My wife enjoyed him. So did the majority of the three thousand punters who packed the Armadillo tonight. I was very much in the minority.
I didn't warm to the support act, Barry Castagnola. His crowd work was lame, consisting of asking the men their first name to see how dull it was in comparison to his own. It led to a comic dead end. That he had to announce after the fact that spraying himself with beer was his closer says it all.
So, why didn't I enjoy Greg?
Was it because I'd been awake at stupid o'clock this morning, seemingly in sympathy with the vinyl junkies queuing for Record Store Day? Probably. I was weary.
Was it because we were at the back of the front circle, far enough away not to be able to see his facial expressions properly? That played a part. Comedy is funnier close up. I couldn't even tell if he had hair on his head.
Was it because Greg telegraphed his punchlines? He's already told us his phone is in his pants. Now, he can hear voices. I wonder where they're coming from, for example.
Was it because he consistently sniggered as if the next thing he was about to say was so hilarious he couldn't help himself? He does it all the time. It's not spontaneous. It's scripted and grates when you recognise what he's doing.
Was it because he appears to have a photographic memory for every funny line anyone has ever said to him, because 'he'll never forget what they said'? Only partially, because what they said was certainly funny and memorable. e.g. "Not finished."
Was it because the humour was hack? Yes. Silly voices, foreign accents, drinking his own urine, wanking to the Freemans catalogue, Dick dialling an ex girlfriend. Tick. Tick. Tick. No boom, boom.
I can forgive the juvenile humour. He's already admitted he's a fifty-six-year-old man who's really twelve inside. His "ten times funnier with this line" was indeed ten times funnier each time he used it.
I'd say his set justified the title Full Fat, but it was not a thing of Legend.
Three stars, because I did laugh.
Ticket Price: 2 Full Price Tickets £45.00 x2 = £90.00 Per Item Fees £6.10 (Service Charge Full Price Ticket) x2 & £1.70 (Facility Charge Full Price Ticket) x2 = £15.60 Order Processing Fees Handling Fee (£2.00) £2.00 Total £107.60 from Ticketmaster
There were only £6 fridge magnets left by the end of the show
When I retired, I didn't expect to feel like a pensioner quite so quickly (especially as my pension is not due for another decade). My knees ache, I pull muscles easily, and I sometimes need a nap. My crankiness mid-afternoon today went off the chart when, on the drive home from Mokka Jaks (who mucked up my order twice), a man in an open-top convertible decided he had right of way on the narrow road, contrary to the street signs, because his car was more expensive than mine. The way I felt after he brushed off my expletive-filled overreaction with an eye roll made me realise today needed to be a nap day.
It's just as well I did go back to bed because I ended up out cold for over an hour and felt a great deal better for it afterwards. I don't think I could have coped with this gig without that sleep.
Traffic was a bitch on the way there, with both a four-way temporary traffic light system at the junction of Broomlands Street and Maxwellton Street and heavy Rangers traffic on the M8. I managed to arrive before the doors opened and, once inside, found a great spot to watch the gig behind the accessibility seats in the first seated area. I could have gone down the front, as at this point, it was only one person deep at the barrier, but I remembered my achey bones. Let the young uns claim this space.
The support act So Good was striking. Consisting of three blokes in white boiler suits and pink balaclavas, a lead singer, and two backing singers/dancers, they commanded the stage with their energetic performance. I'd never heard of them before but would search them out again if they were ever to return.
Setlist
Inheritance
Hate
I Hate It Here
Hot
If I Had A
Industry Plant
1994
I Rewrote The F**king Bible
I Will Love You
I Rewrote The F**king Bible
As a prelude to the main act, the PA played New Rose by The Damned, signalling the direction Skunk Anansie are moving in nowadays. Touring again as a four-piece, they present their punk rock credentials firmly to the fore. Prepare to mosh.
The stage is decorated with spikes reminiscent of Skin's costume on the previous tour. Tonight, she's dressed in an oversized bomber jacket and cargo pants. The lighting initially is oppressive, keeping the band in shadow with flashing and pulsating lights. It's a rousing start to the proceedings.
This Means War
The fierce mood continues with Charlie Big Potato and Because of You before moving on to a new song, An Artist is An Artist. By the time we reach God Only Knows You, Skin gets a round of applause for an impassioned speech opposing so-called Christians who spread hate for marginalised groups. The fire is still alive in her heart and soul.
The gig highlight for me was when Skin jumped into the crowd during I Can Dream, making her way to the back of the hall before crowd-surfing her way to the stage again. She's older than me and still behaving like a teenager. What a gal!
They indeed tear the place up with the rest of their set, ending, unusually, with another new number only released two days ago.
For a band that's been around this long, I expected the audience to be older, but this one was mixed in terms of age, gender, and sexuality. The setlist contained tracks from all eras of their career, heavily expressing their punk rock credentials. I hate to admit it, but I think I preferred their last tour, where there was a backing singer who played a larger role in complementing Skin's vocals (I'm not suggesting that Skin's vocals were anything less than perfect). However, the band has moved on from that era, even if I haven't. I was so glad I didn't go down the front, given how lively it got.
Maybe I'm getting too old for this, or I just need more naps. I did enjoy it, though.
Afterwards, it was nice catching up with some old school friends, Colin and Kirsteen. I hope she doesn't mind that I pinched her photo.
Rare photographic evidence of the Anonymous Punter, with Colin and Kirsteen.
Ticket Price (From GigsAndTours.com)
1 x Stalls Standing £42.85 Including booking fee
(The booking fee includes a Restoration Levy charged by the venue £5.35 per ticket - £1.60 per ticket)
Transaction Fee £1.50 Total £44.35
Setlist
This Means War
Charlie Big Potato
Because of You
An Artist Is an Artist
I Believed in You
Love Someone Else
God Loves Only You
Secretly
Weak
I Can Dream
Twisted (Everyday Hurts)
My Ugly Boy
Animal
Yes It's Fucking Political
Tear the Place Up
Little Baby Swastikkka
Encore:
Hedonism (Just Because You Feel Good)
Cheers
Whole Lotta Love (Led Zeppelin cover) (Snippet with band introductions and thanks)
The Skank Heads (Get Off Me)
Lost and Found
An Artist Is an Artist
Weak & I Can Dream (with crowd-surfing)
Cheers (Not the sitcom title song)
It's wine o'clock during the encore
Hanging around to 'Wishing I Didn't Miss You' by Angie Stone (according to Shazam)
On a rather bright and sunny day, we headed into Glasgow for this matinee performance. We took the train, me using my Club 50 card for the first time (saving £1.25 off the off-peak day return fare). After a quick drink in Walkabout (where I discovered the gents' toilet was flooded, only after I walked through it), we made our way to the theatre and up the stairs to the Dress Circle. Front-row aisle seats meant not having to ask anyone to move.
Despite the pleasant weather outside, the atmosphere inside the theatre was foreboding. A dripping sound intermittently penetrates the tremulous howl of a gale (or could it be spooks?). The safety curtain is down across the stage, where a lectern sits on the front left. The audience is made aware that anyone who leaves the auditorium during the performance will not be let back in again. There is no interval. The lights dim.
The theatre requested that no spoilers be made about the show. All I will say is the shocks are telegraphed but well done. I noticed the emergency sign lights getting switched off from time to time and knew something was going to happen. Complete darkness is utilised well to hide the scares, especially in the finale. During one scene, I detected a smell of bleach in the air, a subtle theatricality.
One warning: if you've seen the film based on this play, you'll know the ending. This stage production still has some clever tricks up its sleeve, though.
Cast
Dan Tetsell - Professor Goodman,
David Cardy - Tony Matthews,
Clive Mantle - Mike Priddle,
Eddie Loodmer-Elliott - Simon Rifkind
Ticket Price: £48.50 x 2, plus £3.95 transaction fee = £100.95 from ATG.
About the Show
When Professor Goodman, an arch-sceptic out to debunk the paranormal, embarks on an investigation of three apparent hauntings—as recounted by a night watchman, a teenage boy, and a businessman awaiting his first child—Goodman finds himself at the outer limits of rationality and fast running out of explanations.
Enter a world full of thrilling twists and epic turns, where the ultimate love letter to horror is imagined live on stage. A fully sensory and electrifying encounter, Ghost Stories is one of London’s best-reviewed plays of all time and will keep you on the edge of your seat. This is a theatrical experience like no other.
After exhilarating audiences for two years in the West End and across the world with record-breaking, sell-out productions and a smash hit film, Andy Nyman and Jeremy Dyson’s Ghost Stories is “Genuine scary fun” (Sunday Times), a worldwide phenomenon more spine-tingling and fantastically terrifying than ever.
This was my first visit to the Paisley Arts Centre since its revamp. We arrived at 7:30 p.m. for an 8 p.m. show start, expecting the doors to the auditorium to be open. The show was sold out, so the bar area was busy—too busy to get in. It's just as well the planners added that extra space at the front.
Paisley Arts Centre
The auditorium, with its red padded seats, looked plush. The stage was on the floor level, the folds of the theatre curtain drapes catching the illumination. What looked like four light sabres stood vertically across the back. No Force battles occurred during the performance, so they must have been there as decoration.
Stuart announced himself and did crowd work for the first twenty minutes. He peppered this with a few jokes to keep us amused, but his interactions failed to hit comedy gold. Then, after the interval, he returned to deliver his prepared material.
I was disappointed that he didn't have a support act. I suppose, as it was his debut hour, he wanted to keep the box office for himself. The show itself was okay, with lots of funny lines. In Edinburgh terms, you'd call it his Dead Parents' hour. He explained how he came to lose his finger tips, how his mum had killed herself and how he lost his dad to cancer. He also nearly lost his wife, too, before their wedding when an ovarian cyst burst, leading to her developing a systemic infection.
I'd heard some of his material before, during his Christmas show. I felt his delivery tonight wasn't totally smooth, and I noticed he repeated one punchline, inserting it later in the correct place. It's early in the run, though, so he can be forgiven for the odd fluff. Given the dark subject matter, he could have enhanced the comedic responses by playing more with the emotional weight of the tragedies. But then, he admits he's no actor, despite once playing Bible John in an ITV show.
He killed then, but not so much tonight. It was acceptable as a debut show for a club comic. Perhaps my expectations were too high.
Ticket Price: 2 Full Price Tickets £20.00 x2 = £40.00 Per Item Fees £2.00 (Service Charge Full Price Ticket) x2 £4.00 Order Processing Fees Handling Fee £1.35 Total: £45.35 from Ticketmaster
I have never seen Russell Kane live before (or any of the comedy Russells, for that matter), but I knew he was good. I didn't realise just how good.
His support act was a pleasant surprise: local boy Liam Farrelly (local as in Paisley). This twenty-five-year-old crafted a clever set about gerbils, accents, spider swastikas and graffiti on his house about a slut called Jenny. I've never seen a relatively unknown support comedian command the stage and win over the audience so quickly. His material was brilliant.
Russell was on another level, however. So much of the early set appeared improvised, chucking in local references knowingly and appropriately, building the laughs as he strutted from side to side, weaving in audience work to make his points, his mind operating as fast as he was moving, notably only slowing down when he crouched or lay on the stage. His regional accent work was impeccable, his physicality impressive, and his material was thoughtful and astute (under 28s don't go to comedy gigs because they get too easily triggered; mobile phones are killing memory and attention spans and shoving bad messaging down our throats; we should live for the moment, not tomorrow, because we only have today). He spoke with passion and humour, and not a single gag missed. He was like an Essex Robin Williams, only less dead. He shared the same pace, wit, and messaging as that genius comedian.
He gave us seventy minutes because he knew that was all we could take. We gave him a well-deserved standing ovation. Thank you, Russell Kane, best of the Russells.
The journey home afterwards was an experience, too. Walking down Hope Street, heading for Central Station, I saw an inebriated blonde woman dressed all in green battering at a hackney cab's driver's window, demanding to be given a lift. In her hand, she clutched a shopping bag, so it too struck the driver's window. Her language was barely intelligible, so I couldn't tell where she wanted to go. Waiting at the junction only because the traffic lights were at red, the male driver didn't let her in, fobbing her off with some excuse I couldn't lipread. A police van pulled up behind him. The lights changed to green. The cab moved off, but she refused to accept this. She clung to his door, lasting five yards before her bag went flying, and she tumbled across the road, doing more spins than an Olympic diver. The cab continued on its way, and, eventually, the policeman got out of his van, the woman still on the ground, now an obstacle to traffic. He spoke to her, then messaged someone on his radio, likely for an ambulance. So, ultimately, she would get a lift, just not home. Either she was going to hospital or to a police cell. I didn't wait to see the outcome. I had a train to catch, where three drunk multi-generational women serenaded the entire carriage in whatever key they could achieve, regardless of whether they knew the lyrics or not. But that's another story.
Ticket Price: 1 Artist Presale Ticket £31.75 Per Item Fees: (Service Charge Artist Presale Ticket) £3.50 Order Processing Fees Handling Fee £2.95 Total £38.20 from Ticketmaster
The great thing about the GICF Comedy Gala is that it exposes you to comedians you wouldn't normally see. Each of the hand-picked comedians gets five minutes to show off their talents in a sampler of their work. And boy, what a feast it was.
On hosting duties was last year's recipient of the Billy Connolly Spirit of Glasgow award, Susie Mccabe. First up was Zoe Lyons, who was probably the most famous act on the bill. She was followed by Chris Thorburn, Viv Gee, Ayo Adenekan and Kim Blythe. Rounding off the first half with a beat-heavy, blistering impromptu rap involving objects from the pockets of the first two rows was MC Hammersmith. He was my favourite from this group.
At this point, the event organisers surprised Viv Gee with a special one-off award issued by the Lord Provost of Glasgow in recognition of outstanding Glaswegians during its 850th year. She received a bespoke trophy (a plate) in recognition of her extraordinary contribution to the comedy community in Glasgow.
After the interval, Susie introduced Kate Hammer, Stephen Buchanan, Alana Jackson and Connor Burns before finishing off the comedy with a set of her own. Connor was my fave from this half, even though I'd heard him deliver the material only a few weeks ago.
Then, all that remained was for Festival Director Krista MacDonald and Elaine C Smith to announce who had won this year's Billy Connolly award. 2025’s Shortlist included Craig Hill, Kim Blythe, Marjolein Robertson, Paul Black, Rosco McClelland, Scott Agnew and Viv Gee. I was surprised that only two of the acts performed, although my wife noticed Paul Black appearing from backstage at the interval. I wonder how many of the others were present to hear Rosco McClelland win the award. He seemed flabbergasted to have won, finding it difficult to express how much it meant to him to have Billy Connolly, his comedy hero, pick him.
A friend and former colleague was also in the crowd. We both agreed it was a great afternoon and hoped to attend again next year. It's a great way to celebrate comedy in Glasgow.
Ticket Price: £24.10 x 2 plus £3.95 Transacton Fee from ATG Tickets.
