Case of the willies: Meg Fitzgerald heads down to the Notting Hill-based comedy club and gets a lot more than she bargained for...
It’s 10:30pm at The Tabernacle in Notting Hill and I've seen more penises this evening than I had anticipated. Two of them, belonging to comedian Phil Nichol and a drunk heckler from the audience, have just recently left the stage. As compere Fergus Craig tries to wind down the now hysterical crowd, (half of whom can’t see because they’re still shielding their eyes and the other half because they’re laughing so hard), he insists: “If you haven’t been to a comedy show before... they all end like that.”
Let's take a step back, before the public nudity, at a saner and more refined point in the evening; when opening act Pat Burtscher, seemingly high as a kite, is ranting about sandwiches. His ramblings, however, segue into a surprisingly coherent act, during which he raises the loudest laugh so far with the fervent wish that someone hijack a plane using a baby – so the noisy infants be banned from planes as a potentially dangerous item (pregnant women of course would be charged with carrying concealed weapons).
Little are the audience prepared for the willies to come, as second act Liam Williams takes the stage. Williams launches into a rather complex series of jokes about split infinitives and his collegiate nickname of 'Grammar Boy'. His hilariously highbrow humour breaks into a ranting form of TS Elliot’s The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrok, much to the delight of the literature geeks in the room, of which there seem to be a staggering number, based on the cheers Williams received when he bows and leaves the stage.
From sandwiches and split infinitives to David Trent, whose multimedia comedic support includes the jarring transition from a larger than life-size picture of Ann Widdecombe’s face to a much, much, much larger than life-size picture of Trent’s own little friend. And back again. There may have been a joke in there somewhere, but more importantly it's a sign of things to come.
Throughout the evening, Will the heckler had been getting progressively more drunk, and his table is hidden under cans of Red Stripe. He and his friends have also been getting more involved with the acts and it's all Fergus Craig can do to keep the wannabe comedians quiet. He introduces headline act Phil Nichol, whose eccentric stage manner and musical interludes distract the audience from the whispered conversation in the front row – until that is Will strips off his shirt and runs across the stage.
Things deteriorate quickly. Not to be outdone, Nichol removes his shirt in response, and then, for good measure, his trousers. When the blushing Will is prompted to do the same, he does – much to the surprise of pretty much everyone, including Nichol who, clearly feeling the need to one up the upstart heckler, removes his pants and stands proudly on the stage, his guitar failing to tastefully hide any of his other equipment. Of course by then, Will has gone way past the point of no return and the two naked men stand on the stage as the audience point and laugh. I’m sure Will, will have nightmares about this evening for many nights to come.
So three penises into the evening and the house staff is signalling frantically to anyone on the stage who might have the wherewithal (and clothing) to end the show. Fergus Craig, grinning from ear to ear, thanks us for our visit and encourages everyone to come back soon. It was certainly a fantastic evening and I would highly recommend it, but if you plan on drinking Red Stripe, you may want to bring an extra pair of pants.
Click here to see more Knock2Bag: Notting Hill events
Return to the London Comedy homepage
Add an event
Review: The Company You Keep
Robert Redford, an iconic face of Western cinema whose influence for decades has weighe...