Inside Inside John Patrick Higgins

I have a new podcast. It is the brainchild of Graeme Watson: comedian, producer, "compere beyond compare" and God of wine and agriculture. I used to review comedy - it was a very long time ago and yet those slightly doctored pull-out quotes are still appearing on comedians' bios half a decade on. C'mon guys - get a second review. And the man who invariably put those gigs on was Graeme. I remember him as a genial host: clinging to both the mic-stand and a bottle of Shiraz, peppering the first two rows with his purple spittle as he bellowed "Let's crack on!", and I thought "I want a piece of that sweet action." Graeme had a Stable of Stars, you see. But now they've all grown up and left him so here I am - a poor distraction from his empty nest syndrome.

His hair, like mighty Sampson, was his trademark AND his greatest weakness...

However, it had to be done. I have a lot of stories, you see. They're spilling out of me. They're cluttering up the house, like teenage children on a long summer holiday. Its time to put them to work. And I had been reading them in public for a while. Its hard to find a place to read fiction out loud, but I had been invited to Dublin to read on a couple of occasions (and had been paid for it) and had been invited to read in Belfast on a couple of occasions as well (for free - not my idea). The very last night I went out before the lock-down was to do a reading for the Seamus Heaney Centre (I got a tote bag for that one). So there was a precedent. The readings had all gone surprisingly well. I made sure that I read funny stories. You can gauge the reaction in a room easily if there are jokes - you either sell the joke or you don't and its very obvious if you don't. But I always got laughs, which let me tell you, is enormously encouraging.

So when the lock-down started it seemed obvious. If the people couldn't come to me I would go to them. I would spoon-feed myself into them like castor oil. Its good for you. After all, I had the stories. I had the pleasing, warm baritone. And I had the time. A friend, Cian, had sent me a Zoom all the way from Italy, so I had the necessary kit. It would be madness not to start a podcast. So I have and so far it has gone really, really well. Most of that is down to Graeme who has manfully assumed the role of chief strategist, technical adviser, engineer and editor. I'm not sure he fully realised quite how bitter my relationship with technology is, how deep the chasm that divides us. We do not get on. We never have. People say technology is logical. No, its emotional, vindictive and spiteful. It knows when it can fuck you about and it does so. Its puts the boot in when you're tying your shoelace. 

Metaphorically. For the time being. As we approach the singularity machines' inhuman minds will draw plans against our buttocks. I may have a microchip on my shoulder but its getting bigger every day and I don't need their silicone socks up my valley. 

Graeme has removed these fears (mostly) allowing me to focus, like the Prima Donna I am, on reading out loud actual sentences I have invented. Its harder than it sounds. Its a surprising amount of work - sometimes even for me - but I do love the results. And I think its only right that these stories should be out there, jostling in the market place. They're liking tiny green-shoots hustling for sunlight on the forest floor. Only you, gentle reader/ listener can turn them into mighty literary oaks, and turn me into someone who isn't buried by the council in a flat-pack cardboard coffin with the word "blogger" written beneath my misspelled name. 

People have the power. And you people are just as much people as anyone else. And you heard that from me. So...make good choices.

So here I am, reading my stories in my own voice for you.

You can hear it here: 

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCI1Ei2m-nApQrJ1l_11caNg


Or on Spotify or any of your usual podcast apps.