Comedy can be a hit and miss business, depending on the confidence and experience of the performer, the strength of the material and the disposition of the audience.
Some of them might have has a bad day or (and there are such people, believe you me) loathe comedy and been reluctantly dragged along to sit in stony silence as the performer strives to amuse them.
Comedians can never be sure whether an individual, usually egged-on by friends, will interrupt their act with a heckle, so they need to be able to think on their feet. And, if they’re not very good at maths, they also have to be able to count on their fingers.
One of the all-time best examples of ‘thinking on your feet’ came courtesy of Groucho Marx.
When he hosted the successful TV quiz show “You Bet Your Life!” in the 1950s, a lady contestant told Groucho she had 15 children.
When Groucho commented on the large number, the lady said “I like children!”
Groucho’s immediate response was, “I like a cigar. But now and then I take it out of my mouth!”
Before Paul Daniels became a TV star, like many comedians he toured the tough workingmen’s clubs for years. Just before he was due to go on stage in a club he’d never worked before, the concert secretary announced to the crowd that Arthur Grimshaw, the oldest member of the club, had died that day.
Listening to people crying and sobbing, Paul thought. “And I’m going to die here tonight!”
So, thinking on his feet, he walked on stage and said, “I realise you’re not in the mood to be entertained tonight.”
The crowd murmured in agreement.
“But”, Paul continued, “Let’s not think about ourselves. Let’s consider what Arthur would have wanted.”
The crowd perked up.
“Arthur would have wanted the show to go on. So, I’ll do my act…not for you…not for me…”
He looked Heavenwards…
“Arthur! This one’s for you!”
The crowd applauded loudly, Paul’s act went better than ever and afterwards everyone wanted to shake his hand and get his autograph.
And… he was immediately re-booked!

I have been thinking of this for quite some time.
On the rare occasions that I have to purchase something online, I do make sure I read all the reviews.
The good, bad and in between.
There is something reassuring and satisfying in a good review.
This got me thinking.
With so many local businesses fighting hard to gain market share and spread the word in order to survive the challenging times, we can all make a difference by helping out with a positive review.
If someone has provided you with a good service, maybe a quality meal or made you feel valued as a customer – a short note, well-worded review on social media, Google or Trip Advisor could mean the difference between survival or closure to many of our much-needed local businesses.
Worth the effort? Absolutely.
We should all spread the word if we have been witness to a good deed or service. Let’s lose the constant moaning culture and complain less!
Do something good this week to help our much-needed businesses community. It might make a huge difference.

When I started out in stand-up, if I needed to stay overnight after a gig, I usually had a choice of hotels. However, half a century ago, I wouldn’t have been so fortunate.
The chain hotels we’re so used to seeing these days didn’t really exist until the 1970s onwards, so comedians and other performers who needed accommodation overnight, for a week or a long summer season, stayed in ‘theatrical digs’.
They could be a spotless home from home or resemble the Addams Family house, with a permanent whiff of boiled cabbage wafting from room to room.
Whatever its condition, it was run by that legendary character…the theatrical landlady.
Over the years I’ve collected some wonderful stories about these ladies, told by comedians of the past.
Here’s just a couple…
Tommy Handley was a popular comedian of the 1940s whose long-running radio series “It’s That Man Again!” (ITMA) was a huge morale booster during World War Two.
He stayed in one theatrical digs where the loo was next to the dining room and one evening after a show he was in his room when he suddenly had to ‘go’.
He ran downstairs, went into the dining room, only to find the landlady and her family were sitting down to supper.
Embarrassed, but with no alternative, Tommy opened the loo door and went in.
Ten minutes later, when he tried to pull the chain… it wouldn’t budge!
Tommy tried every combination. One long pull and two short ones. Two long ones and a short one etc. Nothing worked. He started to panic, not knowing what to do. Then he heard the landlady call out from the dining room. “You’ve got to surprise it, Mr. Handley!”
Some, but not all, theatrical landladies would have a late meal ready for their guests when they returned from the theatre.
When a comedian wrote to enquire of a Blackpool landlady if she’d be prepared to do this, she wrote back “I would be more than happy to caper for you!”
My favourite was the landlady who told Leslie Phillips when he arrived at her digs “I won’t allow you to use the downstairs lavatory . . . but you can use the piano!”

Once upon a time, in a small village nestled between rolling green hills, lived a young girl named Lily.
Lily was known throughout the village for her incredible storytelling abilities.
Every evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the villagers would gather around a crackling bonfire, eagerly waiting for Lily to share her tales.
Lily’s stories were magical. With each word she spoke, she transported her listeners to far-off lands filled with fantastical creatures and extraordinary adventures. Her stories were uplifting, funny, and heartwarming, leaving everyone with a smile on their face and warmth in their hearts.
One day, a wise old traveller arrived in the village. He had journeyed far and wide, seeking wisdom and knowledge. Intrigued by the tales of Lily’s storytelling prowess, he decided to test her abilities. Gathering the villagers, he challenged Lily to tell a story that would change someone’s life.
Lily accepted the challenge, her eyes gleaming with determination. She gathered her thoughts, and with a mischievous grin, began her tale. She spoke of a young girl who was shy and introverted, always hiding behind her books. The girl dreamed of making friends and being a part of something bigger, but her fear held her back.
As the story unfolded, the villagers listened with bated breath. Lily’s words painted a vivid picture of the girl’s journey, filled with laughter, friendship, and unexpected triumphs. The story touched their hearts, reminding them of their own dreams and fears.
When Lily finished her story, the village erupted in applause. The wise old traveller stood up, his eyes shining with admiration. “You, dear Lily, have shown us the true power of storytelling,” he proclaimed. “Your tale has reached deep within our souls, reminding us that we are all capable of overcoming our fears and achieving our dreams.”
From that day forward, the villagers understood the importance of being good storytellers. They realized that stories have the power to uplift spirits, bring people together, and inspire change. Each villager, young and old, began practicing the art of storytelling, sharing their own tales of hope, love, and adventure.
As the years passed, the village thrived. The stories told around the bonfire became the heartbeat of the community, strengthening bonds and fostering a sense of unity. And little Lily, now a wise storyteller herself, continued to weave her magic, reminding everyone that the power of a good story can transcend time and touch the very essence of our humanity.
So, my dear friend, we must practice this skill of storytelling because it has the power to ignite imagination, spread joy, and connect us on a deeper level.
In a world that can sometimes feel disconnected, stories have the ability to bridge gaps and remind us of our shared experiences. So, be a good storyteller and let your words dance with humour, warmth, and upliftment. Share your tales, touch lives, and watch the magic unfold, knowing that in your stories, you hold the power to make the world a brighter, happier place.

I’d like to talk about something close to my heart.
Not my wallet – A.I.
Incidentally, American’s refer to wallets as ‘pocketbooks’.
Which begs the question, what do they call books small enough to fit in their pockets?
They also call a waistcoat a ‘vest’.
We know from Hollywood films, American men wear what we call vests – possibly the most famous example was the sweat-stained one that Bruce Willis wore in “Die Hard”, which by “Die Hard 2” had been washed and ironed.
So, what do Americans call ‘vests’?
Asking you questions is an example of one human being (me) inter-acting with another (you, in case you weren’t sure). Something less easy to do with Artificial Intelligence, A.I.
If you think that A.I. has no bearing on your life, let me gently point you in the direction of your nearest supermarket and the self-service checkout tills that have slowly begun to replace checkout staff – even in smaller supermarkets with names that rhyme with ‘Bal-dy’ and ‘Wid-dle’.
Yes, I did recently rewatch ‘Carry On Up The Khyber’.
A self-service checkout that scans your goods and takes your money is a prime example of Artificial Intelligence, so allow me to put my (loyalty) cards on the table.
I loathe self-service checkout tills and think they should be banned.
“Get down off that fence, Phil and tell us what you really think!” Yes, I can hear the shouting already!
I was astonished to hear someone say they actually prefer them to going through a check-out where your items are scanned by a human being, who can sort out problems such as a barcode missing from an item, and speaks to you, if only to say “Goodbye and have a lovely evening!”
Self-service tills may suit busy people who need to rush home to smash a few avocados for dinner. But every self-service checkout means someone who once worked on it is now out of a job.
Apparently A.I. can now create jokes!
Once it can deliver them on stage to an audience and write articles like this . . . what’ll happen to me?
I won’t even be able to get a job in Bal-dy or Wid-dle.

Ever since I can recall, I’ve been lugging around my trusty little black book.
Now, you might wonder what on earth I use it for (hint: it’s not just for secret spy notes).
In this magical book of mine, I jot down everything that pops into my head – from hilarious one-liners I overhear to those brilliant ideas that desperately need to be nurtured.
You see, if I don’t scribble them down, they vanish into thin air, never to be seen again.
And let me tell you, dear readers, I’ve had my fair share of disappearing genius moments. That’s precisely why my little black book is my prized possession.
In fact, my obsession with these books has led to a rather impressive collection. They’re scattered all around my house, numbering no less than 60!
I even keep one right by my bedside because, let’s face it, great ideas always strike when you’re about to drift off into dreamland.
Now, here’s the catch – my lightning-fast writing speed doesn’t always do justice to my thoughts. It’s like deciphering hieroglyphics trying to decode my own scribbles, and boy, does it drive me nuts!
But let me tell you, folks, this quirky habit of mine is pure pleasure.
Years from now, when I dive into these treasure troves of memories, it’s like stepping into a time machine of laughter and joy. Though I must admit, nostalgia just doesn’t pack the same punch it used to. Times have changed!
So, let’s celebrate the wild world of creativity, where brilliance and hilarity walk hand in hand.
Remember, keep your little black book handy, embrace the chaos, and be prepared for a comedy show of memories when you least expect it!