Where Were You Hiding When the Storm Broke? One of those things in life which I’m resentful about for no good reason is the “where were you ...?” phenomenon.
You know what I mean – “where were you when Kennedy was shot?”, “where were you when man walked on the moon?” that kinda thing.
Part of the resentment comes from the former being before I was born and the latter being not long after I took my own first steps I suppose, but I think most of it comes from the rubbish events we’ve had since then and my rubbish responses to what little I’ve got to work with.
Where were you when Lennon was shot? In bed listening to Tiger Tim on Radio Clyde.
Where were you when Thatcher resigned? On the bus outside Huddersfield Job Centre (OK, that’s quite apt) listening to the story break on Radio 4.
Where were you when Diana died? Watching QVC.
Where were you on 9/11? Sitting in the car park of the sandwich shop near work as it unfolded over every radio station.
Where were you when the tsunami killed a quarter of a million? Tidying up after Christmas day and listening to 5Live.
You see a theme here? With occasional breaks for comic memorabilia sales on unfashionable TV channels, I’ve spent most of my life within earshot of a radio. Most of the big news stories have reached me that way; about the only exceptions I can think of being 7/7 (satellite telly in a hotel bar in Portugal) and Hillsborough (on multiple TV screens in the window of an electrical shop on Poole high street).
Our Jessica’s a different kettle of fish. She loathes the way radio insists on trying to sell her car insurance between bangin’ tunes; if anything separates her generation from mine, it’s patience.
So it came to pass that, on the day Europe’s airspace was closed for a week, Jessica’s first knowledge of the eruption of Iceland’s Eyjafjallajokull volcano came from a Jo Caulfield joke.
That, dear reader, is cool.
A good four or five years ago, BBC7 was broadcasting loads of stand-up routines in their comedy slot which I ripped from the web stream and loaded onto both my and Linda’s mp3 players for holiday listening.
Beneath the Canary Island sun, we agreed that, by far the best (and the competition was pretty fierce; Nick Revell, Rhod Gilbert, Ardal O’Hanlon and the like), was a show from the Edinburgh fringe by a young lady named Jo Caulfield who immediately took a prominent spot on our “to see” list.
Events conspired to thwart us on our first attempts; Jo still hasn’t been forgiven for canceling her 2007 date in Huddersfield (which I whined about at the time if you want to go digging in the archives) then her Halifax show last year (which sounded great – nice and intimate) landed bang in the middle of my post-op recuperation when it hurt enough to breathe, let alone laugh.
So, you see, when our paths finally cross, Jo’s carrying a lot of our baggage. Will she disappoint?
Not for a moment.
Even allowing for the three comedians appearing on telly tonight (it’s the first ever British Prime Ministerial Debate) I’d’ve hoped for – make that expected - a few more locals to make the effort to see real talent. Jo’s a slick performer who clearly loves a live audience and deserves more than tonight’s 75% capacity.
Following, as it does, the standard agenda of introduction/tease the audience for a bit/deliver script, Jo’s show is never going to win any awards for revolutionary formatting, but the material is what matters and it’s top notch. From her wry observation of local mannerisms, through the well rehearsed meat of the performance proper, to milking the most she can out of some rather third rate heckling, she never misses a beat.
The feeling that she’s talking straight to you is hard to explain without sounding like a self-harming, virgin Smiths fan, but you probably get the idea; A Jo Caulfield show is like going to the pub for a blether with an old mate, drinking too much then spending the whole night inventing back-stories for everyone in the place.
Great stuff, and there always seems to be a little twist, doesn’t there? Plugging her new CD, Jo apologised for wearing the same blouse on the sleeve as she wore tonight. When we got home, Dave was (as usual) showing an old episode of Mock The Week. Guess who was on it? And guess what she was wearing?
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