Malcolm's memorial
Last night we exercised our laughter muscles with a trip to the Hackney Empire for the shambolic Malcolm Hardee memorial show.
A motley crew of comedians gathered to celebrate the man to whom many owe their career, or who Malcolm owed money.
We had Charlie Chuck (donkey!), Ricky Grover (impressive boxing skills), Simon Day (Tommy Cockles), Jimmy Carr, Hattie Hayridge (a funny woman!), John Hegley (comedy songs), Jools Holland (piano master), Stewart Lee (a bit too clever for the average Greenwich punter), Arthur Smith (cockney compare), Jim Tavare (old jokes home), Henning Wehn (a funny German!), The Bastard Son Of Tommy Cooper (who sadly did not insert a neon tube light into his anus), Brian Damage (same routine for ten years), Frank Sinazi (aka Peter Perke), and many, many more.
In the deceased's honour many of his old jokes were given an airing: met my wife in Australia, I said what the fuck are you doing here; roses are red, violets are blue, I'm dislexic, bllsrlfsteerr. And several pairs of bollocks were given an airing too, on the shout of 'knob out'.
My personal favourite was sadly not performed: there's people starving in Africa. Not round the edges, plenty of fish.
I was pleased to see Pete's singing Hitler Sinatra still going strong. The guy's got a great voice but surely some line of taste has been crossed that would give the character a short shelf life?
When Jimmy Carr came on there was much booing. I can't understand this. I think the man is a genius but many people seemed to be much offended by his mere presence and clipboard. The Marmite of comedy - you either love him or hate him, it seems. He tried hard to bring the audience round, nearly succeeding with a rape joke (if men always fall asleep after intercourse, why is it so hard to catch paedophiles?) but it was not to be.
The theatre itself is worth the entrance fee. With a huge grant and probably large amount of donation, they have tarted it up proper. It's a smallish auditorium but a splendidly gold and painting-filled affair, with nice toilets too!
Oy, oy. Fuck it.
A motley crew of comedians gathered to celebrate the man to whom many owe their career, or who Malcolm owed money.
We had Charlie Chuck (donkey!), Ricky Grover (impressive boxing skills), Simon Day (Tommy Cockles), Jimmy Carr, Hattie Hayridge (a funny woman!), John Hegley (comedy songs), Jools Holland (piano master), Stewart Lee (a bit too clever for the average Greenwich punter), Arthur Smith (cockney compare), Jim Tavare (old jokes home), Henning Wehn (a funny German!), The Bastard Son Of Tommy Cooper (who sadly did not insert a neon tube light into his anus), Brian Damage (same routine for ten years), Frank Sinazi (aka Peter Perke), and many, many more.
In the deceased's honour many of his old jokes were given an airing: met my wife in Australia, I said what the fuck are you doing here; roses are red, violets are blue, I'm dislexic, bllsrlfsteerr. And several pairs of bollocks were given an airing too, on the shout of 'knob out'.
My personal favourite was sadly not performed: there's people starving in Africa. Not round the edges, plenty of fish.
I was pleased to see Pete's singing Hitler Sinatra still going strong. The guy's got a great voice but surely some line of taste has been crossed that would give the character a short shelf life?
When Jimmy Carr came on there was much booing. I can't understand this. I think the man is a genius but many people seemed to be much offended by his mere presence and clipboard. The Marmite of comedy - you either love him or hate him, it seems. He tried hard to bring the audience round, nearly succeeding with a rape joke (if men always fall asleep after intercourse, why is it so hard to catch paedophiles?) but it was not to be.
The theatre itself is worth the entrance fee. With a huge grant and probably large amount of donation, they have tarted it up proper. It's a smallish auditorium but a splendidly gold and painting-filled affair, with nice toilets too!
Oy, oy. Fuck it.
posted by The WyeBird @ 1:58 pm
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