Please welcome to the stage, Sarah Millican!
Aah!
Thank you so much!
So lovely!
Aah!
Thank you so much! That's so lovely.
How are you? Are you well?
-Yes! -Give me a cheer if you're upstairs.
-Whoo! -That's pretty good.
-Downstairs? -Whoo!
We're all here. Let's get started.
Thank you so much for coming. I was standing at the side there.
Do you ever get where you can smell gravy on yourself, but you can't find it?
It's somewhere here. What's also alarming
is I can smell a little bit of piss as well.
I can only assume that's my leggings coming through my tits
and quacking out the top, that's what's happening there.
Apologies to the people in the front row if this is not what you're expecting.
Maybe it's exactly what you're expecting.
I never understand why people get tickets for the front row for me.
I know for other people, it's a really good view,
but for me, it's a terrible fucking angle.
It's all tits and chins.
And now piss as well. Piss and tits and chins.
You lucky buggers.
You getting a strong whiff of it all the way back there, are you, flower?
I'm so sorry. You're right in a direct line.
I'll try not to quack at any point.
I'm so sorry!
My show, as you know, is called Late Bloomer.
I've always considered myself to be a late bloomer.
From what you understand of the term already,
give me a whoo if you think you're a late bloomer like me.
-Whoo! -Oh, there's quite a few of you in. Okay.
So I've been trying to work out what the rest of you are.
The Internet thinks the opposite of a late bloomer is a child prodigy.
I can see quite a lot of you down here. I'm gonna say no to that.
I think it's 'cause they're basing it on education,
when I think it's more to do with how old you were when you first had sex.
What's that, a sex prodigy? That doesn't sound right, does it?
Early slut? That's not very nice.
The term I've come up with… I think you're gonna like it.
To me, if you're not a late bloomer, you're an eager beaver.
Some of you won't know which one you are.
Luckily, I've made a handy list to help you decide.
Here we go. "Late bloomer,
sweet 16 and never been kissed."
"Eager beaver, sweet 16
and already been fisted."
There's loads over there!
I was trying to work out what the cutoff age is,
if it is about when you first had sex.
'Cause some people have sex for the first time when they're quite young,
and other people wait and have it when they're a bit older.
Wait? I'm not sure I waited.
Rather just none was available to me
when I was shopping for cock.
"Your basket is empty."
"Late bloomer, had no talents as a child."
When I was a kid, maybe 10 or 11 years old,
we had a talent assembly at school where whatever talent you had,
you could perform it in the assembly.
One little girl played the piano 'cause she'd had piano lessons.
I don't know if I can hide my hatred of her very well.
Another little girl did ballet…
…'cause she'd had ballet lessons.
I hadn't had any of that kind of lesson.
I was determined, though, to be involved in the assembly.
I told the teacher that my talent was looking after animals,
which is A, not a talent,
and B, even if it is, I'm not sure I had it,
'cause they all died.
I don't know how much is my fault. When you're little, you have little animals.
You have hamsters, budgies, rabbits.
You have things that don't last.
Live sounds better. Things that don't live very long.
Also you shouldn't keep a hamster longer than it wants to stay.
That's like the old saying, "If you love someone…"
"Let them go."
"Bury them in the garden." That's right.
"Eager beaver, however, tap dance from 5,
clarinet at 7, netball team at 12, disco dancing at 14,
sucking cocks at 16."
There's some at the back clapping already!
"Late bloomer, first kiss very late."
Now, for that, I don't count hands or posters.
I think your first kiss has to be another person, generally speaking.
Also, where do kids get their posters from these days?
There's no Woolworths, there's no Athena.
Are they just kissing their phones? Is that what they're doing?
I used to spend many an hour on a Saturday in Woolworths just doing this.
It was like a very early Tinder, wasn't it?
"Swipe left for Chesney Hawkes."
That's what late bloomers were doing on Saturdays,
while eager beavers were buying lipsticks and touching winkies.
Eager beaver, however, kissed everyone sort of uncomfortably early.
Sometimes I see a group of kids, group of adults with the kids,
and one adult will point at one kid and go,
"Eeh, look, she's got herself a boyfriend!"
And I think, "They're five years old, you fucking weirdo perverts."
"And it's her cousin. What the fuck's happening here?"
"Late bloomer, never accidentally pregnant."
Brace yourselves.
"Eager beaver,
many abortions."
Now…
Such a great reaction!
You did what I call the "move-on laugh."
"Ha ha ha! Ooh, no."
I'm pro-abortion, it's fine.
"Eager beaver, drank in the park, even on a school night."
"Phwoar!" Good response.
"Late bloomer, drank only at Christmas,
in full view of approving parents."
"Eager beaver, saw New Year's Eve as an opportunity
to get fingered or a hand job in a McDonald's toilet."
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
"Ten! Nine!"
"Eight!"
"Seven!"
"Late bloomer, went out on New Year's Eve,
but went home at 11:30 p.m.
to see in the new year with their parents."
I did that. I was never once fingered on a New Year's Eve.
Sounds like a country and western song, doesn't it?
"Eager beaver, experimented with drugs."
"Late bloomer, was on medication."
And finally, "Late bloomer, first sex toy after first divorce."
"Eager beaver, got a voucher for Lovehoney off their mam on their 17th birthday."
The inspiration for this show is a photograph.
You know there were people we really liked at school that we're still in touch with,
and there were people we really hated at school that we sort of hope are dead now.
Then there's…
Yes? Yes.
Then the people in between that we didn't know that well,
but they seemed all right at the time.
One of those girls in that last category sent me a message on Facebook.
She said, "I've got a photograph you're in and I wondered if you'd like to see it."
I said, "Yes, please." She said, "It's from when we were 12."
I'm 49 now, so the idea of seeing a photograph of myself from so long ago
is, of course, intriguing. I said, "I'd love to see it."
She said, "It's from when we went skiing with the school in France."
I've never been skiing.
So now I'm thinking, "Is it even me in the photograph
or just another kid in glasses?"
I know I've never been skiing 'cause it involves three of the things I hate most.
The cold, sport,
hospitals.
Actually, France. Four of the things I hate the most.
The photograph came through. It is me.
I'd love to show you the photograph, but in order to do that,
I'd have to ask permission of all the people in the photograph.
And in order to do that, I'd have to talk to people from school,
and I'm not fucking doing it.
So I'm gonna describe the photograph. As you're looking at me,
this is the photograph. Four kids sitting along in a row,
all aged 12 or thereabouts, all sitting at a table.
We'll start at this end.
The first person on my left, your right, is the girl who sent me the photograph.
Let's call her Sam. She's called Deborah.
It's fine.
She's got a big smile on her face.
It's a very '80s photograph, taken in 1987.
Everybody's in, like, crazy earrings, chunky jumpers.
There's evidence of nuggets on the table in front of us.
Don't know what they're called in France.
Les nuggets de poulet. I don't know.
She's got a big smile on her face, belly full of nuggets, having a lovely time.
Next to her is the prettiest boy in school.
The prettiest boy in school.
And I sent a message to Sam, Deborah, and I said,
"Do you remember we all used to fancy him?"
She said, "Yeah."
"Not now."
I said, "What does that mean?" She said, "I've looked him up on Facebook."
"Not now."
He peaked at 12.
Eager beaver. Then there's me.
Remember I said everybody's in crazy earrings, chunky jumpers?
Not me. I'm wearing a blazer.
Not a school blazer 'cause I'm not at school.
A fashion blazer.
I can only imagine I got it out of my sister's catalogue.
She used to run a catalogue.
Twenty-five pence a week, for the rest of my natural life.
Should check my bank statements.
There is a strong chance I am still paying for that now.
I've got the sleeves pushed up.
Sort of Miami Vice style.
Uh… Thanks.
Underneath the blazer is a blouse.
I think this is why I'm really good at being 49
'cause I think I might have always been 49.
Not even finished. On the blouse is a brooch.
Not even a cool kid's brooch, where it would be like,
"Hey, I like the penguin on your lapel."
No, a little lady's brooch right at the top of the blouse.
Keeping it shut, presumably so that nobody could see my
vest.
What the fuck was I hiding up here?
It was four more years till I grew any tits.
What the fuck was I hiding up here?
Also, I'm not sure my tits have ever been visible from up here.
Down there, perhaps.
Not up here.
I've got my sleeves pushed up, I've got my arms folded, and I look fucking livid.
And I sent a message to Sam, Deborah, and I said, "I look livid."
She said, "You look like an office manager."
And she's right. I look like maybe I couldn't get a boyfriend,
but I bet I could have gotten a mortgage.
That's what I look like.
I look like the one in your friend group, might even be you,
you know the one who works out who owes what on the bill at the end of the meal?
She's not that sociable, just comes out for the maths, that one. I look like her.
But the reason I look so livid is apparent
as soon as you realize that the last person in the photograph
on my right, your left, is my bully.
And I thought, "How did I get from there to here?"
How did I get from there, being so shy and lacking in confidence,
I couldn't say to one of the other kids, or a teacher, or a helper,
"Can I sit beside you 'cause she's always awful to me?"
I just sat there, just took it. Yes, I was furious,
bursting out my fucking brooch, but I still just took it.
How did I get from there to here?
Here, which is essentially talking to people I've never met before
about my fanny.
For money.
So over the course of show,
I'm gonna tell you stuff about me as a kid, about me now,
and try and work out how I got from A to B.
I had two good friends at school, you don't need more than that.
I also had pen pals. Anybody have a pen pal when they were a kid?
-Whoo! -Yeah!
So there was a company called Transatlantic Pen Friends,
where you could get an American pen pal. I was excited by this.
A lot of the television I watched as a kid was American.
I thought there was a pretty good chance I was going to end up writing to Fonzie,
that's what I thought.
But how they matched you up with somebody you'd have something in common with
is you sent a list of favorite things.
Everybody did the same, and they paired you off.
The boy they matched me up with was a similar age to me,
but number one on his list of favorite things
was the word "knives."
Hey, America's different, isn't it?
Mine was "satsumas."
Compared to his list, mine was so innocent.
Oh my God, it was so innocent. Mine was "satsumas, stationery,
uh, Rolf's Cartoon Club, Jim'll Fix It, and The Cosby Show."
I was also in Gary Glitter's gang.
I put my back out a while ago. When some people put their backs out,
they're in agonizing pain, laid up for months.
If that's you, you have my sympathy. Thankfully, it's not so bad for me.
I basically pulled something in my back
that meant things were tricky for a few days.
I know exactly how I did it, though. I put my back out
trimming my pubes.
'Cause the fatter you get, the further away they are.
I texted my friend, 'cause I thought it was hilarious,
"I think I just put my back out trimming my pubes."
And she replied with the weirdest question.
She just replied, "Front to back?"
I said, "Well, I didn't section it off like a hairdresser does,
if that's what you mean."
But you know how doctors' receptionists are bitches?
Yeah!
It's not my opinion, it's just a fact in the world. They're all bitches.
I had to ring up to book a smear test.
The receptionist booked the appointment no trouble.
Then she said, "Just to let you know, for the two weeks before the smear test,
you're not allowed to have any sex."
-Huh? -Thank you!
Somebody over there went, "Huh?" Thank you!
I never heard that before. I said that to the lady. "Can you tell me why?"
She said, "I'm sorry, I can't. It's what we're told to say when we book the test."
Okay. So two weeks go by, something with work crops up,
I have to re-book, ends up being four weeks.
"Boo-hoo!" I don't know what that is.
I think I'm trying to show you what a sad vagina looks like.
"Your basket is still empty."
So four weeks go by, I go in for the appointment.
I'm sitting with a lovely nurse.
She said, "Before we start, have you got any questions?"
I said, "I have, actually. When I booked this appointment,
the receptionist told me that for the two weeks before the smear test,
I'm not allowed to have any sex. Is that true?"
She said no. Fucking bitches.
Fucking bitches.
When I first had that information, I mentioned it to one of my friends,
and she said, "Do they mean you have to stop everything
or just the jizzy stuff?"
I think I've given you a pretty good idea of what I was like as a kid already,
but allow me to color that in a bit further for you, if I may.
"I was the kid who sat at the front of the bus on school trips
to talk to the driver."
And vomit in the bucket.
I mentioned this to one of my friends. She said,
"Was there a bucket at the front of the bus?" I said, "Yeah."
"What were you doing?" She said, "Flashing my tits at the lorry drivers."
"I was the kid who was put on a table of tricksy kids to keep them in line."
I was part teaching assistant, part ADHD meds.
There was one boy on that table who used to sneeze on the table
and rub it in.
And years and years later, he asked me out in a nightclub,
and all I could think of was, "What would he rub on the table now?"
He's a French polisher now.
"While other girls were growing pubes,
I was growing cress in an egg."
Sticking it on. No!
It's a good idea. I wish I'd had it at the time.
"While other girls were being fingered behind the bike sheds,
I couldn't even ride a bike."
I didn't know where the bike sheds were.
What if there were fingers lined up for me there as well?
I mean, I'm not a parent, but if you have got kids,
teach them how to ride a bike
'cause if you don't, it's gonna affect them in so many different ways.
"I lied about my age to get into Jason Donovan."
The concert, not the man.
And finally, does anybody remember More magazine?
-Yes! -Yes.
So, if you don't know More magazine, it was a late-teen magazine,
it was fortnightly, had a very famous page,
Position of the Fortnight,
which was a weird pencil drawing of a couple having sex
in a variety of different ways.
I was looking at this every two weeks. I hadn't had my first kiss yet.
Didn't need More magazine, I needed fucking Any magazine.
Also, how confident are you when you start a magazine with a column like that,
that you know enough positions?
That magazine ran for 25 years.
I, as an adult,
only know five positions.
I only do two.
One.
Unless it's a birthday.
My birthday.
For my last birthday, I requested the wheelbarrow.
Don't know if you're familiar with the wheelbarrow?
Would not recommend.
My husband put his back out,
and I got carpet burns on my nipples.
I don't think everybody in our house knows how to use a toilet brush correctly.
There's only two of us, and I'm fine.
For example, the last time I pulled it out the… What is it called?
The holder? Is it the holder?
-Yes. -You know what I mean?
Where the poo soup lives. Yeah.
If you are horrified by that, hold on tight, guys!
The last time I pulled it out the holder,
it looked like a fucking cake pop.
"Can't use that now. It's gonna put more poo on the toilet."
"Also, how is he building it up so much?"
I have to stop doing that.
I'm worried I'm gonna put people off candy floss for life.
Ah!
How am I supposed to clean it when it's that bad?
Is it like a hairbrush? Do I have to comb it through?
No, no.
What about if I popped it in the dishwasher?
No?
I thought I could lie it flat on the top with all my vibrators and my big spoons.
Transpires that before he met me,
my husband used to think the toilet brush was used
for unblocking the toilet.
Everybody knows if you need to unblock a toilet, you need a vacuum.
No, not like a hoover.
Imagine Henry's face.
You need to create a vacuum, is what I should have said.
Some of you looking at me like you never had a big shit in your life. Fuck off.
So now we've got a plunger in every room.
Every bathroom, not every room.
Just one by the side of the bed, just in case we're fucking and he gets stuck.
But it's not that long ago that my husband found out
that the towels he brought into our relationship
have gone to live on a farm.
Two towels, both bath towels.
One had Elvis on it, one had Aston Villa on it,
and they hung on a hook each in his bathroom,
and they were what could only be described
as crispy.
So much so that I knocked one off the hook one day,
and it landed and held its shape.
Like a ghost. Like his bathroom was haunted.
Early in our relationship, one day I said, "Have you got a towel I could borrow?
He said, "Use either of the ones in the bathroom."
And I was like, "What if I like my skin?"
He looked in the cupboard for any alternative.
He found what looked like a small white hand towel.
I thought, "That'll have to do." But when I opened it,
it turned out to be an Ibis hotel bath mat.
For fuck's sake.
Things were very different for him before he met me.
He used to have black bedsheets.
And not like in a… Mr. Lover Loverkind of way.
Just George at Asda cotton black sheets.
His reasoning was that they wouldn't show anything up.
You know what they did show up? Jizz.
If anything, they were jizz-enhancing sheets.
Looked like a Bob Ross painting.
One day, I thought I'd seen Jesus's face.
Which presumably would count
as the second coming.
At school… I don't know if this is just my school or area.
Let's find out. This is just for the ladies.
Give me a whoo if, when you did PE at school,
you had to have a shower afterwards.
-Whoo! -Give a whoo if that shower was communal.
-Whoo! -Okay.
I had two problems with the showers. The first was I don't think I did enough
in PE
to warrant a shower.
Starting at the side and then putting the balls back in the cupboard at the end
did not make me very sweaty.
Second problem I had was that I was very underdeveloped at that age.
Uh, I was very self-conscious of that. I didn't get boobs and pubes…
Ooh, it rhymes!
Shoulders, knees and toes Knees and toes
Didn't get boobs and pubes until I got my GCSEs.
Not, like, as a "Well done."
"You've done quite well in your exams. Have some tits and hair."
"Just take whatever you like out the bag."
"Ooh, there's a little bit of hair left. Uh…"
But because of puberty, there were girls in my year that looked like proper women.
I just looked like a young girl. So I'd wrap a towel around myself.
I'd keep the towel wrapped. I'd go into the shower area.
I'd splash my shoulders and I'd splash my feet, and try and get away with that.
But give me a whoo if sometimes your teacher watched.
-Whoo! -Yeah!
We call them pedophiles now. A friend who's Australian said,
"It's not like that in Australia. Terrible."
I said, "I know it's terrible. I was just so self-conscious
'cause I didn't have any boobs and pubes."
She said, "Well, you've made up for lost time there, haven't you?"
I was like, "I'm assuming she means my tits."
"I'm not sure she's seen my pubes."
Although she does know I haven't put my back out in a while.
So she's just done a rough calculation there.
She said, "I bet you'd have a shower with all those people now."
I said, "That would be the weirdest ever response to a school reunion invitation."
"Sure, I'll come to the pub with you."
"Do you mind if first, we have a shower together?"
"'Cause I've been growing some stuff I think you're gonna wanna see."
"So many pubes now, some of them are coming out my fucking chin."
It's true.
Love a big handbag. Haven't always loved a big handbag.
When I was sort of late teens, early 20s,
I had… you know the kind that goes across you?
I had one of those smaller bags.
It felt important at that age to have my hands free for whatever life threw at me.
I was ready. Be it opportunity or danger, I was fucking ready.
I wanted to be able to pick up a pound coin, peel a satsuma,
punch a rapist, all the things I thought might come up.
Now, though, I prefer a big handbag
that can contain everything I could possibly need.
Give me a whoo if you like a big handbag?
-Whoo! -Small handbag?
-Whoo! -Prefer no handbag?
-Whoo! -You're the people that scare me most.
'Cause you're not prepared for fucking anything at all.
I have a friend who has a small handbag. We were comparing our bags.
She noticed that my purse was the same size as her handbag.
And just to give you an idea, my purse is the same size
as the one my nana used to run after the ice-cream van with.
You know, massive and can be used as an improvised weapon if needs be.
She said, "You can't need everything that's in that." I said, "I do."
"I've got bank cards. Other bank cards in case the first bank cards don't work."
"I've got cash in case none of the bank cards work."
"I've got gift cards. I've got Clubcards. I've got stamps."
And she went, "Do you not just use Apple Pay?"
"Neh-neh-neh-neh-neh."
I said, "No, 'cause I decided two years ago
to not learn anything new ever again,
and I'm fucking loving it."
I said, "In that little bag, you must have your house keys?"
She said, "Yeah." She brought out one solitary key. No key ring attached.
I said, "My first worry is how you're going to defend yourself
if you have to get the last bus home late at night."
That's what we're taught. You put your keys between all your fingers.
One key! She's going to have to hope she's got good aim.
Just gouge his fucking eye out.
"Excuse me, Mr. Rapist, do you mind taking your glasses off, please?"
"Thank you." But that's what we're taught, isn't it?
We're taught you put your keys between all your fingers.
That's what we're taught, and claw down.
From what, 14 or 15? It's great being a woman.
And I worked in a shop in my 20s.
There was a lady, a bit older than me, worked there,
and she said to me one day,
"You should only ever wear shoes you can run in."
How fucking bleak is that?
I said it back to her, 'cause I wanted her to hear how bad it sounded.
I said, "You think I should only ever wear shoes that I…
I can run in?"
"You want me to wear magic shoes?"
But I brought out my set of keys to show my friend. I look like I run a jail.
I have emergency keys for four other people's houses.
My friend said, "You don't carry them all the time, though."
I said, "Yes I do 'cause I take emergencies fucking seriously."
Same friend, out for the day, having a lovely day.
She started her period. Wasn't expecting to.
Didn't have anything with her in her stupid little bag.
My first thought was, "She's going to have to use her stupid little bag
as a sanitary towel."
But she looked at me all sad eyed. She said, "I haven't got anything with me."
"Have you got anything?" I said, "What do you think?"
"I've got 12 nighttime towels."
Wasn't even due on for two more weeks. That's how fucking ready I am!
But for example, with what I have in my bag
that I brought here today, if 12 of you started your period,
I can sort you out.
I've got your back. Well, it's a nighttime towel.
I've got your front as well. They're fucking massive, aren't they?
"Just take this canoe and try and hold it in place."
If six of you got a blister, I can sort you out.
Not just a pissy little plaster, either. A fucking Compeed.
I can give six of you a fucking Compeed.
The sort you can't even peel off in the shower.
You just have to eventually shed them like a snake.
If 28 of you needed a pen…
I can do it. I'm not even ashamed.
If you've got the shits, I can sort you out.
I've got two different types of Imodium.
I've got Imodium Instant and Imodium Classic.
Does anybody know why Imodium Classic still exists?
Who is thinking, "I'd like my diarrhea to stop
but in a while"?
If any of you haven't had a shit today but would like one before bed,
I've got fucking Senokot.
Interestingly, Senokot never brought out an instant range.
'Cause it would just be like this. "Ha ha ha!"
Bam! "Fuck!"
"Glad I've got my canoe on."
I would like to talk to you,
see if anybody in this beautiful room of glorious people
would like to shout out an unusual thing that you have in your bag.
It doesn't just have to be a handbag. It can be a bum bag, backpack, briefcase.
Whatever it is you carry with you on a regular basis.
We'll section you off to make it easier. Let me give an example.
I was in quite a posh area recently, and I said,
"What's the most unusual thing you have in your bag?"
And a lady shouted out,
"Balsamic vinegar."
And I said, "Can I ask why you carry balsamic vinegar?"
She said, "Just in case I'm ever confronted
with a salad that's undressed."
What?
But I think the easiest way to talk to you guys is in the sections you're in.
We'll do upstairs first. We'll divide you in two.
Anybody want to shout out an unusual thing that you have in your bag?
Anybody want to start?
-Cutlery set. -A cutlery set?
A knife, fork, and spoon.
I understand what cutlery is.
Do you think I was just shoveling it in with my hands?
"Look at her, she probably uses a trowel."
What are they made of, my lovely? Are they plastic? Are they wooden?
They're plastic because I don't like it when you get the wooden ones.
It makes my mouth go all funny.
-Whoo! -Okay.
One fan of…
So that's two of you like killing the turtles. Is that right?
So you don't like the wooden ones.
-No. -And they're plastic. Are they silicone?
-Or are they, like, plastic plastic? -They're like silicone.
-They're in a little plastic… -So…
-A silicone tub. -Oh, this is nice.
So they're all together.
Slightly jealous.
-Do they stay in your bag all the time? -Yeah.
-Fucking amazing. -I've got a metal straw.
I don't like the paper straws.
I don't like the feel. The feel.
Oh! You're what I would call a fussy fanny.
Is this your partner?
-Yes, my husband. -You put up with a lot, don't you, flower?
Loads.
Is there another thing she doesn't like the feel of in her mouth?
"I like my rubber one. I don't like your meaty one."
"It just feels… it feels weird on my teeth."
"You're not supposed to use your fucking teeth!"
I… You see, I don't carry a full set of cutlery,
but I do carry a spoon.
And the reason for that, you know, every now and again,
there's sort of surprise cake that you didn't know was gonna happen.
Somebody'll be like, "Sandra's birthday next week,
but she's on holiday, so I've got cake today."
Everybody scatters looking for cutlery,
and me and that nice lady there just fucking start.
Can we have a nice round of applause for the cutlery lady?
Thank you!
Good answer, thank you.
Excellent work upstairs. Downstairs, pressure's on.
Anybody on this side want to shout out an unusual thing you've got in your bag?
-Fire brigade keys. -Fire brigade keys.
I genuinely thought you said "vibragate keys."
"I open the vibragate."
"Come join me."
Fire brigade keys?
Now, you are… Presumably, you work for the fire brigade.
-No. -No? Fuck!
It's worrying. Isn't it worrying?
Why are you allowed to keep the keys, then?
Um, I do use them for work.
I work in fire safety, just not for the fire service.
Okay, hold on. Don't clap.
Still feels dodgy to me.
So you work in fire safety.
What is… Have you got a good… an impressive job title?
-What's your job title, flower? -Fire risk assessor.
Fire risk assessor.
It's exciting, then it goes boring, doesn't it?
Fire, wow! Risk, wow!
Assessor. It just says clipboard to me, doesn't it?
Are you largely clipboard based?
Yes, you're largely…
But why are you allowed the keys to the whole fire brigade?
I don't understand.
'Cause I take emergencies seriously.
Becau--
She takes emergencies seriously!
I love it! I fucking love it.
We could be friends. I like it. Thank you very much.
A better round of applause…
We need a nice round of applause for the fire risk assessor.
Nice!
Anybody want to shout out an unusual thing you've got your bag?
-Whistle and a face mask. -Hold on. Say it again?
A whistle and a face mask.
-A whistle and a face mask. -Yeah.
You say that like they come in the same pack.
No? No.
So why did you shout them both out?
'Cause they're on my lanyard.
-From school. -They're on your lanyard?
-Ooh. -Ooh!
I love people who are impressed with lanyards.
"Ooh-ooh-ooh! Somebody's got a job that's security conscious!" Uh…
What kind of job do you do, flower?
-Teaching assistant. -A teaching assistant?
Yeah.
And…
Wha…
Are you not allowed to talk about your job? Is that your phone going?
-It's not my phone! -Somebody going to shut you up?
Not my phone.
"We told you not to mention the teaching assistant job."
"Blow the whistle, we'll find you an exit."
So…
Is the whistle like a proper school whistle?
-Yes. -Oh, fuck.
Does anybody else wanna hear it?
Yes!
-Have you got it with you? -It's in the car outside.
-It's in the car. -Aww…
To be honest, I don't know what it would make me do if… if she…
I feel like it might make me, like…
-Stand still. -Stop with a netball. You know, like…
"Pivot, pivot, pivot, pivot."
I'm not sure it would be a good noise.
Maybe it's too triggering for a lot of people, anyway.
If anybody's like me and fucking hated school.
I love that you brought that. What was the other?
-Face mask… -A face mask.
Face… Thank you. Somebody over there went "Face mask."
A face mask. What kind of face mask?
For CPR.
-Oh, a C… Oh! Fuck! -First aid.
-Not like a… "I'm a clown!" Not like… -No!
Not like that?
No.
-A CPR one? -Yeah.
-For first aid. -So, is that…
I don't really know what… Do you put it on the person's…
-Tell me. -Yeah. In case they're vomiting. Or blood.
-Ugh! -You put it on them and you do CPR.
There's a couple of people in here who would not save a life.
Did you hear that? "Ugh!"
"Ugh! Ugh!"
So you put it over their mouth?
-Yes. -So you can give them mouth-to-mouth.
-Yes. -But you don't get any…
-Jizz. -Ugh!
All right! All right!
Does it… Is it… Does it just work on mouths?
Or could you, like, slot over a…
Just slot it over a dick.
"Yeah, I like the look of his dick, but his balls are a fucking mess."
"Just gonna cover them over."
Ah!
I'm so sorry.
I'm not.
Can we have a nice round of applause for the teaching assistant? Thank you.
Anybody else over this side? Unusual thing you've got in your bag?
-Doorstop. -Loads! Hold on.
-What was in the front? -A doorstop.
A doorstop.
I love this. Already, I love this.
Like, a wooden one or a…
Uh, a rubber one.
A rubber one? Just in your bag?
I love it! I can't tell how old you are.
Do you get sometimes a bit warm?
Are you like, sort of… that kind of…
"Need to prop a door open. Somebody get me a wedge."
Are you… You're too young, I think. Are you a bit too young for that?
It's for, like, hotel security.
-When… -It's for hotel security?
Hold the fuck… I'm in hotels all the time!
Have I been unsafe?
Where's the fucking risk assessor? We need you!
Now…
So you wedge the door shut, then?
You're not, like, wedging it open in a hotel!
"Come on in!"
"Come on in, I'm lonely." So you wedge the door shut?
-Sometimes they haven't got a latch on. -Shut up!
They often don't have a latch on!
And you're just taking it on trust that somebody's not gonna come in.
-Yeah. -You don't fucking trust anybody.
I like that. "Wedge that door shut."
Now, let's ask the fire assessor. Hello, flower.
Is this a fire hazard, to have the door wedged shut?
Yes, it is.
But I feel like you knew that, and you're willing to take the risk.
'Cause the dangers are fire or men. Is that right?
And you've gone, "I'll just take the fire. It's fine."
I love how.… I'd never even thought to carry a wedge.
My God, I'm in hotels all the time. I'm so unsafe.
Thank you. You've changed my life, potentially.
I'm probably gonna burn in a fire, but thanks.
Round of applause, I love it. I love it, it's a good answer.
Wait, other people over here, shout it again.
-Cable ties. -Cable ties?
Mmm.
That's why you've got the wedge.
Now, tell me your job, and let's hope it's fucking relevant.
-Police officer. -You're a police officer.
Still feels iffy as fuck, doesn't it?
Have you got the keys to the fire brigade?
No. Hah!
Oh, you have!
Oh my God, there's more than one set!
The reason I've got them is because
sometimes my baton holder falls off my kit belt.
Hold on, hold on.
The reason you've got them is because why?
My baton holder sometimes falls off my kit belt.
Your baton holder… sometimes falls off your kit belt?
Is that what you just said?
Fucking hell! Are you one of the Chuckle Brothers?
Wh… Whoo!
Are you… are you…
Are you really police?
Or do you just "work at the police station"?
-I really am. -You're really police.
What's your… grade?
-What's the… -Rank.
Thank you! Thank you!
We'll cut that bit out. You won't get a credit. Sorry.
Hey, what's your rank?
-What's your rank? -PC.
PC. Aww. Um…
It's not very…
Now you know…
Now you're in a room of people who are laughing at you.
"Whoo! Ooh!" Things falling off.
Now you know why you haven't progressed.
I feel so awful. He's got such a nice face.
And someone… "That's how they lure you in!"
-I'm… -Say again?
I'm waiting for my sergeant's promotion.
-You're waiting for promotion. -Aww!
Don't clap!
He's gonna drop his baton.
Isn't it a good job we're not allowed guns here?
You'd have no toes, would you, flower?
I love… I love that. What was your original answer?
I've forgotten 'cause I've asked you too many extra questions.
-Cable ties. -Cable ties!
Why have you got cable ties?
To secure the baton holder to my belt.
Why does it keep falling off, though? I don't understand.
Sorry. It doesn't normally take this long. Sorry.
Just they buy us shit ones.
They buy shit ones.
On the upside, though, I've still got a pocket
that I can put my Vicks in for when I'm dealing with dead bodies.
Did you just say, "On the upside, I've still got a pocket to put my Vicks in"?
Jar, or…
-No, jar. -Jar.
Classic. Original.
The OG. I like it!
Are you a police constable locally?
No. Good.
You're all safe. Keep your wedge in. But you're all safe.
Round of applause for the cable ties. Thank you.
That was very fun indeed.
Let me tell you one of my favorite answers.
I was in York, and a lady right this side of the front row,
I said, "What's the most unusual thing you have in your bag?"
Lady on this side of the front row said, "Stilton cheese."
And I said, "Is it wrapped?"
And the man behind her said, "Not well enough."
I chatted to her. She was funny, I liked her a lot.
I said, "Can I ask what's the real reason you've got Stilton cheese in your bag?"
She said, "It's for medical reasons."
I was like, "That's clearly bullshit, right?"
So I said, "Have we got any doctors and nurses in?"
Loads of people went, "Yeah." I said, "Is there any medical reason
why that lady would have Stilton cheese in her bag?"
And they all went, "No!"
Apart from one lady on this side of the front row gave me a wave.
I said, "What do you do?" She said, "I'm a dermatologist. In my opinion…"
I'm thinking, "Ooh, proper medical opinion."
She said, "In my opinion,
the only reason that lady would have Stilton cheese in her handbag
is to mask the smell of her fanny."
But, like, they were in the same row! Like, they could see each other!
And I think in another crowd there might've been a fight,
but because it was my lovely audience,
the cheese lady just leant forward and she went,
"She's probably right, it is a bit pongy."
I had to take my dad for a hospital appointment recently.
We're in the waiting area.
The whole time, I was putting antibac on my dad's hands.
Antibac on his hands, antibac on his hands.
At one point, he looked down at his hands,
and he went, "When I die, these'll still be alive."
They told us we had to put latex gloves on his hands.
They had a dispenser on the wall, small, medium, large.
My dad's got proper sort of dad meat-shovel hands
so obviously, I go for the large.
I'm really struggling to get his hands in them, really struggling.
It gave me flashbacks of last November
when I was in John Lewis trying to get leather gloves for my hands,
and the lady on the counter said, "Sorry, they just don't come that big."
Fuck off. Cows are massive.
But I'm really struggling to get these latex gloves on my dad's hands.
At one point, he stopped me and went,
"I never had this bother with Durex."
Aaargh!
But because this is my job, I automatically went,
"No, Dad, you should say, 'I always had this bother with Durex.'"
I made his joke better, his cock bigger,
and it was harrowing for both of us.
I've got a friend who's through her menopause, she's done,
on the other side, she's having a great time.
There'll be women in this room going through menopause,
women in their perimenopause,
there'll be women all done on the other side.
There'll also be women like me who are still bleeding every fucking month.
When is it my fucking turn?
-Yeah! -Sick of this shit.
I've even got a period app on my phone. Anybody else got a period app?
-Yes! -Fucking useless, aren't they?
Yeah, do you remember when we used to just write a P in our diaries?
"No one will crack the code."
"Even if I do it in a red pen."
Period app needs a lot of information, asks a lot of questions,
in order for it to come out with a fairly inaccurate calculation
of when my next period is due.
Some of the questions I find quite baffling.
Uh, one of the questions it asks is, "What kind of sex are you having?"
And I'm like, "What room? What hole? Narrow it down."
Two answers to choose from. Unprotected and protected.
The symbol for unprotected is flip-flops.
What?
The symbol for protected is wellies.
What's happening?
Are you asking if I've had sex or if I've been to Glastonbury? I don't know.
Another much more reasonable question for a period app
is, "How heavy is your flow?" Much more reasonable.
Four answers to choose from for "How heavy is your flow?"
Light, medium, heavy,
and chunks.
It's a great response. Some people are laughing.
Some people are groaning.
Some of the women are going, "She's right, it's true."
The other night, we had a man right in the middle downstairs, went like this.
"Urgh!"
Fucking pussy.
But I'm diligent. I answer all the questions,
and then it'll sort of buffer, like the fanny calculator's thinking.
And it'll say, "Your next period is due in four days."
And I go, "Guess again, bitch," and I show my phone my gusset.
Anybody else keep a sanitary towel on for longer than they should
just 'cause it's comfy?
But it's like a memory foam mattress for your fanny.
That's right!
But my friend who's through her menopause, she told me something.
I don't think this is common knowledge. I hadn't heard it before.
She told me that when you're through your menopause,
all done and dusted,
DFS send you a free white sofa.
She was showing it off. She said, "Do you like my sofa?"
I said, "It's lovely." She said, "You wanna sit on it?"
I'd started my period. I was like, "No." She went, "Go on!"
I said, "No, thanks." She went, "Go on!"
I said, "Look, unless you want that to look like a Japanese fucking flag,
I'd leave it be if I were you."
She said, "Do you want a towel to sit on?"
I said, "Hold on a minute," and I brought an Ibis hotel bath mat.
Worked a fucking treat.
I've never had a bikini wax.
I've got a friend who's only had bikini waxes, for decades and decades.
That's what she prefers. Fair enough.
She told me she likes how clean it makes her feel. Nice reason. I like that a lot.
She also told me in confidence… In confidence!
I didn't say her name. Did I?
No. Claire. No, good.
She told me in confidence it gets very cold
in her knickers in the winter months.
I've offered… I'm still waiting to hear back,
but I said, "I could make you a little wig out of my trimmings."
It's a nice offer from a friend, isn't it?
But the truth is, however you have your fanny is the right way.
There's no wrong way. That's the glory of fannies.
I tend to follow in a family tradition, of sorts.
As my old grandma used to say,
if your fanny was supposed to be neat and tidy,
it'd be on your forehead.
I found some old school reports from when I was about 12 or 13.
I thought, "Wonder if there's anything in here that would shed any light
on why I was quite so quiet as a child or why I'm quite so noisy now."
Let me read you some bits from my school reports.
Here we go.
"The presentation of her written work could be neater,
but the content is always well worth reading."
That's basically saying I should talk for a living, I think.
"She has a tendency to daydream slightly,
but this hasn't prevented her from obtaining a satisfactory exam result."
Maybe I was thinking and not daydreaming, Mrs. fucking Cook, you stupid fucking cow.
And I haven't changed her name 'cause she's almost definitely dead.
Yay!
This is a bit left field.
"She has a good grasp of the principles of choreography."
No, she fucking doesn't.
Next you're gonna tell me she's good at skiing that she's definitely never done.
Now, you know you had your form teacher every day for the whole year.
Not for very long every day, but every day nevertheless.
In this particular school report, there was only space for one line.
They could only sum that kid up in one line. That's so hard.
They watched that kid grow as a student, as a person.
How on earth to distill all that information
you've learnt over that whole year down into just one sentence?
That's so tricky.
Turns out not that tricky at all.
"She put a lot of effort
into selling raffle tickets."
For PE, It was just grades.
Grades for the sports that you did, and your behavior, your qualities as well.
Here we go. PE.
"Effort, A."
I like that they acknowledge that, even though I was shit at all of it,
it was clearly the best I could do.
"PE kit, A. Confidence, C."
"Leadership, C." That rings true for me.
"Rounders, C."
"Badminton, B." Oh!
"Netball, yes."
I love it. It's like the teacher was going, "I remember she was there."
Yeah. She was putting the balls back in the cupboard at the end, you stupid cow.
If you do happen to have any of your old school reports knocking around at home,
dig them out, go through them, get yourself a glass of wine.
It's so cathartic to judge the people who once judged you.
You remember a lot more than you think you will, as well.
You end up going through it like, "She was a legend. He was a legend."
"She's dead. Oh, that's a shame."
"He's dead. That's not a shame."
"Nonce, nonce, nonce."
And finally, "Sarah needs to develop more self-confidence in her practical skills."
That was in Home Economics. I know exactly what that's referring to.
There was a day we had to make breakfast. Kids cooking sausages and poaching eggs.
And I just did Frosties.
I, uh… I don't like women's magazines.
Haven't liked women's magazines for a long time.
I think women's magazines are damaging.
I think they're bullshit. I think they can fuck off.
Oh, thanks.
But every now and again, one's just put in front of you,
at the hairdresser's, the dentist's.
Sometimes I think, "I'll see what they think women do these days."
And the last one I looked at was an older-lady magazine.
So it still had Position of the Fortnight,
but it was just sitting down having a cup of tea.
They had an interview with a really powerful, impressive, successful woman,
but the questions they asked her were so vacuous that it boiled my piss.
I made a list of those questions, and I'm gonna answer them for you now.
Here we go. Question number one "How do you feel about getting older?"
Controversial, this. I quite like it.
I like how I look, I like how I feel, and I point-blank refuse
to feel ashamed for looking my fucking age.
Thanks.
"How do you stay in such great shape?"
I eat loads.
"Any plans to go under the knife?"
No, I plan on going under the fork.
"What's your relationship with your hair?"
These are genuine questions. "What's your relationship with your hair?"
I use so much dry shampoo,
I can't always get my knickers on.
Humph!
"Would you take your child for a facial?"
No, because it would get all matted in his fur. Aw.
If you're home alone, what would you do?
I'd rewatch season one of Bridgerton,
wank myself off, and have a Twix.
Still the best series, isn't it? Especially episodes five and seven.
"And finally, what are your style secrets?"
I have three pairs of leggings, and I sniffed all three
to see which smell the least of piss to wear for you tonight!
I think, to sum up, through the process of pulling together stories of me as a kid
and stories about me now, I've come to the conclusion
that I haven't really changed very much at all.
A lot of things about me are exactly the same.
Like, I still love cress.
I still slightly love Jason Donovan.
I still eat a lot of satsumas.
They don't call them that these days. They call them easy…
-What is it, easy… -Peelers.
Chocolate Oranges, that's right.
I still haven't been skiing. That woman is determined it was a skiing trip.
There is a small possibility that I went on the skiing trip,
just didn't do any skiing.
Just stood at the side and then put the skis back in the cupboard at the end.
I still haven't been fingered on a New Year's Eve!
Join in if you know it. No? Uh…
Still can't shower in public.
I went on a spa weekend with a couple of friends.
They're lovely women, but they're those people,
like, "I'm just really comfortable with my body." Those people?
"I'm just really comfortable with my body."
What's the name for them?
-Twats. -Twats!
The word I was looking for was confident!
But sure, let's go…
Let's go with twats.
They'd walk past all the private cubicles, just drying themselves
in front of the sinks, in front of everybody, just drying,
chatting away to each other.
And I'm trying to join their conversation through a wooden slatted door.
That I'd brought from home.
But while I was quiet, almost invisible to some at school, I was different at home.
Much more myself at home. I was happy at home.
I was confident at home. I was funny at home,
around the kitchen table, in front of my mam and my dad and my sister.
I think the main difference between me then and me now
is that my kitchen table just got a lot fucking bigger.
I wish I could go back to that 12-year-old me.
First of all, I'd be like, "Keep that blazer."
"You'll really blend in when you work in the Jobcentre in your 20s."
I'd love to go back to that 12-year-old me.
I'd love to be able to say "Don't you worry about that bully."
"'Cause first of all, she doesn't matter, right?"
Yes.
"And secondly, in 37 years' time, I'm going to travel the world
and tell everybody what an absolute fucking bitch she was."
The only sex advice my mam ever gave me,
she said, "Remember, you don't have to put anything in your mouth you don't want to."
Which is why I'm fat and my husband is sad.
Let me tell you one more thing. Has anybody seen the TV program Open House?
-Yes. -Yeah.
If you haven't, you could be forgiven from the title Open House,
for thinking it's a property show.
It's not a property show. It's a Channel 4 sex documentary.
It's not a property show.
It's not like Phil and Kirstie's Erection, Erection, Erection.
Homes Under the Helmet.
Escape to the Cunt.
It's a Channel 4 sex documentary.
What happens in Open House is a couple,
usually a heterosexual couple, will enter the Open House,
which is full of sexually liberated people,
with the idea they'll open up their relationship, have some group sex,
experiment in various different ways.
What it often is is a woman who's a former slag and misses it
and a man who's trying to keep his marriage together.
It's really quite romantic.
The best one I've seen… I watch it just for you,
for research purposes, you understand.
The best one I've seen is a couple exactly as I described
decide, in their wisdom, instead of having a foursome
just them and another couple,
they decide to have an orgy with everybody else who's in the Open House at that time.
They walk into a room, which is dimly lit
'cause some people know how to light a room for sex.
And they're confronted with just a pile of people
who've already started without them
They're all, "Aaah! Uhhh!"
"Ooh! Eeeh!"
One clown in there, having the time of his fucking life.
The woman in the couple immediately starts going down on another woman,
just, "Nom, nom, nom, nom, nom, nom, nom!"
That's not the right sound, is it?
I've never done that, but I've had it done to me,
and I would not mind that sound at all.
"Nom, nom, nom, nom, nom, nom, nom!"
You know, like when somebody's having corn on the cob? Yeah.
So she's going down on this other lady, having a lovely time.
The man is standing…
looking for an in.
It's one of the saddest things I think I've ever seen on television.
It reminded me… You know before Christmas, when you do your last food shop,
and you're driving round the car park looking for a space?
It reminded me of that 'cause he was like this.
"Is he pulling out? Is he pulling out?"
"No, he's just straightening up."
You've been amazing. Thank you so much. Lots of love. Goodnight.
Thank you very much! Thank you very much.
Thank you very much!
Bye!
Woo-hoo! very much!