The Last Laugh.
I was sad to stumble across the news on Twitter that Lynn Ruth Miller - who up to then was the world's oldest working stand-up - passed away last week.
I'd only been talking to her via email in July when we rescheduled Mostly Comedy's reopening to September and moved her next appearance at the club to next month as a result. But sadly, that lineup wasn't to be. She was More Than Mostly Comedy's penultimate guest back in December, and what an eye-opening it was. It's no wonder she made the Telegraph's obituary section at the weekend as she practically squeezed four lifetimes into one. And she was a picture of resilience, having picked herself up more times than a pin in a bowling alley. It sounds like a stock phrase, but she was truly inspirational, and the comedy world is markedly emptier and less colourful in her absence. Not to mention younger. It's not often you share a bill with someone born the year Hitler became Chancellor of Germany (although you do meet the odd one who shares his political stance).
I first met Lynn Ruth in 2016 when she hosted a mixed bill I appeared on in the big room at Just the Tonic at The Caves during my first solo Edinburgh. She had a brash directness you might expect from an older American comedian that instantly made me feel like a charlatan posing as a comic. They'd billed the gig as family-friendly, but her MCing sailed just close enough to the wind to give the show the bite it needed to work. If nothing else, it gave me a license to do my material about the pair of dead dogs' legs I once saw mounted on the wall of a Bed & Breakfast, which at the time was my favourite bit.
She only appeared at Mostly Comedy once, back in 2019, I think, when she shared the bill with Reginald D Hunter. She won over the audience straight away and stormed it. After the show, we were chatting about our proposed Mostly Comedy Festival the following July when we suggested she might like to do a full hour. "Great," she said faux-sarcastically. "Now, I just need to stay alive another six months."
She was also kind enough to give me support and advice on how to deal with emotional abuse, having had similar issues when she grew up. She sent me a long email a few days after our interview that I didn't answer properly, so now I feel guilty for that. I'd hoped to talk it through in person at the next gig, which would have included an onstage interview that was bound to be a treat. But at least we got to interview her nine months ago. I'll listen to it again when a little time's passed, which I know will be bittersweet. She was an extraordinary woman, and I'm glad our paths crossed, however briefly.