Bob's Small House.


Last night, I watched ‘Bob Monkhouse: The Last Stand’ on BBC4 (which documents his final gig at the pub theatre The Albany in London in 2003 to an audience of fellow comics) and was knocked out by how pitch-perfect his performance was; this despite being so ill, he sadly died a few months later.

I’d seen clips from the gig previously and knew it was good, but seeing the majority of his set last night revealed the word “good” doesn’t do it justice; his timing and delivery was immaculate, truly immaculate, managing to somehow be both polished and low-key in equal measure. The fact I’ve gigged at the Albany myself and could see people I knew among the crowd at the Monkhouse show only served to underline how immediate and brave that performance was; it’s a joy to watch a man still at the top of his game.

It made me laugh to see him standing backstage before going on, knowing how tiny that area is. And to watch him perform to an audience that by rights should have been tough at the best of times and then knock it out of the park was inspirational; it makes me wish I was there.

It’s a shame Monkhouse isn’t held in the high regard for being the high-precision comedian he was. The lengths to which he studied the art of comedy to perfect his effortless delivery resulted in a confidence that some mistook for smarminess, but to believe this is to do him a total disservice, as behind that slick, professional persona was a man of real warmth and talent.

If you haven’t seen the documentary I insist you seek it out: it's a comic masterclass, with easily the best joke on receiving a cancer diagnosis you'll ever hear.

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