It Occurs To Me:  A crime against comedy

At an audience Q&A for the BBC Comedy Showcase at Soho House last year, an audience member asked Jon Petrie, the BBC director of comedy: “Can I ask, as comedy chief, do you actually find Mrs Brown’s Boys funny? And would you watch it if you didn’t have to?”

Jon Petrie did not answer. The journalist who asked the question said: “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.” Subsequently, Petrie laughed awkwardly.

As long suffering TV viewers will know, the BBC has persisted, as has RTÉ. Other than the overhyped Gavin and Stacey, Mrs Brown’s Boys was the Christmas night highlight on both channels, and it was excruciatingly unfunny, embarrassing and not a great advertisement for what passes for Irish comedy.

Are we to believe that the overuse of the word ‘feckin’ is supposed to make us roar with laughter? The Two Johnnies, The Young Offenders etc are appalling in the extreme, so why do the Paddy ‘Petries’ of this world stick with them? Well, I’ve worked long enough in the business to share this with you…if the Beeb or RTÉ have invested heavily in a much hyped programme, they will not surrender in the face of genuine criticism, so as not to lose face! That’s it in a nutshell…it’s the salving of egos that takes priority, so they will try to convince you that the viewing figures are great, and that only the audience matters.

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Will they pay a blind bit of difference to the headline in the Culture section of the Independent (UK) which read: “The Mrs Brown’s Boys Christmas special is a crime against comedy.

Here we are again with the same old formula, the same old characters and the familiar complete and total absence of wit.” or The Telegraph’s “Mrs Brown’s Boys Christmas Special, review: heart-warming is the intention, heartburn is the outcome. Even BBC One seems embarrassed by this antediluvian affair of single entendres and sickly sentimentality.”

The best programme by far over the Christmas period was a rerun of The Bothy Band on TG4 and the best comedy was on YouTube…old programmes of The Two Ronnies, particularly the Fork Handles/Four Candles episode which can still make me heave with laughter. That was ‘hit’!...as we say.

A ‘still’ on the Erne

Meanwhile in Derrylin, a combination of Fermanagh and Cavan entertainers - who most probably will not grace our screens in any great measure - convinced me that far from the centres of hype and horse manure, there is culture and craic in the ‘real’ Ireland.

For the past few years, I’ve had the pleasure of working with men and women in that border area in The Aughkillymaude (home of the famous mummers) Community Centre, and they have restored my wilting faith.

I could pick any of the twenty or so who sang, read poems and told yarns over a two-month period, but for today, I’ll share a couple of stories told by Declan Fitzpatrick, who hails from the Drumlane area of Belturbet (coincidentally, where my granny Katie was from). Because of its proximity to the border, Declan has many smuggling yarns. One concerns a new garda inspector who landed in Belturbet and was intent on ending the scourge of poitín and nailing one individual in particular who lived near the Fermanagh frontier.

Gardaí with a poitín still

Your man knew all the guards by sight so the inspector had to wait for a raw recruit to land from Templemore to carry out his mission. He got the young lad to dress in civvies and pretend he was a customer looking to buy a few bottles. The rookie headed off, found the small farm, and requested the two bottles from the distiller.

“Follow me” said your man, and some five minutes later, they landed at an impressive still, dug deep into a ditch and covered by a makeshift corrugated roof. The buck reached in, produced the bottles and said: “A clean fiver will do the trick!”. The young guard handed it over, and then produced his warrant card: “I’m undercover…I’m doing you!”

That doesn’t take a flinch out of the Cavan man…he pockets the fiver, looks at the warrant card and laughs: “I’m afraid you have no jurisdiction here!” to which the guard responds: “How do you make that out?” “Well, young fella…I’ve taken you into Fermanagh…I’d spot you hoors a mile away!”

Not all they’re cracked up to be!

Another of Declan’s crackers concerns a local bachelor in his 50s who is ‘dodging along nicely’ until he meets a lovely woman at the opening of The Erne Palais Ballroom in Belturbet on Thursday, October 10, 1963, music by the legendary The Mighty Avons, and as it turns out, she’s a ‘shocking jiver!’. (‘Shocking’ in Cavan parlance can be a positive word).

In any event, a few Cavan Colas later, they arrange to meet again, and within six months, are walking down the aisle. She lives with her parents, he has a small farm, so they agree to move to his abode. When he’s helping her to move her stuff, she points out a small blue strongbox and says: “That is mine, strictly private…you’re never to open or look in it!” “Grand” says he.
Years pass, the marriage appears to be a happy one, and as he is content to lie in a heap in front of the telly after a long day’s farming, he pays no mind to her many nights out with various organisations and functions.

One night however, after she announces that she’s heading to an ICA ‘do’ in Termonfeckin, and may be away till late, he notices that she has left the strongbox key on the dressing table, and curiosity gets the better of him. When he opens it, he is bewildered to find two eggs sitting on their ‘lonesome’ but in another box within, he finds hundreds of pound notes.

He goes to bed before she returns but the following morning, she hops off him: “You opened my box!” He denies it but she insists: “The key was moved…I know you did!” He eventually admits it and she inquires: “What did you find?” “Well” says he, “the two eggs threw me, I’ll be honest.”

She grabs him by the hand and says: “Well, every time I had an affair, I put an egg in the box!” He is so shocked, he storms out, but while foothering around the farm later, her thinks: “Ah, I suppose twice in ten years isn’t too bad” and when he goes back to the house, he says: “Ok, I’m shocked and hurt but I forgive you…one question, where did all the money come from?”
“Well” says she, every time I sold a dozen eggs, I put the money in the box!”

Play Misty For Me

As I look out this morning, the mist and fog are slowly dissipating. I’m watching Match of the Day…the day after…and cursing Chelsea, but I’m reminded of one of my favourite football yarns.

A match between Charlton and Chelsea on Christmas Day 1937 was at risk of being called off due to heavy fog. The referee paused the match repeatedly due to visibility issues until he ultimately decided to cancel it for good.

The players and the audience slowly left the stadium, all except one: goalkeeper Sam Bartram never realised the referee’s decision and remained steadfast in goal until a policeman came to escort him off the pitch 15 minutes later. “The match has been suspended for fifteen minutes.

The stadium is completely empty!” he explained.
Years later, in his autobiography, Sam shared details of that unusual night when he found himself alone in the game against Chelsea.

“I could see less and less of the players. I was sure we were dominating the game, but it seemed obvious we hadn’t scored, because my teammates would have returned to their defensive positions and I would have seen one of them. There were also no cheers”.

Funny old game!