley

Steve Wrigley

Rhys Darby

Ticket Price: £37.85 (direct from venue)

Promo blurb:

Rhys Darby: 25 Years

2023 marks Rhys Darby’s silver jubilee in standup comedy, so he has been taking a look at all his favourite material for the past quarter century. Rhys will be bringing this retrospective show to the UK this year!.

When asked about it Rhys said, “You’ve seen my standup, now see it again!”

Darby is one of NZ’s most successful comedy exports. Starting in Christchurch in the 90s, he has performed his unique style of storytelling all over the world. Ten years into his career North Americans discovered him via Flight of the Conchords. He has starred in blockbusters like the Jumanji franchise, indie hits like Hunt for the Wilderpeople and is currently starring in Our Flag Means Death with long-time collaborator Taika Waititi.

Rhys is never far from his standup roots. He has released five comedy specials and this show will draw from all five of them. In addition to stand-up and acting, he has also written four books, This Way to Spaceship, a loosely autobiographical novel, and three kids' books about his alter ego Buttons McGinty. He also has an irregular podcast, The Cryptid Factor which is all about cryptozoology, the science of hidden animals.

Ed Gamble, "Electric", Pavilion Teatre, Glasgow. Sunday 18th September, 2022

"Tour extended due to huge demand". I wondered if this meant his bill from the utility supplier after he'd spent so long at home, unable to gig, during lockdown. It would have been apt for a tour called Electric. 

It wasn't. Apparently, he is very popular, particularly with young people (and I don't just mean in the 0-6 years age group).

This tour's origins began pre-Covid, in 2019, when he performed at Download, playing to his tribe, the metalheads, and them not being impressed until he drew blood. His material has moved on since then (he discusses finally getting married last year, having had to postpone the wedding three times due to the Pandemic) and covered the aftereffect of one of his jokes being retweeted by the CBeebies account; Gym Big Boys; parents fingering as foreplay to the conception of you; and the delights of the Travelodge all-you-can-eat buffet. A polished performance incorporating the audience work he put in at the start, even including a callback to the material of his support act, Ania Magliano, (she's half Polish, half Italian, all bisexual and gave us a fine twenty minutes before the interval). 

Twas a better night than the Fringe Rewind streams I'd been watching earlier on NextUp. Live comedy is best live. Thumbs up. (does that count as fingering?)

Ticket price £20.

 

Jimeoin, "Turn It Up!" Pavilion Theatre, Glasgow. Saturday 12th February, 2022.

I nearly never went to this gig. My wife called off, leaving me with a spare ticket that, it turned out, no one wanted. Even when I tried to give them both away for free, still no one was interested. Brilliant seats too, near the middle of the front row in the Circle. 

So I went by myself and I'm so glad I did.

Jimeoin is like a human tickle. His littlest expressions can trigger a giggle which builds and builds, much like his routines, adding tag after tag after tag, each line funnier, throwing in callbacks when you least expect them. His material is as light as a feather, daft and silly, mining nuance for comic effect. He sprinkles in some exquisite flights of fancy such as what if every country had to walk like their national dance, before demonstrating a Spaniard going to the shops, then someone Irish dancing across a zebra crossing. He finished the show with some comic songs on his guitar. By the end, I was in fits of giggles, no longer self-conscious about the empty seat beside me. 

He played longer than billed, finishing at 10pm rather than 9.25pm so, by the time I reached the car park, the vehicles were gridlocked trying to get out, the Concert Hall having emptied at the same time. I ended up sitting patiently for twenty-five minutes until eventually, an Audi let me out (I know - an Audi - so unexpected). It took me more time to get out of that car park than it took me to drive all the way home. 

While I waited in the car park, my newly generated endorphins subsiding, none of the drivers stuttering past my car would make eye contact. Becoming irked,  I imagined ducking down, letting a few cars roll by then rising up again wearing a Michael Myers mask. I'd stare at the next driver not letting me out then exit my vehicle, stand beside their driver's window, holding a carjack in my hand, and tilt my head in incredulity while staring at them. I'd savour the concern growing on their trapped faces, their escape blocked by the car in front. Then I'd tap the window and ask, "Are you gonna let me out, mate?"

Fortunately (or unfortunately), I didn't have that kind of mask on me. Wrong time of year. 

Ticket Price: £18.50 each plus a transaction fee of £2.25 and postage £1.30.

Other funnies from the night:

Being aware of sucking in my stomach as I rose after the show, an action not unrelated to the fact the two young ladies on my right were total wowsers. Not that there would have been any universe where I could have impressed them, given I was old enough to be their dad and their attentive boyfriends were sitting right behind them. 

At the car park exit barrier, as I attempted to insert my ticket quickly into the machine, I hit my hand against the car's side window, having forgotten to wind it down. Fortunately, my embarrassment was spared as the barrier rose anyway.