TO SIT in the Dublin offices of Hot Press magazine writing a column about the life of a jobbing stand-up comedian in London in which references to The Big Smoke, The Old Empire and Perfidious Albion are pretty much conspicuous by their absence is a strange experience. The trauma of doing so in the aftermath of a leisurely lunch with Mr Olaf Tyaransen can only be described as harrowing. He is the only man I know who considers tequila and lime to be two of the major food groups. (The others, as if you had to ask, are women and nicotine.)
Tomorrow I return to London, following a sojourn of several days in the bowels of Kerry where I performed at the inaugural Murphy s Ungagged Killarney. In the fine tradition of such sporadic stout-sponsored shindigs, a good time was had by all. So much so, that throughout the festival s duration I managed to let all the attractions this well-known tourist town has to offer bypass me completely.
Methinks a letter to the Irish Times will have to be written: Dear Sir, Despite spending three days in Killarney recently, I did not see a single lake, mountain, Aran jumper, leprechaun, green felt hat or knobbly stick. Is this a record? Is mise le meas, Barry Glendenning.
Laugh if you will, but I ll wager this will be the most gripping piece to have featured in said newspaper since the great Tom Humphries magnificent midsummer s tribute to the hurlers of Offaly shortly before their untimely demise at the hands of Cork in the All Ireland hurling semi-final.
The line-up of joke-makers featured an array of international men of misogyny, mirth and mystery: a Kiwi, a brace of Australians, a Scot and numerous others from this parish, including Ardal O Hanlon, Mark Doherty, Jason Byrne, David O Doherty, John Henderson, Barry Murphy and your humble correspondent.
The first night saw me doubling up with Greg Fleet, an Australian who was appearing on the back of a successful run in Edinburgh. The title of his show Greg Fleet Is Scary! Scary? Not really. Funny? Very.
One gag which I was granted permission to put in print concerned the warnings given to Aussie kids concerning the dangers of predators which lurk beneath the sea s surface. When I was a kid, mused Greg. I was told that a Great White shark could bite your leg off and you wouldn t even notice. Now I don t believe that for a second. I mean, you d have to notice after a couple of days! After all, surely you d be leaning to one side and falling off your bicycle a lot.
My second and third shows were support slots with the uproarious Scottish enigma that is Phil Kay. A hirsute master of mirth who has succeeded in making a complete cult of himself in recent years, his very presence in Kerry ensured that both shows were packed to the rafters and magnificent fun. Phil s first 40-minute set over-ran just a tad (by the small matter of 70 minutes) while the second was one of the greatest stand-up performances I have ever seen. Few comedians have the savvy to coax an elderly couple on stage, officiate over a ceremony in which they renew their marriage vows and then count down from 31 (the number of years they ve been married) as the newly weds wear the faces off each other in front of a raucous crowd. Phil made it look easy, despite the fact that he had a toy trumpet emerging from his rectum throughout the nuptials. n