My parents spent a considerable amount of money on my education. They wanted me to go on to a career in public speaking, but were rather hoping I might wear a wig and gown, charge a significantly higher hourly rate and say "M'lud" a lot. But because they are good people, they have been very supportive, whilst trying to hide their own (and their friends') amazement I get paid anything at all. I don't have children yet, but if I do I imagine the quizzical disapproval will jump a generation and they will regard me with the same look of confusion my father wears at the Edinburgh Festival.

 

 
7. What’s the worst thing about being a comedian?

 

Nothing. It's a constant joy. Just ask my wife.


8. I think you are very good at what you do (that’s why I’m asking these questions). What do you think of you?

As you're one of the most respected critics in the business I think I would be frankly churlish to disagree with your exhaustively researched, intuitively felt and deeply held convictions and I'm nothing if not churlish. 

 
9. How much do you earn and how much would you like to earn?

 

Enough and more than enough.

 

 

Luck is hugely important, but so is talent and drive and you can at least control those. That way, when opportunity comes knocking you will be in the best position to take advantage of it. Or if you're me, you'll have the only really duff gig of your debut Edinburgh run when the Perrier judges are in or spend a whole gig wrangling two very vociferous stag nights when you're meant to be impressing Radio 4. You could also repeat a gag from your 2007 show once in your entire 2012 run on the one night the same reviewer is in and he'll conclude you haven't changed your act in five years and give you a pasting on a popular comedy website. Or you could just fall out with your management at the precise moment they launch some of the biggest names in the industry into the stratosphere.

 

I have possibly not made the most of my luck, but there is very little point in getting upset about it or begrudging others their success as that leads to a very low quality of life. Right now, I think I'm doing some of the best work I've ever done, so I'm once more perfectly positioned to spectacularly bugger up the next lucky break that comes my way. 

 

 
11. Alan Davies has said that comedians fall into two categories - golfers and self-harmers. The former just get on with life, the latter are tortured artists. Which are you – or do you think you fit into a third category?

 

I do play golf, although last time I played so badly I did consider self-harm, so I'm probably a bit of both. Looking at my career so far, maybe I'm a slightly bruised caddy.
 

 

There's a character in Cannery Row by John Steinbeck called Doc. They say never meet your heroes which shouldn't be difficult in this case because he's made up. 

 

In real life, I've always loved David Niven. He had huge charm and great humility and a lot of fun. He managed to have a wonderful career whilst being unable to believe his good fortune or take it for granted. When he was making 'The Charge of The Light Brigade' with Errol Flynn they were both laughing at Hungarian director Michael Curtiz's poor command of English. Eventually Curtiz exploded with the words: 'You people, you think I know fuck nothing; I tell you: I know FUCK ALL!' Whereupon they pretty much fell off their horses. 

 

That story always makes me laugh, and reminds us of the important truth that we all know absolutely fuck nothing.