Iain Stirling: Failing Upward (2022) - full transcript

Ladies and gentlemen,
thank you so much

for joining me tonight

with my show, Failing Upwards,

please welcome
onto the stage, me!

Yeah, yeah. Yeah.

Oh, thank you London.

Where do we fucking go
from there?

We've hit the high already.
Thanks for coming.

This is it, this is a tour,
I'm on tour now.

Uh, I'll be honest with you,
the plan originally, uh,

was to get in shape
for the tour.



Not the funny bit yet.

I don't know if anybody else
has had that,

have you ever tried to get
in shape for a thing, uh,

and then the next thing
you know, uh,

you're, you're at the thing?

I need to sort this out.

Something that happened
recently just made me realise

I need to sort my life out,

basically when, uh, lockdown
restrictions were lifted,

me and my wife,
who was pregnant at the time,

we decided to go out
and celebrate lockdown lifting.

So, we were going for
cocktails in this hotel

and for a meal
in the restaurant.

So we come out
and I'd booked an Uber



to get us to the restaurant,

so we're walking
towards the Uber,

um, because I'm a gentleman,
as we got to the Uber

I opened the door
of the Uber for my wife,

my wife got in,

I made my way round
to my side of the Uber

and as I made that journey,

uh, that Uber driver,
uh, drove away.

So that Uber driver
looked at me and my wife,

both dressed up smart,
walking hand-in-hand...

and genuinely thought
to himself, "Well fuck me,

that chubby bellboy is keen,
look at that...

How badly does he want a tip?
He's kissed her on the lips."

"He's booked her an Uber,
using his own Uber app."

I don't know if anyone here

has ever had
their wife, um, abducted...

via the Uber app.

Um, but you can like live
track the abduction.

I was just watching this 2D car

from a bird's eye view,

drive away with my wife
in the back,

I felt like I was playing
Grand Theft Auto One.

I felt like Liam Neeson.
I had to call the guy up,

I was like, "Oi, Pavel,
that's my wife, come back."

Uh, I called him up,

so let's think about that
for a second.

I called him,

which means my
wife is in the back

saying fucking nothing.

She's like, "Drive, drive,

he's wearing his creepy
tight jeans again, go on!"

I bought these for the show,

regret, they're too young
for my head and too tight.

Mate, you can see
what religion I am,

it's absolutely disgusting.

Yeah, the Uber drove away, man.

Punching above my weight,

that's what I'm doing
according to Twitter.

My wife's never said it,
I've never said it,

but Twitter like
to let you know.

Twitter, the most aggressive
place in the world.

I think I know
why it's got like that,

it's because everyone on
Instagram has to pretend

how brilliant their life is
all the time.

We have to lie

that we've never cried
during the day,

upload photos of our breakfast,
hide the KitKat,

I'm taking a photo
of my avocado,

'cos we're lying about
our life on Instagram,

everyone on Twitter's going,
"Let's cut these cunts

down to size,
thank you very much."

Uh, because I'm on the telly
very occasionally,

I also get punching
above my weight,

uh, in the national newspapers!

Doesn't happen every day,
but when it does,

it really brightens up
a Sunday actually.

Just sat there...

"Oh, you seen this Laura?

COP26, good, good stuff,

the young people making
changes, look at that,

Papa New Guinea,
fucking getting it about."

"Oh, Laura, do you know
Newcastle United?

Yeah, Alan Shearer,
yeah, yeah, yeah,

been bought over
by a Saudi Arabian company.

Sports Direct immoral."

"Saudi Arabia,
fine apparently, 's fine..."

"Apparently you should
leave me."

Not my words, the words
of the Daily Mail.

And they don't say expressly,

they don't say punching
above my weight, expressly,

it's in the subtext.

I get negged
by national newspapers,

imagine being negged
by a national news...

A photo of me and Laura

and its description
underneath is all negging.

A photo of me and Laura
and then it'll just be,

"Laura dazzled in stunning
lacy black number,

she was accompanied by jolly
comedian Iain Stirling."

She's in the photo
looking amazing,

I'm in the photo,
probably blinking.

"Hey you guys!"

Looks like I won a
competition that day.

Like I've been watching
This Morning

and I saw Peter Andre stood
next to a caravan,

going, "Do you want to win this

and a chance to meet
Laura Whitmore?"

and I've gone, "Yes, please!"

"I've won, I love
all your shows,

mmm, I've made a model
of you out of ear wax, hello."

She looks good in the photo,
that's good.

That's how a lot of women
pick their photos.

No matter how many people
are in it,
women look at themselves

and then lie to everyone else
that they like themselves
in the photo.

No woman in this room
has ever seen

another person in a photo
in their life.

There will be married women
in this room

that couldn't tell you

what colour tie their husband
wore on his wedding day.

And girls on a night out,
take a selfie, click...

"Oh my God,

Rosie, Rosie look,
Rosie babes, you look,

honestly you look amazing
in this photo."

Which basically means,

"Oh my god Rosie,
I look amazing in this photo

and you happen
to fucking be in it."

That's exactly what we have,

I smashed it, you were
nearby, oh, lucky bitch.

'Cos generally speaking,

I think women are the nicer sex.

But when you turn,
it's, phwoah, it's brutal.

For example,
gentlemen, listen to this,

there are women in this room,

a high percentage of women
in this room

will have a Whatsapp group,
with all their friends in it.

- Yes!
- Yes.

Again, that's not necessarily
the world ending observation.

"Yes, I've got all my friends
on a Whatsapp group,

this guy is a genius."

"Say it again."

"Finally, the comedy
I came to hear."

"I've got Whatsapp, I'm a woman,

this is fucking unbelievable.

Has he been following me
around all day?

I don't understand it."

"I'm Whatsapping
my friends right now,

he's talking about us."

You see, proof. I'm not wrong.

Some women have a Whatsapp group
with all their friends in it.

They then have
another Whatsapp group

with all their friends
less one of the friends.

What do they discuss?
The fucked up shit

that bitch has said
in that Whatsapp group.

You're laughing, applauding it,
applauding it.

Applauding it.

Some women applauding,

I love two or three girls going,

"I'm not got, um, Whatsapp."

It's you, it's fucking you.
You're the bitch.

Yeah.

Okay, yeah. I don't know
what's happened.

Loving it.

Thank you.

Thanks for that.

You're all right.

"You're all right",
the kindest heckle of all time.

"Go on Iain! Okay."

Normally it's like,
"You're shit,"

this is like,
"Just checking in."

"How are you emotionally?
Are you all right?

Have you slept? You look tired."

I've, I've gone a bit,

I'm a bit out of shape
at the minute...

You look great.

Okay, I, right, I never
have ever had to say this

at a comedy gig
in my entire life,

but you're gonna have
to stop being so nice.

Because it's nice in the room,
but on telly,

just like people giving me
moral support,

doesn't really...

Be like, "Was the comedian
funny?

No, but he was full of
confidence, he was buoyant.

He was well rested,
he felt good in himself."

I've put on a bit of weight,
you know, lockdown,

Being a dad, it happens,

but I used to say
I was fat on stage

which is wrong,
'cos I'm not fat,

I was using the term fat, like
pejoratively to mean unhealthy,

which is wrong,
I feel bad about doing that,

because fat doesn't
necessarily mean unhealthy,

that's a thing I've learnt.
There's other factors at play,

there's reasons you can be fat,
like metabolism is a thing.

When I was young,
I didn't think it was,
but I'm now older,

I have watched my metabolism
physically slow down,

I know it's a thing.

There'll be young people
in the room,

"Fat is about
how much you eat and exercise."

No, metabolism
is a fucking thing.

You're young,
you don't understand,

you'll go for a Sunday roast
and two hours later

play football with your friends.

I can't do that.
I go for a Sunday roast now

and then I feel sad for a month.

That's what happens
when I go for a roast.

"Can you smell gravy"?
"Sorry, that was me.

I had a lamb shank two weeks ago

and it's still kicking about,
actually."

Fat doesn't necessarily mean
unhealthy

and the same with that thin,

doesn't necessarily mean
healthy.

I know thin
doesn't mean healthy,

I'm from Scotland,
I've seen junkies.

There's some Scottish people in.

I like it when there's people
that are from a place
that has junkies,

'cos I'm not taking
the piss out of junkies.

If you come from a place
that has junkies,

when you see one
in real life, it's exciting.

When you spot one in the wild,

you're like, "I feel like
David Attenborough,

this is incredible."

A junkie, first thing
in the morning,

never seen anything quicker.

The quickly junkie, seven AM,
just kicking about.

Always crossing
the road the junkie,

have you noticed that?
They're always crossing the...

Always crossing the road
and they're always talking

to someone
15 metres behind them,

I don't know what that's about.

The junkie cry,

"All right, mate."

And another one comes out
of Aldi with a Lidl bag,

he's like...

And believe me, I'm from
Edinburgh, I know my junkies.

We're told we're
posh in Edinburgh,

we've got Trainspotting,
we invented the junkie.

We've got the best junkies,

Glasgow claim they've got
the best junkies,

Glasgow have got quantity,
not quality, okay.

There just seems to be
this thing in the media

of just picking on like
minorities, vulnerable people,

like they're slagging off
fat people.

Why are you picking on fat
people? Leave fat people alone.

Let's pick on thin people
for a change.

Let's pick on young,
thin people,

that's what we should do.

People that are thin
because they're young,

but act like they've got some
sort of fucking superpower.

You see them online
all the time, fitness experts,

but you're young.

"Hi there,
like my YouTube channel

for some more workouts."

"Like this post
for something secret."

What's your secret?
Being 21? Fuck off.

When I was 21,
I drank blue WKD every day.

I could hear my teeth
dissolving in my skull.

But I was 21, so I just pissed
out sugar and blue,

it just came out of me.

You've not got a thin secret
when you're 21,

come back when you're 33,

eat curry most nights
'cos you're sad,

then I'll listen
to your thin secrets.

I'm not fat, I'm not fat.
I'm out of shape.

I'm thin and fat.
I'm thin guy fat.

It's a male privilege.
I just store it in one place.

- I've got a weird shape body.
- Sexy!

Sexy, thank you, again,
moral support needs to end.

I'm a weird shape, I'm like
thin, thin, thin, what the fuck?

Thin, thin, thin, thin, thin.

I'm front on thin, I'm 2D thin,
I'm South Park thin.

Do you understand?

I'm a 32 waist, everywhere,
apart from my waist.

Does that make sense to you?

When I wear jeans,
I've got to wear them

just underneath my hips
or just below my tits,

that's the only options.

I've put on so much weight,

I've started sweating
from there.

I've put on so much weight
my stomach has got a forehead.

I've got to get a Roger Federer
headband backstage

to put under there.

I've always been
self-conscious of my body,

it's hard as a man
to talk about that.

I've always been a bit...

I don't understand
anyone that believes,

has got that much confidence,

you've got to hate
yourself a little bit.

I don't trust anyone that's
like, "I think I'm great."

Do you? Have you,
have you heard yourself talk?

Anyone that hears
their own voice

back on a voicemail
and doesn't think,

"Ugh, why is anyone friends
with you?"

I don't wanna take my top
off in front of strangers,

I've always had
'ittle bitty titties,

I've always had them,
I've always had moobs,

man boobs, Toby jugs,
I've always had 'em

and it's held me back.

When I was in my 20s,

I once got invited
to a sex party.

I couldn't get
my fucking tits out
in front of strangers.

I said this to the lady,

she's like, "Don't worry
about it Iain,

it's gonna be
a masquerade ball sex party.

So everyone will wear a mask,
we'll be incognito."

I thought, "That's worse,
I know I slag myself off,

but I back my body, neck up."

Anyone like me?

Neck up. Mm mm mm, yes please.

Oh, ten out of ten,
neck though, urgh, no.

Your body is split
into like three bits

like neck up, torso, waist down.

Neck up, I'm, oh,

I'm like a noughties boy
band member

who's made a comeback
on I'm A Celeb.

Waist down, oh my God, yes.

Imagine me on Naked Attraction.

As the thing came up...

they're like, "Oh, look
at that thin white guy

with the massive dick."

That joke works better when
I've not got these jeans on.

Um, and then my torso,
like, "Brexit means Brexit,"

that sort of, I've got
the torso of a man

who should be wearing
an England shirt.

Not playing in the team,

throwing plastic furniture
at a Spaniard

with a firework up his arse.

So I'm not going to a sex party
covering up my face,

getting out my titties
and then looking for sex,

it's like counterproductive
to me.

Also, a mask doesn't work for me

because I do the voiceover
on a TV show

called Love Island, right?

So my voice is so much more
famous than my face,

I could go to a sex party,
face out, holding my passport,

no-one would give a fuck,
but the minute I start talking,

"I think I recognise that guy."

I've only got this voice,

I'm Scottish,
it's the only voice I can do,

I can't pretend
to be someone else, like

"Hi there, I'm Alexander

and I'm an
accountant."

"Tonight at the sex party."

"What are you guys up to...

tomorrow night?"
"Fuck, it's him, it's the guy!

It's actually him,
it's him, oh my God."

So what are my options?
To say nothing at a sex party.

Mm, sexy. 'Cos not everyone
is into sexy talk,

but nobody is
into the old sexy silence.

Just picture it,
me at a sex party,

a pair of pants
and a Michael Myers mask.

That's the only mask
I own, is a Michael...

Halloween 2017, I'm not...

if you think I'm buying a new
mask to go to a sex party,

to not get any sex and then
have a new mask in my house

as a horrible reminder
of the event,

you can fuck off.

I'm wearing
a Michael Myers mask.

So it's me in pants
and a Michael Myers mask

walking up to couples
saying nothing.

I can only communicate
through my erection,

the ultimate puppet.

- Yes/no questions only please.
- Yes.

No.

Oh. My dick says no
and my belly like backs him up.

Like the worst hype man
in history. No. No. No.

Shut the fuck up, titties,
no-one asked you titties.

So it's now just me
at a sex party, in the corner

saying nothing with the other
people that can't speak

in case their voices
get recognised.

So it's me, the woman
that does the Tube,

and the guy from
the Meerkat adverts, just...

stood there
like the Blair Witch Project.

"Tonight", "Simples!"
Shut the fuck up Sergei,

we're trying to keep
a low profile, mate,

the cravat was a bad choice.

I used to be,
I used to be athletic as a kid,

I got about, I was sporty,
good as well, track and field,

that was my choice.

I was good, competitive level,
you know, track and field.

There's two ways to be good
at track and field,

you can either dedicate
your life to train every day

and make sacrifices

or you can pick a niche sport
with little to no competition

and just do well at that.

I went niche.

Fosbury Flopper, that was me.

High jump. Silver every time,

there was only two of us
competing in Scotland,

it was fantastic.

I'd look at the people
doing the popular sports,

"What the fuck
are you playing at?

Gordon, what are you up to?"

"I'm doing a little bit
of cross country running."

"Cool, do you know who else
likes cross country running?

Half of fucking Ethiopia,

so good luck to you actually,
Gordon."

Do you know what
Ethiopia don't have? Ice rinks.

So if you need me, I'll be
curling actually...

The haggis of sport,
the curling.

I'd go proper niche
on that as well.

I wouldn't do the popular bit,
the hard bit, the thrower guy...

I'm not that guy. I'm this guy.

That guy's got a gold
medal at the Olympics.

Usain Bolt and then...

And he's not even the worst one.

If you've watched curling,

there's the thrower
of the stone, the sweeper,

and then
there's one fucking guy,

at the other end of the ice,

holding his broom going,
"Um, if I was you,

I would stick it there."

"If I had done any training
and knew what I was doing,

I'd probably pop it there.

Yeah, stick it there, yeah.

Looks tricky for me,
but if you can do it,

then that's great.

Where's my gold medal again?
Can I...?

Okay, just... the gold medal
is over there, okay,

can someone help me
off the ice, it's slippy."

I used to jump over a stick
backwards,

not once, not...
Hundreds of times,

every now and again
I'd land funny, hurt my neck,

at least it made sense.

I've landed funny,
I've hurt my neck.

Now, two weeks ago
I hurt my neck.

You know how I done that?
I woke up. That's what I did.

I woke up,
"I've hurt my neck here."

"Did you sleep funny?"

"Apparently I slept
in a head stand,

because my neck is done..."

Jump over a stick backwards.

And I'd land on a crash mat
and just get up.

I wouldn't have to think
about it,

in my 30s, if I'm sat
in an armchair too long,

I have to have an actual
conversation with myself.

"Iain, we're about
to get up and about."

Have you ever
counted yourself in?

"Three, two, one and up."

"That's lovely."

And I make the noises,
ooh, oh, the sex...

When I get out of a chair now,

I sound like I've shat myself
or ejaculated in my pants.

"Are you having an affair?"

"No Laura, I just stood up fast,
sorry about that."

I wanna get in shape, I do,

that's what I wanna do,
I wanna get fit.

I want to get in shape for me,
but also for my wife.

I think it's good, give her
something to look forward to.

Well, a little light at the end
of the old tunnel.

I think it's important
to give your partner

something to look forward to.

For any of us,
especially if you're a man

'cos I feel like women
forward plan

a bit more than us,

men don't do it, women
extrapolate information.

What you've got to realise
if you're a man
in a relationship,

women, they add five years
to your behaviour,

they're constantly doing it.

Every time you do an action,
they're thinking,

"If he's like this now,"

"what will he be like then?"

"Okay, he's left a plate
in the sink unwashed,

five years from now

he's gonna have an affair."

I wanted to give
my wife something,

but I can't go to the gym

'cos I'm in my 30s and never
learnt to use the equipment.

And people that work in a gym
are too young now

and I'm not having a child

teach me how to pick up
heavy stuff, it's demeaning.

So instead, uh, it's,
it's very London of me,

but I decided to go
with hot yoga,

that's what I decided
to go with.

Yeah, anyone here done
the old hot yoga?

Woo.

Yeah, a few, it's more
than I need, that's fine.

You've got to remember,
I wrote this show in Scotland.

They don't know
what yoga or hot is.

You've got to explain it.

"Do you know
when you open the oven

after you've cooked sausages
and that air comes out?"

"Right, that's yoga is it?"
"No, that's hot, that's hot."

Yoga, all right, the wee
green guy from Star Wars.

No, no, not him, not him.

Have we got
any Scottish people in?

Woo!

They've all spread out
in case it kicks off.

Whereabouts Scotland
are you from?

Fife.

Fife? Are you actually
from Fife?

Yes.

Yeah?! Oh my God.

- And where do you live now?
- Fulham.

Lo... You've went
from Fife to London?

It's a fucking
inspirational tale.

Fife to London? Oh my God.

You could have your own
BBC 3 documentary.

I know my London man,
I've been about, I have.

I moved to South
London,
know what I mean.

Woo!

People told me,
"Oh, watch it Iain, it's rough.

South London, fucking
South London, rough."

I lived in Richmond
for a few years...

and honestly I have no idea
what they were talking about.

It was lovely actually,
I was like, "This is nice."

I do love being Scottish
though, man, genuinely,

it's like my favourite thing.

I question every aspect
of my personality

apart from the fact
I'm Scottish.

I love that we just
think we're great,

we don't need any evidence,
we just are great.

Scotland's the best,
what makes you say that?

We haven't got time,
I've got to be over here.

I love it.

If you want to know
what it's like,

it's actually
very similar to being English.

Scottish is almost
exactly like being English

except when we go on holiday,
uh, people like us.

But apart from that...

And if there's any Irish, Welsh,
or Scottish people here,

the highlight of our holiday,

you get to your hotel in Spain,

you're sat for your meal,
first night,

the Spanish waiter comes
over and goes, "Ah, English,"

and you get to go,
"Oh no, no, no."

"Scottish,"
and they're like, "Yay!"

Eyes light up, "Woo, Scotland!

Three shots for Scotland!"

You have your shots,
too many drinks,

you get pissed,
you fucking wreck the place.

We're just as bad
but we don't do well

in international
football tournaments,

so you don't know about it.

I love Scotland.
We've got our own TV channel,

BBC Scotland.

What an unnecessary,
but at the same time

completely necessary thing
to happen.

We've not got the time,
money or expertise,

but we're fucking
giving it a go.

I fucking love it. The thing
about BBC Scotland

you've got to remember is,
when it first came about,

I lived in London,
so as a Scotsman,

as you can imagine,
I got so many phone calls

from these like wanky
London media,

no offence, um...

London media companies
who'd just phone me up

with these like wacky
Scottish TV ideas.

Like, "Hi Iain,
we've got this idea,

um, it's like
the Great British Sewing Bee,

but everything is tartan,

we're gonna call it
Kilty Pleasures."

"Hi Iain, it's like
the Great British Bake Off

but we're gonna deep fry
everything."

I was half expecting them to go,

"Uh, RuPaul's Skag Race?"

The best one I got,
it's from a guy called Nigel,

Nigel called me from
Who Gives A Fuck Media...

I can't remember his name,

he's like, "Hi there,
Nigel here, um, huge news Iain,

huge news,
we've just bought the rights

to an American TV format,
we want you to be the host."

Okay.

"We've spoken to BBC Scotland,

they're both very excited
about it."

"Iain, we want you to host
The Bachelor Scotland."

First of all,

The Bachelor is too American
for us. You know it's American,

'cos if you say The Bachelor
to a Scottish person,

we go, "Hmm, I like soup."

The Bachelor is one of the most
American TV shows

I've ever seen in my life.

If you've never seen it,
there's one guy, a millionaire,

he's a bachelor,
he gets a mansion,

he puts 20 women in it,
they all fancy him,

that's just taken for read,

you're a woman, he's rich,

shut the fuck up.
It's mad.

And then he makes them do tasks

and takes them on dates,
sometimes three at a time,

and then just hands them roses

and eliminates women one by one

until there's one left like
a sort of weird sexy Squid Game.

It wouldn't work
with Scottish women.

The show would be
half a day long,

they would realise
they outnumber the fucker,

and they would rob him.
It wouldn't be a show.

It wouldn't.

Ladies, do you want
to join me in the hot tub?

How about you give me
your fucking pin number?

Like it wouldn't be a...

Also, he wanted to film it
in the Shetland Islands.

The Bachelor in the Shetlands.

That's not a wide enough
gene pool, mate.

How does The Bachelor work
in the fucking Shetlands?

Just a man stands there,
probably a farmer,

20 women line up.

They all do a DNA test,
whoever's not his cousin,

he fucks her.

It's not a TV show, okay,
actually it's not a TV show.

Nigel.

The Bachelor Scotland,
what's next?

A Below Deck Somalia? Fucking...

Anyway, the point I'm making is,

I went to hot yoga.

Anyway, I get into hot yoga

and I'm putting aside all my
male and Scottish elements.

I'm just going,
just enjoy the yoga, Iain

and just give your wife
something to...

Just enjoy it.

Nothing in here can upset ya.

And then I met the woman
that owns the yoga.

And she was
the most stereotypical

posh London person
you've ever met.

She looked
like she had a scarf on,

but she didn't have a scarf on.
Does that make sense?

D'you know like a posh Londoner
that's so posh

she doesn't have a name,
it's like a sound?

"Hi there, my name's nmmhmm."

You ever met someone so posh

it sounds like their voice
is coming from next door?

Nnmmhmm ohnonioh.

You know, you're in a hotel

and you can hear the fucking
couple next door flirting,

rrroorrhhh, rrhhoohoo,
ahhh ahhwee, rrrro.

She sounded like that!

Hi there, my name's hhhry.
I thought, ignore her.

Don't let it put you off.
Just get the yoga done.

Give the five years.
So I'm getting my gym gear on,

I don't go often,
I've not got all the stuff.

I don't have hiking boots
and my waist fit

and my smug sense
of superiority.

I've not got any of that.
I've just got gym gear,

so I'm putting on
my joggy bottoms, shin pads.

Going, excuse me, Raquel,
is it an astro in there?

Can I wear studs?
What's going on?

As I'm getting my stuff on,
Raquel floats over.

Hmmm. Just thinking
about her inheritance.

"Whnnnn, whnn,

my parents have a two bed
in a zone two, ooh!"

She goes, "Mr Stirling,
here at the yoga studio

you must wear the yoga pant."

I thought I'm not wearing
pants in public, mate.

I didn't go to a sex party.

I'm not gonna overturn
that decision

for a fucking yoga class,
do you know what I mean?

I've not got a body for pants,
I know I don't.

Every day my body tells me,
"Nope, no pants for you."

Because I wear boxer shorts,
not showing off, but I do.

Do you know the waist band
in a boxer short?

What my belly has started to do,

hmm, yummy,
what my belly started to do

is every time I sit down,
what my belly does

is it just grabs the waist band
of my boxer short

and when I sit down it just
folds that bad boy in half.

Like my pants are collapsing
under the strain of my gut.

Quickly, there's too much
flesh, double up.

Quickly, combine your forces.
Contain the beast.

And it's not like when I get
back up my pants

just spring back into action,
they stay down like dead sad.

Heee, we've been defeated.

Also, I've been known
on occasion

to wear Calvin Klein pants
and I'm quite a...

- Ooh.
- Thank you.

And I'm quite a paranoid person,

so I'm now convinced
that like the pants

are ashamed to be
associated with my body.

Every time I sit down
the Calvin Kleins are like,

fuck, he looks nothing
like the guy on the box.

Quickly, debrand yourself.

Cover up the CK,
this is affecting sales.

Hurry. Just pretend
you're from Matalan.

Hurry, everyone.

But I wanted to give my wife
something to add five years to,

so I have to buy the pants.

I buy the yoga pants, 34.99.
I'm fuming.

And I'm in my pants,

not feeling great
about myself actually.

Also, this isn't relevant
to the show,

but genuinely I felt

as I was doing that act out
the waist band in my pants...

Literally as I done that,
my pants, pdddfff.

Yeah. Well observed. Pffhhs.

So I'm in my pants,
I feel brutal

and I walk over
and if you don't...

sometimes they've got
a little glass window

into the yoga studio.

You can look in like
a pervy zoo.

I'll have a look
at what they're doing
in the yoga studio.

It turns out hot yoga is one
of the most disgusting things

that has ever happened
on the planet.

If you've never been before,
here's what happens.

If you've not got the equipment,

you've got to use what is known
as a communal mat, okay?

Mmm, a communal mat.

So, the guy
in the class before you,

he's got all the mats,
hung up on hooks

like meat in a Rocky film.

And he gets one off the wall
and pops it on the floor

and pops a tiny towel
over that mat

and he just bends over the mat

and he starts to bend
and stretch and it's hot,

so sweat drips
from the end of his nose

and just lands on the mat

and then he drags
his bollocks over the mat.

And the class finishes
and he gets up,

hangs it on the wall,
that's clean.

That's mine now, that's mine.

So, I have to walk
into the class,

get my communal mat,
I put it down,

I can still see the steam
coming off it.

I'm bent
over this horrible thing

and then Raquel
every second exercise

is going, "And place your face
onto the mat.

And breathe in."

Oh, three day old vulva. Mmm.

Is that my beard
or someone else's pube?

We don't know.

Namaste.

"Namaste at home."

It's fucking disgusting here.
It's absolutely gross.

You are all gross.

So, I'm now bent
over this yoga mat

breathing in piss fumes,
trying not to shit myself

because I had coffee that day
and now I'm in my 30s,

whenever I drink coffee

I just immediately just shit
now apparently.

I have to drink coffee
on a toilet.

That is the only safe way
to drink coffee for me.

In my 20s I would drink coffee
every day,

morning, noon and night.
Coffee, coffee, coffee.

Now, in my 30s I walk
past a Starbucks,

I get a waft of coffee bean,
and I'm like, pff, diarrhea.

In Starbucks they've had
to start hiding

the fucking code to the toilet,
that's how bad it is,

otherwise there'll be
people in their 40s going,

"Let me in!
I've had a macchiato! Jesus."

You can't drink coffee
in your 30s.

As a man, you stop
making friends in your 30s.

I don't know if you know that.

It's true.
You stop making friends.

You've got friends,
don't get me wrong.

You've got friends.
You just don't make new ones.

You will never hear
a 38 year old man go,

"Um, can we be friends?"
It's never been said, ever.

Women always pull back here

because, you just, it's amazing
you always make friends.

Your whole life just constantly
making more friends,

it's impressive to see.

My wife's in her 30s,
everyday she went,

"Off to the cinema
on a random Tuesday,

just the 48 of us."

Where are your friends
coming from?

"Who's that?",
"That's Penny.

We met in a toilet.
We got along."

"We set up a Whatsapp group.

Cubicle Kitties,
we're pals."

And women look after each other.

On nights out.
As a man I'm so jealous.

You ever seen a group
of women on a night out?

Like ten of them.

One of them drinks
a bit too much white wine.

Passes out. It's like
you've all got walkie talkies.

This military
operation starts to take place,

like, "Quickly, Emily is down
in sector four.

Make your way
to sector four. Hurry.

Grab her arms, grab her legs,
grab her hair. To the toilet!"

Emily's carried out of the club

like she's been evacuated
from Nam. Just...

"I didn't actually have
anything to drink, really."

Emily's put on the toilet.
Bleurgh, bleurgh.

"It's alright babe. Alright.
It's okay. It's okay, babe.

Just get some water,
some water. Get her water.

It's alright, babe.

Not cold water,
room temperature. Fetch it!

I'm not, no one's shouting.
No one's upset.

You've added a bit of fun
to the evening, if anything.

Ems, Ems...
No one's shouting, babe.

No one's,
hello Ems, Ems, listen,

Ems, Ems, Ems,
listen to me, Ems.

Ems, Ems, Ems, Ems, Ems,
will you listen,

Ems, Ems, Ems, listen to me.
This is important.

Listen, will you listen to me
'cos this is important.

- Listen to me...
- he left you.

Because he's afraid of how
amazing you truly are.

I need you to know that.

Any man would be proud
to have you.

Now take your handbag. It's
full of your own sick, okay."

As a man, you could go out
with your best mate,

he could fall down dead
and you'd be like,

"Ah, that's annoying
'cos I liked him. Um...

Three pints, actually two pints.

Oh, it's my round.
It's my round.

What a result, thank you.

In your honour, Gordon,
or Craig, I forget.

But you seemed like a good guy."

We've got friends, we just
don't make new ones.

Our friends become like
this finite resource, like, oil.

Just slowly whittling away.

It's so true, men have had
to invent new sports.

Five-a-side football

was invented by a man in his 30s

going, uh, ten other people,

where the fuck am I getting
ten? It's not my funeral.

When I am getting ten fucking
people? It's not happening.

Then into your 40s, tennis.

I'll just hit it to Steve,
there you go. That'll do.

50s, squash.
Steve doesn't show up.

I'll just hit it against a wall,
it's fine.

60s, golf, golf, golf,
stroke, dead. So, fun.

Real fun being a man, actually.

So I'm bent over this mat
breathing in the fumes

and my belly's so damp

and the water's cascading
down into my pants

and my pants have folded
over about 55 times.

I've now just got
this damp rag on.

I look like Mowgli and Baloo.
I don't know how I've got...

The class ends
and I'm all dehydrated.

I pick up the mat,
hang it on the wall.

That's clean now.

I'm going to leave
the yoga studio

and I'm thinking,
"Lie to your wife,

tell her it went well
and you made a friend

and give her something
to add five years."

I just want to get out
of the studio,

get dressed and go home.

And I sort of stumble
into the changing room

and that's when I see a man
in the changing room

and he's stolen my shoes.

London is amazing.

See, he's stolen my shoes,

but it's not
a funny haha laugh thing.

In most places in the UK,

if you go,
"A man stole my shoes",

people go, "Oof, gosh, what?
Wow.

I can't believe
that's happened."

In London, I say to people,

"A man stole my shoes."
I literally watch you all going,

"Well, where the fuck
d'you put your shoes, mate?"

"If you're going to leave shoes
lying around, son,

they're gonna go walk about,
do you know what I mean?

What, is this comedy or you're
just learning life lessons?

What the fuck is this?
This is London, son."

So I've seen this guy,
and by the way,

when I say
the guy stole my shoes,

I promise you, he hadn't snuck
them in his bag.

Hand on my heart,

the man was stood
in the changing room

with my shoes on,
doing that movement.

D'you know
the trying-on-shoes one?

I was half expecting him
to go "Excuse me, mate,

have you got these in a ten?"

Like it was,
he was so confident.

So the guy's there and I'm
trying to walk towards him.

Just trying to be normal,

'cos a weird situation
I'm about to get myself into.

'Cos either I'm about
to approach a man

who's just innocently and
accidentally put on my shoes

or I'm about to approach a creep

who just likes wearing
other people's shoes.

Like that's his kink.

That's what he gets off on,
trying on other people's shoes.

That's what he does
with his life,

he just goes places where
there's shoes lying loose,

tries them on.

He'll go anywhere
that there's shoes lying loose.

He'll go to the bowling alley,
a bouncy castle,

fuck it, he'll go
down the local mosque.

What, what
a phenomenal reaction.

I don't know if it's 'cos
you're being filmed,

but I just watched you all
be offended

and then think about it
for a second. It was incredible.

I just watched a room of people

go, "No, oh no wait,

they take their shoes off
before they go in.

It's a joke about shoes.
Everyone calm down.

Put your Guardian away,
it's about shoes.

They take their shoes off
before they go in...

yeah that's...
I don't know why,

they've had new carpets
put in, I'm not sure."

So I'm walking towards the guy,

trying to be, be normal.

This is
a high pressure situation

'cos we're in a posh bit
of London

and I've got this accent.
It is a nightmare.

You don't understand,

with this voice in London,
people find me intimidating,

I don't know why.

I've mugged like four people
in London by mistake.

I was being friendly.

Alright mate, I like your bike.

He's like, "Please,
just have it,

I'm so sorry, please.
Just take the bike.

Leave my children please.
God, take the bike."

"I'd give you my money,

but it's all tied up
in property. So sorry."

So I don't wanna get it wrong,
I'm just walking towards him.

I'm trying to be normal,

which should be easy,
shouldn't it, being normal?

But it's impossible.

I can't be the only person
that walks about everyday

just looking at other people
being normal

thinking, how have you,
how do you make it look so easy?

All day I'm just sat there
stressing myself out.

Am I being odd?
I hate it, social se...

every time I'm on a train
I look around,

I'm like why is no one else
in this train late and sweaty,

I am so late.

Whenever I see a business man
with a white shirt on,

I just think, how have you
not got sauce on your shirt.

Whenever I'm
in a button up white shirt,

I immediately,
"Oh, that's tomato ketchup.

It's 8 am, I had Cheerios.

I don't know how this
has happened."

Whenever I walk
through a supermarket,

everyone's got
their Bag for Life.

Everyone's got it with them.
I've got a Bag for Life...

It's at home!

You know
where my Bag for Life is?

It's in the cupboard
under the sink

and it's just filled
with plastic bags

from every time I forgot
the fucking Bag for Life.

I'm too scared to go in there
in case I open the door

and Greta Thunberg comes out
and bashes me in the bollock.

It's so hard
to be normal every day

and then you get put
in weird situations

and your brain goes,
"Be normal."

And then it's game over.

I see it
when I'm doing gigs like this.

I'll scan the audience
and every now and again

I'll catch
an audience member's eye

and you just see them,
"I am normal audience member."

There's a camera
kicking about here.

I've watched it go
on people's faces

and they're like,
"I am enjoying it, yes."

Have you ever walked
into a room, like, for a party

and you think you know people,

you get in the room
and you know no one.

It's like your arms
stop working.

Um, pretend to text and leave.

Have you ever been at a wedding

talking to your best mate,
stt, normal,

and out of the corner
of your eye

you spot
the wedding photographer.

Yeah, that's great that. Yeah.

He's like, we're just getting
natural shots.

If you could just natural.
Yeah, yeah.

Yeah, of course,
I'm being natural.

I'm natural. What was
the Greg, mate? She's left ya.

Oh man, I'm so sorry.

Taken the kids, I can't
believe tha...

That's gotta, I'm gutted,
I'm gutted for ya.

Nice speaking.

Um, the hardest place
for me to be normal

is in an airport.
And I was trying to think,

why do I get so angry
in an airport

and I realise what it is,
I am just old enough

to remember
the golden era of the airport.

Like, pre 9/11
when no one gave a shit.

There'll be young people in
the show, you don't understand.

Pre 9/11 was like,
"Excuse me, sir.
Is that an AK47? Yeah.

That'll need to go in
your hand luggage, I'm afraid."

The year 2000. The golden era.

Back when people trusted
unattended packages

and Britney Spears' dad.
It was...

In the year 2000 I went

on a family holiday
to Lanzarote.

I watched my dad walk
through a metal detector

drinking a two litre bottle
of Lilt. Two litre.

He's double handed that.

Not watching where he's going,
just, "There you go, son.

I'm not even on the plane

and already
I feel totally tropical."

But now airports are so stressy

and airport security's
so full on and it takes ages,

so I get stressed out and I try
and speed things along

by getting ready in the queue,
because that's what I am.

There's two types of people
on this planet:

people who get ready
in the queue at Airport Security

and scum of the earth.
Those are the two.

And listen, and listen...
if you are...

if you're the scum that goes,

"I'll wait to get to the grey
tray", you're awful

and you've ruined
so many people's holidays.

'Cos I'm in the queue

like I'm auditioning
for the Full Monty...

But I can't stop looking
at all this scum.

"Look at the size
of that guy's bag.

There's a laptop in that bag.

Why has she got heels on?

Why don't you take
those heels off?"

And the worst scum
of all the scum.

The person that makes it
all the way to the grey tray...

all the way to the grey tray

and then it's like,
"Excuse me, hello!

Excuse me!

Uh, where do you keep
your small plastic bags?"

They're next to a fish tank
with a machete in it

saying, "Don't bring
a machete to the airport."

So I do that bit
absolutely fine.

Don't worry,
I saw him leave as well.

No, wait, wait, he's got...
he's got something to add.

It's an old man bladder,
you're brilliant.

Old man... This is the nicest
gig I've ever come on.

"It's an old man bladder,
you're brilliant."

He's gonna come back
in a bit as well.

I don't know what to do.

Are you with him?
You are with him.

How do you know each other?

We used to live together.

- You used to live together?!
- Years ago.

I was about to say,
"Fucking hell!

That's a London flat share
right there!"

What's his name?

Richard...

Richard what?

His name's Richard.

I thought you said his full name

like he was like fucking...
dead famous or something.

What does he do?

Uh, he
works at Kensington Palace.

He works... he works
at Kensington Palace?

Woo!

Love that you all went "Woo".

He could be a cleaner,
we don't fucking know.

What's he do
at Kensington Palace?

Uh, he's security, weirdly.

Where the fuck was I?

Shoes!

Airport, we're in an airport.
The shoes are...

Oh my God, we've still got
to get back to the shoes.

The shoes are a pipe dream
at this point,
I don't need to tell you.

I was trying to kill time
till Richard got back

but he's taking fucking ages.

Prostate.

- What's that, sorry?
- Prostate.

Prostate, cool, that's a...

Cool.

The loveliest man
in the room walks out

and only in London would you be,

"That cunt needs to check
his prostate."

"I'm terribly sorry.
I'm an old man.

I enjoyed that but I had
to leave for a second."

"Check your fucking prostate!"

"This is London,

we're not having old prostates
running around town.

Up your fucking game,
me old China!

You fucking prostate,
running all about town."

Hurry, the fuck up
Richard, for the love of God.

S-sorry?

If he has had a cardiac arrest

you're gonna be fucking very...
look very suspicious.

Richard, please, for the love
of God come back.

And I think he's 100 percent
just made it

onto a fucking Amazon Prime
special as well.

Fair play son.
Nicest man in London.

Is he there? He's here,
in you come, Richard.

Get yourself out, son!

It's a triumphant return
for Richard!

Richard, Richard,
Richard, Richard...

Mate, I never... I never
thought I'd say this...

I never thought I'd say this

to someone that went
to the toilet

but thank God you didn't have
a heart attack during that.

Everyone loves you.

Someone's got a little bit
of apologising to do.

How was Iain's
Amazon Prime special?

"I had... I had a piss and then
a thousand people cheered.

It was...
the greatest moment of my life.

Thank you very much."

Anyway, genuinely, since
you've been away, Richard,

nothing's happened.

You heard about the explosion
at Kensington Palace?

I'm joking, I'm joking!

He fucking shat himself.
He went... "Shit!"

I thought he was gonna get
a gun out of his pocket.

Imagine he did have
a heart attack,

that would be it, game over.
Who the fuck are you?!

And scene! Thank you very much.

Let's get this fucking
shit going.

Right, here we go. Now, I put
my stuff in the grey tray.

I turn away.
I pop a left and then I see it.

The metal detector

and the male
and female security guard.

And I can hear my brain
just going,

"Quickly, be normal,
hurry, be normal."

And I'm just
like... ooh, well,

"How high do I put my hands
when I'm stood still?

'Cos that feels high,
that feels too high to be fair.

And that's low;
I don't understand.

Why do my feet hurt
when I'm stood still?

Sometimes that happens,
but when I'm on the move,

my feet aren't that sore.

Why am I doing that,
I don't understand?

My shoes don't fit.
This is an absolute nightmare."

And I've realised what's
happened for the last...

my entire adult life.

Every time I walk
towards a metal detector,

at an airport,
for no reason whatsoever,

my brain just goes...
"Don't walk like a terrorist."

I don't know why!

I was walking
towards the metal detector,

doing my "not a terrorist" walk.

I start to question everything.

I'm like, "My God, maybe
I was wearing two belts.

I know I...
Ooh, earlier on when I sat down,

I sat on a cocaine bomb.

I know I've sat
on a cocaine bomb

and it's gone
right up my bottom.

Now I've got a bomb
up my bottom.
I'm gonna get in trouble.

I'm gonna be nervous,
gonna fart,

not gonna sleep for a month.

I know it!
Meanwhile Sally-No-Bags

is doing absolutely fine."

Once, I was waiting
for too long.

The guy waved me through.
I gave him a thumbs up.

You think that's
a trigger finger, mate,

but actually thumbs up.

So I'm walking towards
this guy, he's got my shoes on.

I'm just being normal,
that's what I'm being, normal.

The problem is
we're in a posh bit of London

and I've got this accent, right?
It's a fucking nightmare.

In Scotland, in Edinburgh,
I'm seen as quite well to do.

Down south, I'm like
a fucking gangster.

I've got that thing where you...
you ever been overly polite?

You get in a confrontation
so you're...

You're almost so polite,

you come across as like,
actually stupid.

So I'm approaching
the guy in my pants.

"Hi... hi, there, hi.

This is a bit awkward actually,

and it might be me
being a silly-billy...

but I think you've got
my shoes, um... on."

And this guy just goes, "No!
These are my shoes."

And walks
out of the yoga studio.

He said it so convincingly,
for about a second I was like,

"I must have never owned shoes."
That's the only...

He just goes.
I have to watch him leave.

I can't run after him,
I'm in my pants.

I've got this accent; we're
in a posh part of London.

You can't have me running
down Notting Hill High Street

just going, "Give my fucking
shoes back, man..."

Load of Londoners going,
"Oh, my God!

Are they filming
Trainspotting III already?

And they're using
chubby junkies.

What a twist on the classic."

So I have to watch him leave,
and just so you know,

he's not left his shoes.

He's not got an upgrade;

he's not left
with my Nike Air Max,

there's Crocs
in the corner; there's nothing.

He's gone.

So I've now got to walk home.

No shoes!
Just walking through this...

don't know if anyone here's
walked on a pavement

with no shoes?

Men, no;
women, every Saturday.

That's the answer.

I'm just walking up the road
with no shoes on.

Like Jesus, bare foot,
up a hill, carrying my cross.

It wasn't a cross it was
almond milk latte, but...

I'm just walking home.
No shoes on.

What the fu... For a long time
I used to live on my own.

But when I lived on my own

it was fine 'cos I just had
to justify my behaviour

Me!
And that's good...

"I'm sorry, Iain, um, a man
said they were his shoes.

I had pants on.

I sweat heavily from
my nipples..."

"Iain, I'd have done the exact
same thing in your situation."

"Thank you very much."
"Thank you very much."

"I love you."
"I love you too."

But I'm not going home
to myself.

I'm going home to my wife,

who is pregnant
and is currently...

adding five years
to "yoga Iain".

She's got this image of me
five years from now,

bringing up children
in different rooms

with my stretchy yoga limbs.

When, in reality, that angel
has left me on my own

for 72 minutes
and I've returned home...

with no shoes.

We're about to have a baby.

I can't look after my own shoes!

I walk through the front door
like fucking Frodo Baggins.

She's like,
"Where are your shoes?"

"A man said they were his shoes.

I had pants on, I sweat
heavily from my belly.

You know this about me."

She's now got this awful
image in her head of me,

five years from now,
coming home with a pram,

but no baby.

"A man said it was his baby!

I had pants on, I sweat,

and we can make another one."

That was my chance...

to add five years,

and I fucked it.

I was gutted, I was gutted.

I thought I'll have
one more shot.

One last chance.

So me and wife went out,

I was walking
down the road with her,

she was pregnant.
She looked unbelievable!

Pregnant women are unbelievable,
like fucking super heroes.

If you want to feel
insufficient as a man,

get your wife pregnant.

There is nothing you
can do to help that situation.

"I took the bins out today."

"I grew an elbow in my womb."

"Do you have a womb?"

"I'll take out
both bins tomorrow."

If I try to help, it goes wrong.

I don't want it to,
but it goes wrong.

I was trying to get
a pregnancy pillow.

Me and my wife were in bed.

She said, "I need
something to cuddle at night."

I thought,
"Have you been on Twitter?

What's going on here?"

I went to a department store,
in London,

to buy a pillow.

I was in
the childrenswear section,

looking at baby shoes.

They are so small,
very easy to lose.

I looked at the guy,
like, "Excuse me mate,

do you sell pregnancy pillows?"

The guy misheard my accent,

sent me down to the pharmacy

and got me
the morning after pill.

What decision did he think
I was making upstairs?

The biggest decision of my life.

"Let's see how cute
these shoes are.

Not cute enough,
pill please. Thank you."

It's not even a shoe,

that's a sock
with a Converse logo on it;

you should be ashamed
of yourself.

So I was walking with my wife,

pregnant, she looked
fucking amazing.

And I started looking
five years down the line.

I saw this life
with this baby that I love

and the only woman
that's never told me

I'm "punching above my weight".

Yeah. I liked it.

I wanted my wife
to see what I saw.

So we're walking
and I said to Laura,

"Laura, I need you
to know this, right.

It's getting serious now.

I know that I
can lose my temper.

I know I've lost my shape

and, yes, I have lost
my shoes...

worryingly recently,

you could say, actually,
yeah, pretty bad.

But I promise you this,

I will never lose
the two of you."

And she smiled,
'cos she knew I meant it.

And then I opened
the door of the Uber...

Thank you.

I guess what I'm saying is,
If you're with someone

and if you look five years
ahead and you like what you see,

they're probably the "one".
So that's the one for you.

Listen everyone, this has been
one of the best nights
of my life.

Thank you so much
for coming out.

Cheers.

goodnight,
namaste. Cheers.