Last night's Comedy Junkies show at OTC Bar - Off The Cuff, my last before Christmas, felt like one of those standalone 'Happy Days' festive episodes ITV would show way after Christmas, often around May from what I remember, often involving The Fonz not having a family and struggling to find somewhere to go on Christmas Day (uncomfortably close to my recent Christmases, I have to say). There was something very different about the night but it's probably one every performer will remember.
The host James Townsend has a good energy about him (and one of the circuit's finest old-school handshakes) and did this wonderfully bizarre and clever set that I won't spoil here. James had curated a strong bill that like so many nights in London this year deserved a bigger audience.
The night took a bizarre but welcome twist for me when two old classmates I'd not seen since the late 80s turned up. I had no idea they would be there. I didn't even recognise them until shortly before the show started. I glanced at them several times before it started to dawn on me I might know them. I'm a big boxing fan and when I went over to greet them and shake their hands, placing a friendly hand on each of them, I think I was able to gage what their boxing weight categories would be. They were both, it seemed, what kids would describe as 'well hench' and one I think would be super middleweight, the other a middleweight.
As we chatted at the interval and after the show, it became evident to me the three of us had done well not to end up in prison as quite a few in our year had. Ours was a Catholic south London school that in the massive reorganisation of Catholic schools in the area back in the mid-eighties was sacrificed to make way for the biggest Catholic Sixth Form college of its time. It was a decision that stunk then and still stinks now and probably had a negative impact for many of us who stayed with the school.
Our school occupied the biggest site available in south London. We were shunted off to a rundown building in a very grey Battersea, far removed from the newly rebooted, gentrified Battersea so many are fawning over now, and the school would close for good within three years. It wasn't, as we reflected, what our parents had signed us up for.
A second TV reference follows. You’ll know that I've tried to re-engage with TV lately as I look to find ways of switching off on evenings I'm not gigging, and I made a point of watching Downton Abbey, which I had avoided during the hype years of a decade ago. Sure enough, the first series is a near-masterpiece but by the third year, the drop-off in quality is significant. That's how it felt with our school moving from Clapham South to Battersea. We weren't quite ever at the Downton Abbey Series 1 level (we needed the school to have a swimming pool for that) but Battersea was definitely our Downton Abbey Series 3. (You'll note I don't say 'season' and that's because I'm not American and chances are neither are you.)
In those final couple of years, the school produced a Liverpool footballer, an infamous murderer still in Broadmoor where he's been since the late 90s, and, it seems, heroin lovers who paid no attention to Zammo's issues chasing the dragon in mid-80s Grange Hill. Thankfully we produced a few good eggs too and I was lucky enough to enjoy the company of two of them last night.
School was never that big a thing for me once I left. I don't think it tends to be for working class kids. Normally, we can't wait to leave and just get on with life. By the time we're 16, we were and continue to face difficult choices, our options far narrower than kids from more privileged backgrounds. I knew too many kids who weren't even allowed to go to college because they needed to provide extra money for their struggling families and they went into work at 16. For the wealthier, school can and often makes for their best days. Looking back, going to a rough south London boys comprehensive, by the time you're 11, your card's been marked and the odds are stacked against you.
Before I go, an honourable mention to comic Benjamin Patterson, on the bill last night, whose refusal to use the internet for anything, ever, I find very engaging. He uses one of those old burner phones you see on episodes of 'The Wire' and books every gig in person, moving from gig to gig on any given night looking for dropout spots. This can't be easy, but he tells me he prefers that face to face contact and here's the thing: he's very good. But you won't find him on here because...he doesn't do the online thing. The lack of an online presence/profile is probably costing him the progress he deserves but I still find his stance commendable.
Hopefully I’ll have an easier night tonight. After Tuesday’s emergency DIY was followed up by a late meal that kept me thirsty all night, last night was a really late night as I caught up with my old classmates. I got home after 1am at which point, even though by then I wasn’t that hungry, I proceeded to have a full meal. Pure greed. I paid the price this morning with a full workout in the flat to try and work off a few of those calories.
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