We arrive at Dublin airport straight from the O2 Arena. We have just finished the ‘Rollercoaster’ tour in Dublin, where the audience’s reaction has made me feel as close to a rock star as any comedian should be allowed to feel. The standing ovation is still ringing in my ears as we pass through the small checkpoint and then board the minibus that will take us to the plane. Handing over what luggage we have, we board: David, my cousin and now my tour manager; Dean, who has been part of the tour and is now going to be part of the filming to take place in Lancaster the following day; Lisa, my agent and now business partner in the production company we’d formed.
Our first project, a collaboration between us and the esteemed production company, Baby Cow, is due to start filming the following day. We will be starting the filming of Panto!, a 90-minute special for ITV1 that I have co-written with screen writer Jonathan Harvey, which is based on my experiences doing pantomime in Manchester in 2006. While performing in the panto, I had developed the idea of a comedy-drama based around the efficiency of what goes on behind the scenes contrasted with the chaotic fun of the panto for the audience.
I had written the first draft six years ago and nobody had wanted it, so it had been a long journey of knocking on doors and being turned down. Now it was being made. Like everything else in my career, had I listened to what I was told it would never have come off the shelf.
Chesney Hawkes is even in it, as is my youngest son, Daniel. My character has a son, but we couldn’t find anyone who fitted the bill. The producer, Lindsey, suggested that the director, Chris, should meet Daniel, and he was cast. Strange to think that when I started performing, my sons thought I was a ‘knob’. But Luke has performed on stage with me, Daniel has acted on screen with me and this book contains an excellent picture Joe took of me on stage during one of my tours, so they seem to be more interested in what the ‘knob’ does than perhaps they are prepared to let on.
As the plane holding us four takes to the sky, I look away from the fading streetlights of Dublin below and look across at Lisa, remembering what it felt like when nobody wanted to represent me. I remember the tours where I performed to rooms filled with empty seats; I remember when everything about me was wrong for TV: my accent, my age, my face. I remember sitting with Melanie and calculating if we could afford for me to leave my job. I remember the times I have not been the perfect father or husband. I remember the sessions in Relate trying to stitch a family back together. I remember what it used to feel like going home to an empty house when I didn’t have the kids. I remember riding the bike home from Australia and long summers spent in America coaching football. I remember travelling in my dad’s yellow van to Newcastle, the first time I left home and the subsequent decision to go to Manchester where I made friends for life. I remember the conversation trying to convince my mum and dad that leaving a job to do A-levels was a gamble worth taking. I remember getting up at six to be a mail lad in ICI. I remember my mum holding my hand as I lay in a hospital bed, not understanding the concern in her eyes, but knowing she made things better by being there. I remember having to wait for someone to unlock a door so I could hug my dad. I remember being a kid on a council estate wanting to be like my older brother and having no idea where girls went when they weren’t skipping or in the kitchen. I remember being scared that whatever it was that compelled me to do things that were different to the rest of the people around me may lead to a dead end. I remember so many things that remind me not every day has been like this one. I sit back and look at the dark shape of Ireland fading behind me and think, ‘How did all this happen?’