Comical Poetry in Devizes Town Hall with Henry Normal and Nigel Planer

Images by Gail Foster

Feeling a tad grumpy and under the weather, what with returning home from work soaked to the skin every day, venturing out on a Friday evening looking forward to the prospect of another downpour come morning is not a decision taken lightly. You’d be forgiven for assuming taking said plunge to watch two self-confessed old guys reading poetry in Devizes Town Hall would be a definite no-no, but this was comedy legends Henry Normal and Nigel Planer; twist my arm why don’t you?

Kudos as a starter for ten for hosting such an entertaining touring show in our humble town. While Devizes Books deserves a mention for the books are in said store, sure, it was a promotional tool for the respected author’s outpourings, but it was well received and the type of event you couldn’t have got any closer up and personal to two renowned characters without taking them to bed, which didn’t happen as far as I’m aware, (Mrs Devizine would’ve sounded me out) though I confess to being unusually starstruck by Mr Planer’s presence! I kept imagining him waving his eight arms around when the genie granted his wish, “Rick! Rick! Ya gotta see this man! You’re gonna freak!”

‘Cos I was an impressionable nine-year-old when The Young Ones came on the telebox, heralding in a new wave of alternative comedy to the masses. I’d suggest though the magnetism between Rick and Adrian was the making of it, it was half-baked and only progressed later through Filthy Rich & Catflap and Bottom, Neil was arguably the most well-defined character. His comedy pop career legacy is also kingpin to why he was my personal favourite, even prior to my student hippy phase, I hasten to add.

If The Goons had given our parents surreal comedy, and Monty Python twisted psychedelia into the melting pot, Britain wasn’t prepared for the anarchistic new wave of Footlights’ and The Comedy Store comedians. It was in essence, punk comedy, our parents doubting if we should be allowed to watch it a catalyst to why we had to. To read the prolific Henry’s résumé is like a who’s who of comedy, and his co-writing TV credits, Mrs Merton Show, The Royle Family, Gavin and Stacey, Red Dwarf, The Mighty Boosh, Alan Partridge, and so many others all display clear roots in the alternative comedy of the eighties, so too did his performance last night.

Though Normal spent this impressive career mostly on the other side of the camera, his charisma as a working-class Midlands lad was projected with such proficiency and hilarity he could fill-in for, even upstage any stand-up comic, and that’s the pinnacle of any comedian. His customary, wry satirical stabs at conservatism were applauded, in Devizes Town Hall, and this made me smirk! Though he did make me promise not to repeat his jokes, which I had no intention of, only here to express how hilarious they were; tins of fruit salad though, I remember well, thanks for jogging my memory!

Though the sublime observation comedy routines of a reminiscing matured fellow dealing with the confusion of a modern era were but foundations for his poignant poetry. And if these introductions were comical the end result was thought-provoking and often sombre in reflection, the contrast his delivery style, the result was inspiring, even if poetry is not usually my forte.

Surprisingly through both these two prestigious careers in TV and radio, they never professionally worked together in this field, rather they united through their love of poetry in the mid-nineties. Equally surprising to note Nigel’s stage impromptu presence was less stand-up routine than Henry’s, evident he saw himself more actor than writer, still he presented a lifetime range of poetry from one his books, a poetry collection, decidedly more out there and experimental, though equally as skilled. One particularly ingenious verse compared all traditional poetry methods by using each method respectively; it overload my dullard mind by comparison, but finger in the air, boy, that was smart. 

Similarly to Henry’s stint, the interludes were amusing and enlightening, as he openly and passionately discussed the character of Neil, giving insight to its creation prior to appearing on the Young Ones. The only question I had for him was to ask how much of himself he put into the character, but the sheer enthusiasm of his backstory answered this for me. Heavy, I must’ve, like, had a backward premonition, man!

Nigel fascinated us by reading selected passages from his book, Jeremiah Bourne in Time, a genre-spanning time travelling slice of intelligent fiction, and after another bout of fine poetry from Henry, leaving us with a jaw-dropping final prose, there was an informal Q&A session, where hands went up to ask all manner of queries, only one about roller-coasters being surreal enough to fit the agenda of a younger Henry and Nigel, though today reminiscing was both paramount and favourable for the equally matured audience.

And two ageing fellows reminiscing and reflecting on two glorious vocations was less Uncle Albert than you might assume, given their illustrious life journeys. Throughout they opened up about their personal lives, yeah, name-dropped a bit but who wouldn’t?! Through hardship, fame, parenting and divorce they mustered enough ammo to present their view on maturing and the modern world, yet never without this tinge of nostalgic anarchism, the like which embedded their names on the cornerstone of British comedy.  

An entirely different night for me, who’s last presence at a poetry slam was never, though I had our hometown poet laureate Gail Foster on hand not only to steal her photos, but to cast a more critical and professional eye, and she seemed to love it too! As an amateur so-called comedy writer I came away inspired to push on with my own wares, though I had to draft this piece out of respect for such a great night from two exhilarating luminaries, and get my rainwear out for another round of milkmanship.

Wasn’t there an episode of the Young Ones with a flood, whereby the gang try to kill Neil with an electric hedge-trimmer, only to be distracted by Mr. Balowski breaking down the door to Neil’s room with an axe?! Glad to say nothing this exciting happened on the milk round, and, like Vyvyan’s hamster, Neil escaped with his life, because last night was thoroughly enjoyable; do catch the tour if it comes your way!

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