A bonus gig after we decided to bring forward Mother's Day for our respective parents. Despite the late purchase, we still managed to snag tickets for the middle of the Dress Circle.
No support act, just Bridget performing both Acts. At 54, she is thriving as a single divorcee, enjoying life, looking amazing in her black jeans, white t-shirt and showbiz leather jacket, complete with sleeve tassels. I couldn't see any reason why Stewart Lee wouldn't want to be with her, even with her kidney stones. Listening to her perform, it's easy to hear the distinct rhythm they share in their comedy.
In the first section, she had a good bit on imagining being friends with Melania Trump, taking her phone call and having to guess what her husband had done this time to upset her. Acting out the bit where an ex of hers requested she go cross-eyed to help him get off during intercourse was also hilarious, though the audience got so far ahead of her that she refused to say the punchline. The long-winded story from the friend who doesn't remember specifics and gets distracted by tangents finished the first act (which lasted thirty minutes, not twenty, as billed).
The broad audience demographic surprised me, everything from teens to pensioners, with no one group dominating. I put this down to the Taskmaster effect, with her appearing in series 13 of the show (2022).
The second half was amusing but not as funny, starting with a bit about the date who made her a dinner of a dry pizza base topped by a dry jacket potato, moving on to the gender politics of the Netflix series Adolescence (she's allowed to do Stephen Graham's accent because they laughed in Liverpool at it), then the risks of a menopausal woman having sex with an anotomically male robot in a specialised brothel in Amsterdam, to misconstruing a medical diagnosis requiring vigorous intercourse to dislodge her too-risky-for-ultrasound-treatment kidney stones.
She tied up the ending nicely with a surprise callback from the first act, though it felt like a bit of a cheat the way she dropped it in to finish.
She made us laugh, but she wasn't roll-in-the-aisles funny. The show might have worked better in a smaller performance space, where it was easier to watch her facial expressions sell the comedy.
Ticket Price: £27.70 x 2 & £3.95 transaction fee = £59.35 from ATG
Sara loves her husband, but... he's very tall, like a whole foot taller than her. He wears size 13 shoes and leaves them on the floor like a trip hazard. If he puts two items of his clothes into the laundry basket, it becomes full, and they don't make bigger ones. She's checked. He's also blind to dirty towels. Fresh ones he can locate, no problem, but used ones can lie on the floor for weeks if she doesn't clean up after him. She tried it. She's thinking it would be better for him to get another wife. Not a replacement. An extra one. To share all the duties.
She loves her kids, of course she does, but sometimes she doesn't. She is a late mother, having her first one via IVF in her forties. They are currently two and four and have turned her into a constant wiper. Every meal gets flung everywhere. She finds discarded baked beans in every crevice of her kitchen.
Her husband once did a helpful thing and used a tool to remove them all, but didn't do what any woman would do: throw them away. No, he sought credit for his accomplishment and left them for her in a small jar beside the sink. She thought he'd left her a lovely present of some peanuts and only realised they weren't after she popped them in her mouth. As she realised they weren't peanuts, she noticed the empty crevices, but swallowed them anyway because that would be one less thing to clean up.
She decries how women will put poison in their face to avoid looking older, explaining she's done the research and found other horrendous examples, such as how scientists have sewn an old mouse to a young mouse, joining their blood systems and found the older mouse lived longer. Another example was an oddball billionaire who injects himself with his son's blood to extend his life. Now that gentleman only celebrates his birthday every nineteen months because of how much longer he thinks he's going to live. Sara, on the other hand, has started smoking again, so she now holds her birthday party every eight months.
Sarah was fantastic tonight. No support act, just two 45-minute sets. Even the recycled material about loving Take That when she was sixteen was given a fresh spin in light of her current circumstances. (She had more screentime in the crowd scenes outside The Big Breakfast house than she did on Last One Laughing).
Our seats were in the fourth row of the stalls, but I never felt uncomfortable. Sara is not that kind of comedian. Pausing for crowdwork is not her style. She relies on the rhythm of her words to carry the comedy along. Indeed, latecomers and unexpected laughter distracted her, throwing her off her material. You could see her replaying the set in her head until she found the rhythm to jump back in.
I asked my wife if she found any of Sara's material triggering (the husband scenarios sounded painfully familiar - I still don't know how to use our new washing machine, and I'm not allowed to touch the iron in case I break it). She laughed ruefully. She's also not buying into the idea of taking on an extra wife, though. Our super king-size bed may be comfortably big enough to sleep three, but she's not falling for that. She'd end up having to do all the work there, too.
Ticket Price: £31 x 2 plus £3.95 Service Fee = £65.95 from Trafalgar Tickets
Blurb
Have you ever been awake in the middle of the night and thought something so smart and astute that you couldn’t wait for the world to wake up so you could tell them?
THIS SHOW IS THAT THOUGHT.
In that it doesn’t make much sense and is a bit weird on reflection.
Sara Pascoe is a comedian and her children don’t sleep and her kitchen won’t clean itself and her husband “doesn’t want to be in it”.
As seen and heard on Taskmaster, Live at the Apollo, The Great British Sewing Bee, QI, 8 Out of 10 Cats Does Countdown, Mock the Week and co-host of Sara & Cariad’s Weirdos Book Club podcast.
And so begins my second night of being entertained by a grey-haired Scottish pensioner, albeit one with a more prolific musical pedigree. I had deliberately avoided seeking out any information about the show, bar looking up the setlist. I had not expected so many Talking Heads numbers, so I had to expand my listening beyond his recent album.
Preshow birdsong
I'm not a Talking Heads aficionado, nor have I followed David's solo career closely, but I was aware of the acclaim for his previous tour, which is why my interest was piqued for this one.
There was no support act, with the show due to begin at 8 pm. I arrived early, finding the auditorium sparse, though not empty. Birdsong, rather than music, played over the PA (except available on the short video above - DO NOT expect anything to happen).
The stage is equally bare. A moonscape dominates the floor and the lower section of the semicircular wall, which blocks off the back of the stage. The wall has two gaps and appears to be covered with black drapes, though the lads who later sit beside me debate whether they are screens or curtains. I use my phone camera to zoom in and decide curtains. They decide the moonscape is a projection.
The show is a complete sellout, so by 8 pm, most people are already in their seats. A message over the PA warns us to 'be present and to limit our phone and video use during the performance for the benefit of those around us. Dancing, however, is allowed, except in the aisles, due to Fire Safety regulations.' This elicits a cheer from the crowd. My view of the right side of the stage is hindered by the tall chap sitting in front, so it's clear I'm not going to be able to film the show anyway. I settle in to take in the experience.
It then occurs to me that there are no instruments or equipment present anywhere. Is everything hidden behind the walls? Would they lift away to reveal a band?
A Glaswegian voice cries out from the Rear Circle, seeking out the location of his mates. They, it turns out, are a few rows in front of me. They shout back, mocking him for trying to find them in the wrong section. The skinny man then makes his way down the steps, focusing all his attention on not spilling the four full pints he is carrying in the square cardboard drinks holder. At his row, everyone stands up to allow him access. Halfway along, he stumbles, yelling an expletive in alarm as the drinks tumble. However, thanks to the quick action of the person he had reached, who grabbed two tumbling pints, disaster was averted. The grateful drinker proceeded to his seat with most of his purchases intact.
The lights dim. The show begins.
David and his dozen-strong ensemble flow through the gaps in the wall and adopt their starting positions. They all wear the same blue suits that David wears, even down to the shoes. It becomes clear that the flooring is also a giant screen. The drapes that I believed covered the walls turned out to be images of drapes. Every visible inch of the stage is a screen, used to wonderful effect. It feels like a mini version of the Las Vegas Sphere, though only within the stage. Very clever.
The musicians carry and play their instruments like a marching band, only with more intricate choreography. This has all been carefully thought out. The backing dancers are also the backing singers. The effect is mesmerising. The sound is full and rich, and I'm in 'Heaven'.
During one song, the musicians' names appear on the walls, mapping their locations as they move about the stage. The names also appear on the floor beside the white circles, which follow their paths. I can't tell if AI is being used to monitor this or if everything has been precisely choreographed.
For another song, David walks across the stage, his silhouette within a moving spotlight on the wall. When he changes direction, the silhouette doesn't, eliciting a laugh from the crowd as the shadow tries to catch up with him. Again, all very clever.
David's song introductions weren't always as exacting. He knew what he wanted to say, but when the crowd shouted out, it interrupted his flow. I found the crowd equally distracting. During his less well-known numbers, punters often exited to head to the bar, causing everyone in their row to rise. The same would happen again upon their return. I wish the venue would shut the bars during the performance and insist the staff limit ingress and egress to between songs. If the intention is to be present, I want to experience the show, not the punters needing a piss or a pint.
Anyway, the show itself was an extraordinary experience. As soon as it was over, I was on the internet, looking up ATG, Ticketmaster and Twickets to see if I could get tickets for the Playhouse shows - unfortunately, they were all completely sold out.
Another Scottish pensioner at the top of his game.
Setlist
Heaven (Talking Heads song)
Everybody Laughs
And She Was (Talking Heads song)
Strange Overtones (Brian Eno & David Byrne cover)
Houses in Motion (Talking Heads song)
T Shirt
(Nothing but) Flowers (Talking Heads song)
This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody) (Talking Heads song)
What Is the Reason for It?
Like Humans Do
When We Are Singing
Independence Day
Slippery People (Talking Heads song)
I Met the Buddha at a Downtown Party
My Apartment Is My Friend
Air (Talking Heads song)
Psycho Killer (Talking Heads song)
Life During Wartime (Talking Heads song)
Once in a Lifetime (Talking Heads song)
Encore:
Everybody's Coming to My House
Burning Down the House (Talking Heads song)
Ticket Price: £85.00 + Facility Charge £2.50 + Service Fee £11.50 + Handling Fee £2.50 = Total £101.50 from Ticketmaster
We had arrived slightly later than usual, just before midday, when the ticket validation began, so the queue was out almost onto the street. This meant when we got inside, there was no seating left, and our allocated entry number was quite high. Still, we ended up in the queue in the bar for twenty minutes and found a space beside a table at the back of the hall, so the wait wasn't too bad.
When we did get into the venue, the first thing I noticed was the absence of TV cameras. We sat in the back row, pleased there was no cameraman blocking the view.
A thoroughly enjoyable experience, once again.
Subjects:
US and Israel at war with Iran;
The Scottish Government has awarded a contract to Fergusson Marine to build four boats;
The nationalisation of Ardrossan Harbour;
Damien Barr: Burger King trialling AI headsets to monitor customer service
Judith Ralston: Pregnancy causes physical changes in the mother's brain (Baby brain is real).
Mystery person 1: Hannah Spencer, newly elected MP, for the Green Party.
Mystery Person 2: Jonathan Ross (promoting his new show, Handcuffed: Last Pair Standing)
Quickfire question: "16% of the over 45's are what?" - answer: are flatsharing.
"When Trump referred to Starmer as not being like Churchill, do you think he meant the dog?" Mark Nelson.
If Peter Capaldi hadn't been the 12th Doctor, would I have gone to this gig? Probably not. Which would have been a shame, as it was a cracking night.
The drive through to Edinburgh was marred by my sat nav not recognising that Gorgie Street was closed, then attempting to make me drive through a dead end, then redirecting me back towards the closed road. I had planned for such contingencies, though, so I still arrived on time, parking on the Cowgate.
The queue had already snaked around the La Belle Angele covered area. Ticketmaster hadn't supplied me with actual paper or electronic tickets. The app message indicated that I should collect them from the box office. Overhearing a conversation between two lads, I realised that I was not alone in this regard. Only the doors to the venue were very much shut. I joined the queue and figured I'd work it out when the doors opened. Which was earlier than billed.
Security then told us to form two lines: one for those with tickets and the other for those needing to go to the box office. The box office line was longer and moved much more slowly. Oh well, I guess I won't be near the front. Wrong. I did quite well to get five from the front. Then a cheeky, young lad squeezed into the slight gap in front of me. He was a big unit, but shorter than me, so I let it go.
Unfortunately, he had phone Tourettes. When the support act played, he couldn't help snapping photos and short videos; his phone rose indiscriminately every couple of minutes, never recording a whole song, lifting it just high enough to affect my view. I resigned myself to forgetting about taking any videos myself. There were plenty of others doing it further forward, so if I was lucky, I'd be able to catch their work on YouTube later.
As soon as Zoe Graham took to the stage, I recognised her but couldn't think where I'd seen her before. I checked this blogsite and realised it was from Elbow at the Bandstand. Her set tonight was good. She played solo because bringing her band was unaffordable, so they were present in spirit via her tablet, which played the backing tracks. Her mum and dad were once again in the audience. She seemed an apt choice to open for Peter: plenty of guitar, Scottish vocals, meaningful pop tunes, and a confident performer.
Peter's young bandmembers were all attired in black Adidas tracksuits. Peter himself wore a black suit, speckled with sequins, over a buttoned-up, white shirt. He hasn't been the Doctor for over eight years, but standing on that stage, I could imagine this was the Time Lord having a whale of a time in his rock-star era. Except Peter is a far better actor than that, too skilled to allow that feeling to remain long. This was Peter Capaldi, rock star.
I'd been listening to Peter's two albums for a couple of days, impressed by the 80s indie synth/ guitar vibe and his lyrics. I got the sense that the production could have been punchier, though. This wasn't an issue live, though, as the place was properly rocking. At least at the start.
When he veered into his more soul-baring tunes, such as Bin Night, about expressing his love for his grandson, the audience remained rapt. He's obviously rehearsed his banter, the chatty bits as much of a performance as the songs. He takes the music seriously, but not himself, sharing his surprise that so many lovely, young people had paid to see a grandfather sing when they could do that at home for free. And should.
He's dapper and droll (I loved his comment after the Bowie cover about his band being his 'Spiders from Largs'). Even off the cuff, he's sharp (in response to his remark praising Edinburgh, someone shouts 'Gaun Yersel', to which he replies tellingly, "That's a Glasgwegian expression", bringing cheers from parts of the crowd). By including the "Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow" speech from Macbeth, he recognises and celebrates his foolishness as a poor actor, taking the stage for an hour, full of noise and passion, yet ultimately meaningless. How's that for Shakespearian satire?
I loved this gig. The audience was well up for it, though not too rowdy. Yes, the cameras popped up regularly at the start (Curses, I wanted to do that!), but settled down to manageable levels later in the set, when I could take a reasonably clear video.
The queue to get out was complicated by the masses queuing to meet Peter at the merch stall. Only when the venue staff shouted which stairs were for the merch queue did things get moving. I didn't mind. I got to peoplewatch. One young lad chatting to his girlfriend praised heaps on Peter's performance in the Paddington series. I couldn't tell if he was being serious, but he was of an age when that film would have been his thing. He would still have been in Primary School when The Thick of It aired, and he didn't look the type whose parents would have let him experience Malcolm Tucker's language. I was surprised by how youthful the crowd was, mainly young girls in their student years. How Peter became their demographic, I'll never know.
I didn't wait for an autograph or selfie. By the time I exited the venue, Peter hadn't appeared at the stall yet. Given the size of the queue, I think the strict cut-off time will have left many punters disappointed. I'm pleased I went, though. As he joked, he's 67 with a heart condition. This first tour could also be his farewell tour.
Let's hope not.
(Edit: On FB, my Kiwi pal asked if Peter's heart condition was having more than one. Bravo, Al).
Setlist:
Is It Today
It's Not Over Until It's Over
Sweet Illusions
Bin Night
Beautiful and Weird
Something to Behold
A Little Bit of Class (extended mid-section with encouraged audience participation)
Not Going Anywhere
The Great Magnificence
In Person
Hollywood or Bust
Through the Cracks
All the Young Dudes / Dont Look Back in Anger (David Bowie cover) (with "Tomorrow and Tomorrow" monologue from Macbeth)
Encore:
Friday I'm in Love (The Cure cover)
No One in the World
Videos:
Through the Cracks
Friday I'm in Love
Photos:
Zoe Graham
Ticket Price: £30.00 + Service Fee: £3.90 + Handling Fee £2.95 = Total £36.85
Blurb:
Actor Peter Capaldi, better known as the electric guitar-playing incarnation of Dr Who and the ‘Thick Of It’ swearer-in-chief Malcolm Tucker, picks up where he left off some forty years ago when he was a new wave wannabe rock star in a Glasgow band. Next year, he hits the road for his first-ever live music tour.
The dark synths, fuzzy guitars and noirish romanticism of a young rocker trapped in the body of a beloved television veteran will be on show in select venues across the UK for two weeks only next year.
Peter said, “I was in a band at art school, fired up by the punk explosion, we went out into the world in search of rock stardom, and well… I became an actor. But I never lost my love for music. And in recent years have produced two albums of original songs, “St.Christopher “ (2021) and this year’s “Sweet Illusions.” Recording, with all the advantages of the digital age, is one thing; playing live is another, but I wanted to see if I could go out after all of these years and play live in front of an audience. Well, let’s see what happens. I’ve lucked out with my band, a group of wonderful young musicians who have bravely come on board for the ride. “
Electing to use public transport, leaving the car at Johnstone, we caught the train to Central Station, then took the Subway to Hillhead. Arriving early, we browsed in Papyrus to get out of the rain, then made our way to the venue.
Inside, I wasn't sure where to go, so I asked the girl at the box office and was directed to the bar restaurant. The queue had already formed, so we didn't get much further than the inside door.
At noon precisely, the staff member started processing the line, which moved swiftly. She scanned our tickets and handed us each a blue and an orange token, one for food, one for drink. Then we made our way downstairs.
I only saw this notice as we were leaving
Inside the room, an usher advised us to claim our seats first. We found two unclaimed seats in the third row and laid our jackets over them, then headed back to join the drinks queue. The pies and vegan sausage rolls had been laid out in individual cardboard trays at one side under a rack of heater lamps. Having been served, we helped ourselves to napkins and condiments and returned to our seats.
The spacing at Òran Mór is tight, so the sign warning against leaving any gaps was concerning. Fortunately, the lady on my left was slim, so I had just about enough room if I squeezed against my wife. However, I noticed the three ladies in the front row had spread out across four seats (because they physically had to), while a larger gentleman further along claimed three spaces, his body sagging across the seats on either side. How were the staff going to get around this? It turned out not to be a problem, though. Either some ticket holders failed to show up or chose to sit in the spacious but restricted-view booths instead. We were lucky to have plenty of legroom, which was a nice surprise. I've been to gigs there where my knees were pressed against the seat in front of me.
At 1 pm, Artistic Director Brian Logan introduced the show, first advising us of the fire exit locations, before giving us the sales pitch for merch and season tickets in a most good-humoured fashion. Then the lights dimmed, and the play began.
Both leads were excellent, using their honed comedic skills to wring every funny line from a pitch-perfect script that made the most of the concept of two grandparents being videoed separately, relating their differing memories of a trip to Campbeltown to try to visit Paul McCartney's house, the juxtaposition providing constant laughs. Lighting changes were used to drop us into scenes from 1976, showing the couple bickering as events don't go exactly to plan, revealing the cracks and divisions that had begun to form, with surprises along the way.
The ending was perfect, the postcard providing a metaphorical happy ending for this trip down memory lane.
From every perspective - the script, the performances, the staging, the lighting and the sound design - the production was excellent.
The question is: did we luck out, or are they all as good as this?
A nostalgia-filled comedy-drama about a bickering couple on a mission to meet their idol, Paul McCartney.
In 1976, Jack and Kathy set out on a mission to find Paul McCartney’s house on the Mull of Kintyre, where he was living off-grid after The Beatles broke up.
Now, fifty years later, they are telling their granddaughter the full story of what really happened.
Did they ever get to meet their idol? Did their relationship survive? And most importantly, why did the Fab Four break up?
Inspired by a true story, Someone’s Knockin’ at the Door is a witty comedy-drama by Milly Sweeney (Best Writer – The Stage Debut Awards 2025) about family, memory, music, and chancing your luck.
As seems to be the norm at The Stand now, the room's doors didn't open at the advertised time. We got there for three, anyway, just in case, and had a drink while we waited. Arriving early at least meant we got a seat in the bar. We joined the queue when it stretched from the corridor into the bar area, and we got in at approximately 3:40 pm for a 4pm start.
The curtain had been pulled across the back of the room, so it wasn't going to be a sellout. We sat at a table near the doors, in case the show overran and we needed to make a quick exit (the show was billed as finishing at 5.40; the last subway was at 6).
Disapppointingly there was no support act. Fred MacAulay had opened for her in Edinburgh, and he was billed to appear at the Stand's Sunday Service that evening, so I'd hoped he'd be there to give us twenty, but no. Instead, we got extra Ria, which is no bad thing.
In this section, she did the usual, crowdwork mixed in with pre-prepared topical material, mainly about Andrew, the nonce formerly known as Prince. The front row were all foreigners: two Australians, a Lithuanian, a Georgian, and a Dutchman. So much for Brexit, she quipped.
After the fifteen-minute interval, she treated us to her tour show, an hour of outrage and anger directed at the world and her family life, due in part to her being divorced, single, a parent of three and perimenopausal.
I'd seen the WIP last year and watched the Edinburgh livestream, so I knew most of the material. While I enjoyed Ria's performance, it failed to elevate in the room, possibly due to the smaller audience. Occasional stunned silences were met with incredulity by Ria, who'd expected a bigger laugh. I don't remember these silences being built into the show, even though she had a comeback ready.
The dance she did as a closer made the point that, as a perimenopausal woman, she didn't care what we thought. I felt it would have worked better if she'd invited others on stage to share in her freedom, making the ending a bigger celebration.
Her jokes were funny and well-told, but I never fully engaged with the material. Despite making certain bits sciency with talk about the reactions of specific hormones, it still felt like she was playing to half the room. I'd rate the show three stars.
We nipped away as soon as the show was over, as we didn't have time to meet Ria afterwards (she hadn't brought merch because it would have cost too much to fly it up with her, but she did pose for selfies and had badges to give away). Despite our swift departure, we still missed the last inner line train to Ibrox, so we had to go all the way around on the outer line. This, plus the motorway traffic being a mess, meant we didn't get back till nearly 7 pm.
Not ideal.
The dogs were starving.
Ticket Price (in advance): £17 x2 + Booking Fee £1.60 = Total £35.60 from The Stand website.
