Larry Dean, "Fudnut", King's Theatre, Glasgow. Sunday 13th March, 2022

Larry is a quality comedian and this was an entertaining night. He's built a strong stage persona, that of a gay Glasgow funny man, carrying the spirit of Billy Connelly about him in the way his stories veer off on tangents while demonstrating a comic physicality with sharp killer lines. He's adept at accents and even does a few impressions (showing us the difference in styles between Kevin Bridges and Billy Connolly, with Kermit, Miss Piggy and Gollum also getting a look in). 

He came on first to warm us up, bringing with him his interpreter for the deaf. He made some comic mileage out of her presence playing on her need to sign his material regardless of how rude it was. To a lesser comedian, it could have been hack but Larry's cheeky twinkle pulled it off (I'm signing the expression for male wanking but with my pinkie). 

He then introduced his support act, Jack Campbell, an Englishman from Oxfordshire but living in Leicester, who nailed a good twenty minutes of material and interestingly had his own interpreter for the deaf. 

During the interval, as we were on the end of a row in the stalls (second from the front), we had to rise frequently to allow other attendees in and out. It happened so often I began to feel like I was in a gym class where I'd forgotten to hang up my jacket. I got to wondering if it would be more cost-effective for the theatre to install alcohol taps on the seats, with different buttons on the pump for beer, cider, wine or spirits. This would allow the thirsty to use the self-service bar without the need to bother an entire row. I then considered extending this idea further by introducing commode seats, whose flush would either be silent or remain inactive during the performance. Ushers could sell expensive, mini toilet rolls to add to their roster of confection selection. 

One young lady in a slinky black dress, whom I didn't mind standing up for (pinkie sign), brushed past us three times during the interval, pausing on the third occasion to offer us a personal apology. She'd realised she'd left her mother's credit card behind in the toilet (!).    

Now I'm left wondering if the King's is now charging women to use the ladies and if my commode idea has legs after all. One swipe to pay, one swipe to clean... 

Where was I again? Abu Dhabi...            

Derren Brown, "Showman". Kings Theatre, Glasgow Tuesday 8th March, 2022

Derren politely requested that reviews not contain any details of the show. So I won't. Not because he tricked me (as far as I know) but because it's worth seeing unspoilt by advanced knowledge. 

I can say I don't know how he does what he does; I was astounded, moved and entertained by the show; and follow his social media beforehand if you are going. Though not essential (I didn't) it does add another element to proceedings.

I can also say there is an interval, the Queen Elizabeth Hospital was lit up in Blue and Yellow to show solidarity with Ukraine (not part of the show) and Audi owners have no respect for people parking on a slope when they keep their headlights on in the space behind. Thank heavens for parking sensors.

Derren makes the unbelievable happen and it is very definitely worth seeing. If you can get a ticket, do go or else you'll regret it for the rest of your life (which is either clever marketing or he did get inside my head).

  

Texas, "30th Anniversary of Southside", OVO Hydro, Glasgow.

This, for me, was very much a gig of two halves. The show started at 8pm. Texas performed two sets, firstly playing their debut album, Southside, in its entirety, then returning for a full show of their new stuff and greatest hits. In essence, Texas were their own support act. 

I didn't enjoy the first half. Even though we'd arrived at 7.30pm, we didn't get in on time. The queues were horrendous. It took forty minutes to get inside the venue by which time the lights were down, the band were on stage and Sharleen was mocking us for not checking what time the gig started. Cheeky bitch. 

It was a low key set, which the band performing seated. Between songs, Sharleen, dressed in her original denim jacket from back in the day, recounted stories from that time, occasionally sipping tea.

We pitched up at the very back of the hall unable to see where to go to get any closer. It felt like hell. On one side were the screeching banshees who chattered louder than the band, and the girlie selfie-takers, who constantly posed in various group combinations. On the other were the retirees who needed the comfort of checking their phones to ensure the Grim Reaper hadn't WhatsApp'd them to informed them their time was up. Early on, my temper simmering, I asked my wife if she was okay hoping she'd say no because I was so up for leaving. Crap view, shit surroundings and a third class experience. My shoes were even ripping from the floor like Velcro every time I moved my feet.

When the lights went up, we made our way to a more comfortable spot in the middle of the crowd giving ourselves a far better view. My wife informed me I'd knocked someone's cone out of their hand on the way through. I was oblivious to this and subsequently fretted about what I'd done. I wondered if I should find her and offer compensation. When I made this suggestion to my wife, asking if she could identify the person, I got a strange look. I figured she thought I was being stupid (a frequent occurrence) so I left it.

The carefully selected view was, of course, ruined by a six-foot-two lad who settled in front of us. Fortunately, his girlfriend was four-foot-six so my view was restored every time he bent down to talk to her. 

Texas's main set was excellent. Sharleen may be a potty mouth but she's Glasgow through and through and the crowd loved her banter. The set had the right amount of light and shade finishing with a burst of uptempo numbers including their favourite cover, Suspicious Minds. 

It could have been a brilliant night if it hadn't been for the experience outside trying to get in. At least it wasn't raining and I'm glad I stayed for the whole show.

On the way back to the car, I asked again about the woman with the ice cream cone. My wife corrected me. "I didn't say cone. I said phone. You knocked her phone out of her hand. She was absolutely livid." She then reassured me, "You didn't break it though." That's a relief. 

Setlist

Southside

Intro (Southside)

I Don't Want A Lover

Tell Me Why

Everyday Now

Prayer for You

Faith

Thrill Has Gone

Fight the Feeling

Fool for Love

One Choice

Future Is Promises

Hi

Halo

Summer Son

Hi

In Our Lifetime

You Can Call Me

Let's Work It Out

When We Are Together

Unbelievable

In Demand

Mr Haze

Inner Smile

Say What You Want

Encore:

I Don't Want A Lover

Black Eyed Boy

Suspicious Minds (Mark James cover)

Checking Twitter while still outside the venue

The view from the back

Not dead yet

Southside stories

John Bishop, "Right Here, Right Now" Tour, OVO Hydro, Glasgow. Saturday 19th February, 2022

It's not often I go to a comedy gig and am more amused by the audience than the comedian. And when I say the audience I mean the couple sat beside me. Not that John or his support act, Ray Bradshaw, were unfunny. Their material was a bit over-familiar but it still ticked the comedy boxes. It's just that the performance of the two beside me eclipsed that of the main man.

They arrived sharing the easy familiarity of two people who were obviously a couple, each clutching two half-pint tumblers of some coloured alcoholic liquid (I don't know what), I was sitting at the end of a row so got up to let them in. She was bulging out of a needlessly lowcut dress. I say needless because she'd already pulled so why did she feel the need to distract him from her face, behaviour and personality? It may even have fitted her once. He was in smart casual clothing, in no need to impress, and had the kind of tufty haircut that won't be necessary in a few years time once his male-pattern baldness catches up with the rest of his head.  

They settle down with their drinks and she pulls out her phone for the obligatory selfies. Then she Whatsapps a message to someone, her fingers lightning-fast, producing swathes of emojis in each sentence like they were an integral element of the English language. By now, the lights are down and John's on stage, sitting on a chair. His material is mostly about relationships and ageing and it seems apt for him to be sitting. Still, she types away, the glow of her screen muted due to a dark background. Eventually, she puts the phone away and plays catch up with her laughs, exaggerating how funny she finds John between sips of her drink. 

Then he needs the toilet. We both have to get up to let him out and again afterwards to let him back in. Then she needs the toilet. Lots of apologies directed at me as I have to rise again.

Later in the show, I notice her wriggling in her seat. She's pulling uncomfortable faces then wraps the bag strap around her tiny purse and leans across to apologise again, her words ever so slightly slurring. This time I twist round rather than stand up. 

As she staggers back, her heels higher than her head can cope with, her partner has to shout to remind her where her seat is. She isn't wearing the jacket she left with. I remain silent on the matter. None of my business. She flops back down into the seat.

The man, slightly inebriated, begins to repeat John's punchlines after he's told them. She, with surprise, giggles, "Is that what he said?" and laughs hysterically. He takes a picture on his phone of John on stage, forgetting to switch off the flash then checks how it turned out. No having to go to the chemist to get it developed, these days, as John might have remarked. 

Then she gets the drunken hiccups.

I count the Mississippi's. It's every five seconds. It's so loud my wife in the row in front can hear her. The general apologies start, often interrupted by another hiccup. He suggests she hold her nose and breath. They continue to chat like it's an episode of Gogglebox. By this time, I'm only half-listening to John. They both laugh at his material about not knowing how to behave when you're out because it's been so long we've all forgotten. 

The sad thing is they turned an otherwise ordinary night (sorry John) into something memorable. I need to get out more.  

Ticket Price: £47.50 plus £6.40 service charge. Total £53.90 each.

Mark Thomas "50 Things About Us", The Stand, Glasgow. Wednesday 16th February, 2022.

I don't normally book tickets to see a comedian twice on the same tour but because of the Ticketmaster debacle, I didn't think I was going to get to see him in Stirling. I went alone, this time because my pal tested positive for coronavirus. The Stand has a Covid policy to refund tickets in this situation so I'll get my money back on the unused ticket. 

Tonight's show was even better than the one at The Macrobert Arts Centre, despite essentially being the same material. The Stand is a proper comedy club with a better atmosphere. You feel closer to the comedian, seeing every bead of sweat as he performs his set. This also means he can see you, which was unfortunate for the numpty at the front who decided to take out his phone to send a text at the start of the second half. Mark politely ripped him apart for being rude to him and everyone around him. There were some quality heckles from the crowd ("Get out, get out, get out", a reference to one of Mark's jokes, and "Millions", a callback to a previous heckler whom Mark had handled with practised aplomb).  

The material seemed tighter tonight, even though he was perplexed that there were no diabetics in the crowd, in Glasgow, the chip capital of the world. I was primed ready with answers to obscure questions he asked last time but he'd trimmed that particular section so I didn't win a badge. He still gave us his Barry Cryer anecdotes but this time placed them near the end of the set and closed not on a gag about his shirt (different to the one above) but on one about his mum.  

I bought his book during the interval and got him to sign it after the show. I was too nervous to start a conversation except to say I also saw him in Stirling. At least now I can say I met one of my comedy heroes.  

Ticket Price: £15 each (no additional fees). 

Kevin Bridges, Work in Progress, Glee Club, Glasgow. Sunday 13th February, 2022

 

I missed out on tickets for Kevin's new tour so, on Friday, when The Glee Club announced a work in progress show for Sunday lunchtime, I jumped at the chance to go. When the email arrived, I was walking the dog on the Braes so she was unamused by me suddenly halting to type on my phone. She even approached passersby for some love and cuddles (to be fair, she does that often anyway).  

Kevin hasn't toured in four years and he was delighted to be back on stage testing his new material. Even though he had to refer to his notes occasionally, the material was strong covering the lockdowns (he does a good Jason Leitch impression), the Russia/Ukraine situation (giving it a Glasgow twist), getting married (stepping out of his comfort zone on city breaks) and having a kid (whom he named Paul, contrary to recent social trends) plus lots of other things I can't remember now. He gave us a good hour and fifteen minutes and we loved it, even the poor doctor on the front row, whom Kevin centred on every time he needed a segue for the next bit. I was so glad Kevin never extended his audience probing beyond Dr Phil, especially when he trotted out a bit about getting haemorrhoids and needing to go to Boots for a treatment. Thanks to the allocated seating, we ended up sitting in the second row, right beside the stairs onto the stage, so very much in the potential firing line. 

If you were lucky enough to get a ticket for his tour, you are in for a fun night. Even the tour support, Chris Washington, is great, based on the evidence today.

Our view of the stage (no photos allowed during the performance)

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.