Needy Perpetrators Blind to Unconcern,

‘Speak up. If you’ve something to say, share it with the group. Come on’
We waited.
‘Come on.’
‘You’re quite scary.’, she peeped.

From then on, John Hegley intermittently broke into an oily persona like that of a Richard Madeley or a Phillip Schofield to the enjoyment of the audience. He is slightly intimidating but I think if he does single out a member of the audience, that person is never humiliated; they’re asked to provide French translations, explanations for children or drawings.

This is the first year since I’ve started making use of the Embra Fringe Festival that I’ve had no appetite for comedy. I’m of a rather odd state of mind where I feel that no one can make me enjoy myself by talking at me at pre-appointed times. The funniest moments are spontaneous and often idiosyncratic of a time and place. I made an exception to my Fringe exile to see John Hegley’s show, Letters to an Earwig (translated locally to “Letters to a Clipshear”) and I wouldn’t mind going to see it again.

John started off by rearranging the audience whilst singing his agenda, those at the back were made to fill the vacant front rows. Thankfully, I had camouflaged myself as a member of the public in the middle to rear section of the crowd (I played Camouflage by Stan Ridgway on YouTube when one of the DJs played Hard-fi on the radio this week). John then invited a couple of youngsters onto the stage to draw flowers to add to his artwork, a woman who stated she couldn’t draw was asked to draw some grass. I had stood in the queue outside next to one of the young artists, his mother was a pain in the backside.

‘I want to see him.’, as she pointed to a poster.
‘He’s funny, I want to get tickets for him.’, at another.
‘Oh, oh, I really want to see that show.’, again and again to her children.
‘You should go see there. It’s a comedy club for children.’, like they cared.

‘You’ll know her. She’s on television.’, at Kirsten O’Brien’s poster. This was the only person who she explained was to the children. She annoyed me quite immensely with her misjudgement of the children’s interest (which came down to how she gauged their age and attitudes) and constantly bleating. However, I must acknowledge that John Hegley’s show was an entirely appropriate appointment for the family.

The show featured some stuff I had heard before; I didn’t mind; Poem de terre (with a new gory translation), the poem about the armadillo, the showpiece song, Luton Bungalow. The show was peppered with an A-Z series of animal poems – E was for earwig and thus an amusing cascade of letters, not always about earwigs, was delivered by the sporadically genial John. It was a great way to spend a lunchtime hour, despite the lack of biscuits.