That Comedy Thing at the Lamb, Eastbourne

Back in May I blogged about some of Eastbourne's upcoming cultural offerings, into which I was planning on throwing myself wholeheartedly as part of my reintegration strategy since moving back in December. So far, it's been a mixed bag of events. The two outdoor festival things were not so inspiring - partly due to bad weather in the case of Eastbourne Fiesta, but also I suspect, a lot to do with lack of creativity on the part of the organisers.

But it's not all bad. Last week I went along for the first time to my local pub's comedy night. It's a great pub and I go there all the time, but I didn't know what to expect from a stand up show in its bijoux upstairs function room. I was pleasantly surprised. The night, called That Comedy Thing, is organised by Eastbourne resident Jo Neary, who also happens to be an established comedian with a great network of funny friends. This helps a lot in attracting rather more glittering lineups than one might expect to a tiny (not really a) theatre in Brighton's poorer (culturally at least) seaside cousin.

Last week's lineup was especially appealing, including as it did Jim Bob from Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine. I was a big fan of the band in my schooldays and introduced many classmates to such classics as Sherriff Fatman, Anytime Any Place Anywhere and The Only Living Boy in New Cross. One of my friends even had the Jim Bob haircut in the last year of school. Sharing the billing was Isy Suttie (aka Dobby from Peep Show), whom I had not encountered before, having never watched Peep Show. The venue was packed and both did brilliant turns.

Claiming confusion over his eligibility to perform at a comedy night, Jim Bob nevertheless managed to tickle us all with his witty ditties about Tesco self checkouts and a torrets-inflicted teacher, alongside some acoustic versions of old Carter favourites. Having never seen them live back in the heyday, it was a bit of a thrill for me (and my equally excited school friend Daniel) to be treated to such an intimate set.

Comedy with music is my favourite type of comedy, so I was pleased to see Isy Suttie rock up for the second half with guitar in hand. Hers was an inspired brand of storytelling comedy, following a quirky love story narrative and far more compelling than the average cynical stand-up. And it had songs. If you're off to Edinburgh Festival this summer, I highly recommend catching her Pearl & Dave show - for which the Lamb gig was a practice run.

There are several more Edinburgh warm up shows happening at the Lamb over the next few weeks - grab your tickets from Oxboffice. Meanwhile, a big 'yay' to Jo Neary for putting on such a great night right on my doorstep. I will definitely be a regular from now on.

Leaving January Behind with Glee

I don't know about you, but I can't wait for January to be over and done with. It's not been a bad month exactly, just a completely uneventful and torpid one; I've barely socialised since New Year's Eve and what with the bank balance recovering after Christmas excesses, there hasn't even been a decent retail therapy session to perk me up. The most exciting thing to happen was the snow and even that turned out to be a royal pain in the arse once the initial novelty wore off. But now as the first month of the year draws to a close, the invitations are starting to trickle in for February and March, giving me something more diverting to look forward to and I am willing away the last dreary days.

There really has been so little going on these past few weeks that I've been carving through the DVD box sets (24 series 6, Six Feet Under series 3) at an unprecedented rate and even getting hooked on current TV shows - like the outstandingly entertaining Glee. For most of the year I barely turn on the TV except to watch films and haven't been bothered enough about anything lately to get into watching it religiously, but for Glee I make an exception. On first glance you might presume it to be a schmaltzy High School Musical wannabe, but actually it veers much more towards being a parody of such cheese-fests. To me it is also enormously nostalgic, since I was a member of the UK equivalent of High School Glee Club and the politics and histrionics take me right back. Even Ant, who is not a fan of musicals or American teen drama, is enjoying it immensely. If you have yet to catch on, you can catch up via 4oD - it's well worth it, honestly.

While we're on the subject of TV highlights, this week saw the return of the glorious Mad Men - an altogether different, but equally compelling affair. I have yet to watch episode one and am dying to discover how things will pan out following season 2's tumultuous ending. Will Betty take her incorrigible gigolo of a husband back? Will the frocks be even more fabulous than last series? Who will have an affair with who? How will I ever cope with having to wait a whole week between episodes? In fact I'd better stop writing and settle down for my fix right now. See you in February, when I will hopefully have more to talk about than what's on the box.

A Festive Finale, the Devonshire Park Theatre Way

Officially the Christmas festivities finished on Wednesday 6th Jan, also known as Twelfth Night, when decorations should have been down and mince pies eaten up ready for the obligatory New Year dieting regime - but I managed to stretch it out one more day by going to see a pantomime on Thursday 7th. Tacky, garish and predictable, pantomime is a great British tradition widely loved (including by me) for exactly those reasons. Anyone who grew up in this country and got taken to pantomime as a child will be pre-programmed with all the necessary responses - "he's behind you", "oh no it isn't", "boo, hiss" etc - to be able to participate without thinking. It's a shared experience, comforting in its familiarity.

For those of us on the inside, there is another great tradition that accompanies the pantomime season and that is the crew Cod panto - where the backstage team get dressed up and mercilessly (but fondly) mock the show for the enjoyment of its actors. Having worked for Eastbourne Theatres for many years back in my teens and early twenties, I am lucky enough to get an invite to see the Devonshire Park's annual Cod - this year 'Jack and His Big Stalk' which took place after the public show last Thursday. Quite apart from the enjoyment of seeing old friends donning drag and prancing about camply, the Cod was genuinely amusing by virtue of its sharply side-splitting script - written by the DP's resident Stage Manager (and my dear friend), Paul Debreczeny. You can catch a few highlights in this little YouTube video of mine.

The Turns and Twirlies (aka actors and dancers) took the ridicule in good part and actually seemed quite impressed at the previously hidden talents of their behind-the-scenes colleagues. My own dear mum (who works on the stage door) even bagged herself a cameo, showing off her theatrical pedigree - which was again something of a revelation to many of the assembled. What with the added bonus of free-flowing wine throughout the show and catching up with old friends afterwards during a lock-in at the Buccaneer pub next door, it was a very jolly way to round off the seasonal festivities. And a stack of cash was also raised for the Sussex Air Ambulance charity in the process. Good work, chaps.

Bring Back Trevor and Simon

Whenever confronted about my 'unconventional' sense of humour, I tend to blame the Dada comedy on which I was raised - Monty Python, The Bonzos, The Goons and co. These guys certainly gave me an appreciation of the surreal, but the drollery and sarcasm can be traced back to a much more contemporary source - those legends of Saturday morning kids' TV, Trevor and Simon.

During my formative teenage years, Trevor and Simon punctuated the weekends with their sardonic sketches and eccentric, often manic or contemptuous characters. Say to anyone of my generation "swing your pants" or "let's roll on the floor" and it's guaranteed to raise a smile of nostalgic recognition. We loved Trevor and Simon because they were the least patronising children's "entertainers" of the time, and best of all, because they ripped the piss out of many an annoying celebrity on Going Live and Live and Kicking. I was such a fan that I even went to see them live - at Brighton Dome in 1991.

Looking at the more offbeat character-based comedy shows of today - Mighty Boosh, Little Britain, Mitchell and Webb - all written by and starring 30-somethings who grew up in the 80s and 90s - it seems obvious that they owe a debt (whether conscious or not) to Trevor and Simon's silly Saturday antics. But whatever happened to our deadpan childhood heroes? By the late nineties we were all off at university and sleeping in on Saturday mornings and they seemed to have disappeared into obscurity; the much-loved Stupid Video started gathering dust on the shelf. Occasionally I would hear of other projects they had going like the Circus of Evil at Edinburgh Festival, but they never seemed to find another niche outside of their original territory.

Then just the other week, Ant came home with amusingly windswept hair and a sporting new goatee, when suddenly Trevor and Simon's World of the Strange popped into my head. Of course I went straight onto YouTube to substantiate the comparison, and found myself heading off on a right old trip down memory lane. This in turn led to a string of other online discoveries, including the revelation that Trevor and Simon were on Twitter (why had I never thought to look before?). But best of all, I found their blog, on which is published a Trevor and Simon podcast.

Having listened to the latest podcast in the series, I am pleased to report that the duo have lost none of their bantering chemistry and are still as waggishly witty as ever. It was a delight to find myself immersed in a world of strange tangents and acerbic rants, delivered by the comfortingly familiar voices of my childhood heroes. The other five installments I am saving for an upcoming roadtrip Up North. All power to the duo for taking the task of a Trevor and Simon renaissance upon themselves - welcome back boys, we've missed you!

Links

Latest Trevor and Simon podcast.

Trevor and Simon's blog (you can also download the other podcasts here)

Simon Hickson's blog

Trev and Simon on Twitter

Simon Hickson on Twitter

Trevor Neal on Twitter

Musings on Latitude Festival 2008

I originally came up with the idea of going to Latitude Festival this year as a 30th birthday present for my friend Harriet - it was going to be a girlie weekend with just the two of us. And for me, my main summer holiday. Then we found out that loads of our other mates were also going, including Harry's boyfriend, so it quickly became a gang outing. I'd only ever been to festivals with a partner before, so it was a whole new experience for me being part of a mob of ten for the duration. Not that we spent all our time together - inevitably we wanted to see different things and ended up drifting off into smaller groups or going solo at various points, but we managed to meet up regularly, even without the help of mobile phones.

Daytimes were filled with gig-going and walking between stages (it's quite a big site to get round, though the scenery makes it more bearable), with the headline acts coming on at about 9.30pm. There was still plenty to do after the bands had finished, and each night held its own unique magic. On Friday, Harry and I had our girlie bonding time, running around the woods, dancing, chatting to random people and sampling the interactive exhibits such as the Digital Funfair and the Bad Ideas Press (where you wrote down confessions and they published them). We were surprised to be the last back to the tents, as the sun was just on the brink of rising. I stayed out late (early) again on Saturday on my own (and had a ball) and on Sunday we managed to keep the whole gang together for a boogiefest in the cabaret and comedy tents that saw us dancing to Blur, INXS, The Gypsy Kings, Gloria Jones and Motorhead among other madcap tunes.

The whole weekend was a real adventure, and I couldn't possibly capture it all in a single blog, but here is a little taster...

--- Cultural Highlights ---


Sigur Rós, Martha Wainwright and Seasick Steve - © Rowan Stanfield

My second gig of the festival, on the 'BBC Introducing' Lake Stage, was Kyte, a youthful bunch of pretty boys with pretty tunes to match. Somewhere between Explosions in the Sky and Sigur Rós, and right up my street.

Undoubtedly the buzziest gig of the weekend (everyone was talking about it afterwards) was former hobo Seasick Steve, who brought us all together with his mischievous banter and infectious blues riffs.

We already have most of Sigur Rós's albums at home, but I had mixed feelings until seeing them live on Saturday night. I'd anticipated pretentious downbeat dirge, but was pleasantly surprised to discover magical euphoric symphonies. The whole Steam Punk garb was rather amusing too.

On Sunday night, I'd intended to go and see Tindersticks as my final gig while the others were at Interpol (why?), but accidentally went to the wrong stage (it had been a long weekend, OK?). All was not lost though, as I ended up stumbling across a fantastic little jazz funk band playing in a gazebo outside the cabaret tent, and stayed watching them instead - a much more fitting end to the festival for me. I was unreliably informed (by an overexcited drunken dad) that the name of the band was Sweet Pea, although I haven't been able to verify this.

I also really enjoyed Ken Campbell doing improv in the Theatre tent; Nic Dawson Kelly, Slow Club and Soko (all new discoveries) at the Sunrise arena; Beth Orton, The Breeders, Grinderman and Foals on the main (Obelisk) stage; and Howling Bells, Martha Wainwright and Noah & the Whale in the Uncut tent.

--- Encounters ---


The Cardiff crew

Not always wanting to see the same stuff as the others in my gang, I spent quite a bit of time doing my own thing, especially on Saturday, and ended up chatting to lots of strangers as a result. Everyone was very friendly and affable, and a jolly, conspiratorial atmosphere prevailed...

Some of the people I particularly enjoyed meeting: the dapper chap in the queue at the 24 hour supermarket, a fellow air-guitar hero at the woodland stage during my GNR mosh moment, a second well-coiffed young man outside the toilets and a couple of the more chatty fellow-photographers in the pit.

Most fondly remembered though are the entertaining Cardiff gang who invited me into their fold for the latter part of Saturday night, when all my friends were either MIA or asleep. What a lovely bunch.

--- Memorable Moments ---

Woodland artwork, piano jam and Nick in vest - © Rowan Stanfield

Being called "pretentious and gay" by a total stranger whilst taking photos of artwork in the woods on the first night.

Joining a spontaneous chorus of Bohemian Rhapsody with about 40 other people, all packed into a small gazebo with a piano.

Giving Nick my star-spangled vest to wear for the Julian Cope gig.

Moshing and air-guitaring to Guns n Roses at the woodland stage during Friday night's DJ set.

Coming up with the notion of a Jean Michel Jarre vs George Michael tribute band called George Micheal Jarre.

Having a good cry to the ephiphanic sounds of Sigur Rós.

Being surprised to find myself dancing to one of the more upbeat Sigur Rós tunes.

Writing a story in the woods with my new friend and fellow note-keeper, John.

Playing table tennis (badly) outside the Digital Funfair with Sheldon.

--- Overheard ---


Cat lady, Harriet in headphones and father-son moment - © Rowan Stanfield

Festivals are always a great place for people-watching and eavesdropping. Latitude was no exception, with its eclectic mix of punters providing plenty of material for my notebook. Here is a selection of snippets heard and said during the course of the weekend. Interpret them as you will.

"You could ride a badger with a worm on a stick"

"I'm scarred and hard on my mental insides"

"Watch my guy ropes, bitch."

"Rowan is a mentally insulting frisbee"

"She's like a sassy combination of PJ Harvey and Rolf Harris"

"Why don't you be Kirsty?"

"Don't get me started on poached eggs"

"I thought I was at Latitude but I'm on the fucking Death Star"

--- Missed It, Missed Out ---

There's no way you could possibly do everything at Latitude, but I was particularly disappointed to miss:

Buzzcocks playing during Mark Lamarr's DJ set on Saturday night. The tent was full when we got there, so we went to the woods instead.

Photographing Nick Cave - my camera battery died just as Grinderman came on, and we only had one song in the pit.

Tindersticks. I went to the wrong stage, dur! There was so much else going on that I also annoyingly missed Anya Marina, Ida Maria, I Am Kloot, Mark Thomas, Emmy the Great, Sebastien Tellier (who I heard was amazing), Phill Jupitus, Marcus Brigstocke and Midnight Juggernauts all of whom I had planned to catch, but somehow didn't.

But Latitude was only festival two of five this summer, so there are plenty more musical delights to come over the next few weeks. Next stop, Kendal Calling...

Full photoset from Latitude at: www.flickr.com/photos/rowstar/sets/72157606322133121

Disappointing Grub in a Field

Going to music festivals inevitably involves buying one's food from various vans and eating it on the go between gigs. It's something I actually look forward to as part of the festival experience, especially at events like Green Man where the catering is above average and predominantly vegetarian. Last year I was particularly impressed by a Moroccan café tent which offered a brilliant selection of meze - one of my favourite types of meal. Yesterday we were at the first ever Mighty Boosh Festival at Hop Farm in Kent, which was fun, but not as exciting as we'd hoped. The food on offer was nothing to write home about either, as you can see from these not very inspiring Mexican wraps. And yes, that is a wig Ant is wearing - we were dressed as Future Sailors in homage to the Boosh. Although Ant would have me point out that he actually wore this exact ensemble to our Seasick party last year, before that episode ever even aired! Hopefully I'll have some more inspiring festival cuisine to write about when I come back from Latitude in a couple of weeks time, or maybe even while I'm there, if I can get my mobile to play nicely and let me blog from a field.

Missed It? Missed Out!

Brighton Festival is done and dusted for another year, leaving some of us with the faintly smug sensation that follows protracted cultural indulgence, while others (most of my friends included, it transpires) kick themselves for having let the entire thing pass them by for yet another year. We always try to sample offerings from all across the cultural board during the festival, and the 'drama' box was ticked on Friday evening, when we squeezed into the upstairs function room at the Open House pub for the excellent Power Lunch - a twisted sexual comedy by the writer of American Beauty.

The Sunday before, we'd popped to the Charleston Festival for a literary event with one of my favourite writers, Jonathan Coe - who joined the founder of Virago Press, Carmen Calill, to celebrate 30 years of that esteemed publisher of women's writing. I had lugged along my well-read copy of What a Carve Up! to be signed, only to become stupidly star-struck upon meeting its author, forgetting to take it out of my bag. I did buy two new books at the event though - a Rosamond Lehmann novel with an introduction by Coe, and his own most recent fiction offering, The Closed Circle, both of which he did sign.

No festival is complete without a good old nose round your neighbours' houses under the pretence of looking at art - so in between planning, enjoying and recovering from Saturday night's party; a sociable Sunday lunch at The Dover; and a doomed comedy show (which I shall shortly come onto); we also managed to squeeze in some Artists Open Houses at the weekend. The highlight of these was 'Preparing for Emergencies' on Bentham Road - a slightly tongue-in-cheek response by a group of artists to an arguably paranoid government initiative.

Sadly, our final official festival outing yesterday was something of a let-down - quite literally in fact - when we found ourselves being hurried out of a suddenly deflating venue. The 'Udder Place', an inflatable dome next to the soul-less Udderbelly, is possibly the worst performance venue I have ever come across. Basically an upside down bouncy castle, it requires continuous air compression, a noisy process over which the performers struggle to be heard. Someone apparently described the experience of seeing a show there as "like trying to watch Doctor Who while your Mum's hoovering", which is pretty accurate. As if this wasn't enough to contend with, The cast of The Ornate Johnsons were also cursed with technical problems and failing radio mics from the start of their Sunday night show. The dramatic collapse and resulting evacuation of the venue only ten minutes into their set was the nail in the coffin of an already uncomfortably painful show.

Thankfully, we still have one event left this Friday, which I hope will serve as a more positive festival finale, despite falling outside its formal schedule. Bom Bane's the Musical takes place in the intimate surroundings of Bom Bane's restaurant, and consists of a three course meal interspersed with songs from 2007 Festival Award winners. The best things is that we've already paid up front for the meal, so it will seem like a fabulous free treat on the night!

For the benefit of the disorganised masses who missed out on this year's Brighton Festival, here are my personal highlights, so that they can see/hear/read what they missed, from the comfort of their own homes:

Monkey, Top Hat, Bicycle

This is my favourite snap from a weekend of cultural and social delights, that was also blessed with blissful uninterrupted sunshine. Part of the Le Scandal troupe, currently playing nightly at the Udderbelly, Trixie Little and the Evil Hate Monkey were by far the best act in the show. Billed as 'The Rock Star of NYC’s Burlesque Scene', Le Scandal is certainly a cut above many of the shonky 'Nu-Burlesque' cabaret nights that have been popping up all over the place lately, especially here in Brighton.

When it's done well, Variety can be a fantastic night out, unfortunately though it's all too often a disappointment these days. What you want is a selection of short punchy acts, offering drama, comedy, dexterity and titillation by equal measure. Le Scandal certainly ticks some of these boxes, but is let down by its compere - an ageing, addled showgirl who still insists on claiming the finale spot for her own pathos-inducing striptease. Imagine watching your own mother drunkenly undressing at a party and you will be pretty much there. I was reminded of the classic Clinton Ford/George Formby Song 'Fanlight Fanny' (click for lyrics), which she should have used as her backing music - at least then it might have been comical rather than cringe-making.

The other acts included a cocky fresh-faced juggler, a 1930s fandancer, an aerial acrobat trio, an escapologist/magic number-cruncher and a house jazz band. All in all it wasn't a bad show, but it did suffer from being staged in the soul-less Udderbelly. This type of vaudeville demands a certain conspiratorial intimacy that is never going to happen in such a big blank space. But it was worth seeing just for these two hilarious comic-acrobats - see for yourself on this YouTube video.

On Saturday we spent the day shopping for costume bits for an upcoming fancy dress party, and I treated myself to a proper top hat, which I then wore around town for about ten minutes before feeling far too pretentious/mad/hot to continue. We managed to get returns for Rider Spoke, an interactive media arts installation that sends you off on a spontaneous cycle tour of the city. You are supplied with a pocket computer and headset, and encouraged along by a soothing female voice, which tells you to find 'hiding places' in which to answer a series of questions. There is no set route - it is more about letting your emotions and reactions to the questions guide you. Previous participants' messages are also recorded for you to 'eavesdrop' as you go. I particularly enjoyed one guy's amusing account of a party at which someone had spiked the fondue with acid. I wish my contributions had been as witty, but all my questions were fairly serious ones, and I felt unusually self-conscious when recording my answers. It was the first time I had been back on my bike since falling off and breaking my jaw last August, and I felt in a celebratory mood afterwards, so we washed down our supper at Bill's with a rather lovely bottle of Breaky Bottom Kir Royal.

Sunday's cultural activities kicked off with a literary talk at the Old Market from my old friend and colleague Caroline Lawrence - the author of the popular Roman Mysteries series. Once she had finished signing books for an eager queue of fans, we headed to the beach for an ice-cream and long-overdue catch up.

Perhaps the most highbrow of all our festival outings was a Vaughan Williams anniversary concert at the Dome on Sunday evening. The good thing about classical music is that if you close your eyes, people just think you're getting really into it. I'm not averse to classical music in general, especially the choral or operatic variety, but this selection did nothing for me. The first half had its moments, especially when the choir was in full swing, but I'm afraid I found myself drifting off and thinking about the laundry and other domestic checklists throughout most of the second half. A gloomy music drama based on J.M. Synge's play about a grief-stricken Irish fishing community, I found it an odd choice for a concert performance.

To raise our spirits, and put a more jolly end to our fun-packed weekend, we popped into the Parlure Spiegelgarden for a drink on the way home, and bumped into a couple of friends on their way in to see Los Albertos. The barmaids were all kitted out in fantastic corsets and frilly pants, in keeping with the burlesque feel of the venue. Rather unfairly though (for me), the barmens' uniforms consisted only of a dress shirt over casual trousers. Surely they could at the very least have given them bow-ties, or ideally something along these lines, in tribute to the Spiegeltent's most famous show, La Clique. Just a thought.

The Bonzo Dog Doo-dah Band, Shephred's Bush Empire

A couple of weeks ago I was lucky enough to see the last night of the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band's 40th anniversary tour at the Shepherd's Bush Empire. It's not often we go up to town on a weekend, so we decided to make a day of it by taking in a couple of Nordic Christmas markets in East London (as you do) - a Finnish one which was really cool and classy, and a Norwegian one which was anything but.

After a slightly indulgent early supper at the Bush Bar & Grill, we joined the queue of eager Bonzo-fans and marked our territory in the middle-aged mosh-pit. Most of the audience seemed to be made up of 50+ balding men, but everyone was in good spirits. I wish I'd worn my gig boots (oversized buffalos with 10" platform soles), as the SBE is not particularly well designed for standing punters - the stage is quite high up and the stalls floor isn't raked, so I found myself jumping up and craning my neck to see the onstage antics, of which there were plenty. Ant was kind enough to give me a piggy back for one of the numbers, so that I could fully appreciate the visual capers. The ageing band members were full of energy, which is more than can be said for the audience, who were disappointingly static. I can't help myself leaping around to songs such as 'Mr Slater's Parrot' which have induced uncontrollable giddiness in me since childhood. Special guests included Adrian Edmonson, Phill Jupitus, Paul Merton, and most pleasingly, Bill Bailey. None of them could replace the unique contributions of the legendary Vivian Stanshall, but thankfully they didn't even try. Neil Innes seemed to take the lead when it came to banter between songs, while the others pranced around like giddy teenagers, obviously relishing the occasion. Getting back to Brighton from London on a Saturday night (especially with rail replacement buses in place) is never a pleasant undertaking, but it was certainly worth it to experience the Bonzo madness in the flesh.



Photograph of Roger Ruskin Spear courtesy of Hddod

Unlikely Sex Symbol

I'd never considered Sybil Fawlty a sex symbol, so when Ant & I decided to 'do' the Fawltys for a 'comedy characters' theme party last night, I had resigned myself to being a frump. I usually like to try and give my fancy dress outings an element of foxiness (Princess Leia, Sally Bowles, Wild West prostitute are some examples), but this was just too good an opportunity to pass up. Ant has a definte touch of Basil about him anyway and we couldn't think of any other more fitting comdedy couples.

I trawled the charity shops of Chichester, and good old eBay, and found myself a hideous peach coloured Windsmoor high-collared blouse, pearls, a suitably severe suit, and of course the necessary wig. Ant already owns a tweed jacket, so only needed to find a cravat, some too-short trousers and bad 70s shoes. Walking down to Mat's in Hanover in costume last night was quite amusing, as passing people weren't quite sure if we were in fancy dress or not! Most of the other party-goers clocked our ensemble straight away, especially when I did my best Sybil laugh and pretended to kick Basil in the shins. Many of the other costumes were lost on me, not being au-fait with a lot of contemporary comedy shows, but most people had made the effort which was pleasing.

What surprised me most about being Sybil was the amount of attention I was getting from the guys. I wasn't feeling particularly hot in my beige tights and bouffant wig, but I was propositioned by several lads who apparently found the look arousing. My response was to screech "BASIL!", to which Ant usually came scuttling in to rescue me, in character of course. I can't imagine what it is about Sybil that is so alluring - perhaps it's the dominatrix thing, or some kind of oedipal fixation, or maybe the blokes in question just all happened to be unhinged, but I was pleasantly surprised that I managed to inadvertantly project some foxiness after all.

Photographic evidence will be available on Flickr shortly.