Sarah’s fans will know that Gary features regularly in her performances, even though she never names him. Instead she initially referred to him as ‘the boyfriend’, and has charted their relationship journey through her on stage material. For example, she has discussed the problems they face when it comes to present buying for each other, and has even shown her audience some jewellery he’d accidentally bought her from teen shop Claire’s Accessories, instead of her favourite Accessorize.
‘The only time we ever argue is Christmas, birthdays, present-buying times,’ she said during one gig. ‘He really likes surprises and I really hate… surprises.’
Another on-stage swipe at her partner came at the end of a sweet little story about their holidays together… ‘We’ve both got busy lives and when we go on holiday we like to go somewhere relaxing – we like to look at pretty scenery and read books. My boyfriend doesn’t like to fly so we tend to stay within the UK. So, because we don’t have to pay for expensive flights we sometimes treat ourselves to a posh hotel, and the last posh hotel we stayed in had two baths, either side of each other.
‘I thought: “Ooh, we’re going to be able to have really romantic baths together, without having to stare at hairy toes…” They’re not horrific, they’re just, you know, feet. Nails are a bit long, toes are a bit hairy – there’s crusty bits on the bottom, you know, that sort of thing. It looks like he could pick up mice with them. They have a certain sort of owl-like quality to them.’
Sarah may often lampoon him on stage, but Gary is supportive of Sarah’s work – ever eager to point her in the direction of the mistakes he makes, so that she can use it in her shows.
Sarah cites him as a major influence on her work ethic. ‘If something funny happens when we get intimate, he’s the first to go, “Write that down before you forget”. He comes to my shows and laughs the loudest when it’s stuff about him. He’s thrilled when I talk about him. He actually turned round to someone at a gig once and said, “you know, everything she says is true”. He loves it because I might be talking about how he says really inappropriate things sometimes, but he also comes across as absolutely hilarious. Who doesn’t want to be thought of as funny?’
When Sarah comes off stage, many of her fans want to shake Gary’s hand too. It’s obvious they are a very caring, relaxed couple, who support and love each other equally.
But an echo of pain from her divorce was ever-present – Sarah was still cynical about love. ‘We’re having a lovely time, but I don’t believe in forever,’ she said on Live at the Apollo in 2011. ‘I don’t believe in blokes, or songs, that say “I’m gonna love you forever”. No you’re not. You’re gonna love us for a little while and then you’re gonna leave us and you don’t really know why.’
On the word ‘really’ her voice rose slightly and she began fanning her eyes, as if to fend off tears. The audience murmured, sympathetically, before Sarah grinned and said: ‘No, I’m fine, really. He was an arse.’
It’s at moments like these that you realise Sarah is a lot more complicated than she appears on stage. As John Walsh wrote in The Independent: ‘It’s not every comedian who can hit an audience’s funny bone with observational gags about the sex war and potty-mouth confessions about bottoms and vaginas one minute, then enlist their emotional support for her tales of abandonment the next. But Sarah Millican isn’t any comedian. She uses sorrow and regret as the springboard for her extremely funny act.’
Sarah’s relationship with Gary proved just how much she had changed from the 29-year-old divorcee who felt her life had ended. She had grown since that marriage break-up, and the lessons she learnt along the way weren’t ones she was willing to ignore.
She was blissfully happy with Gary, but said she didn’t want to jeopardise that happiness by doing something silly – like living under the same roof. And for a comedian used to travelling to gigs, 80 miles wasn’t a great distance. ‘It’s not a long way when you travel 50,000 miles a year,’ she saids. ‘It works out really well. When you live with your partner, there are times when you think, “I wish you’d just go out”. That never happens to me. Ever. We never do housework with each other, so I’m never ironing or cleaning. It’s lovely.’
It’s something that a psychiatrist might say developed as a backlash to her failed marriage. Believing that a typical ‘couply’ existence was responsible for the death of her relationship, Sarah removed the banality of everyday life from the equation, so that she was left with only the ‘good bits’ of a relationship.
Every week they’d spend a few days together, before leaving to return to their separate homes. ‘When I don’t see him I miss him,’ she told The Mirror in March 2012. ‘So when he does come round I’m always genuinely pleased to see him. I don’t think that happens when you live together. This has all the benefits of a long-term relationship, without the niggly bits.’
It was a point she once again made clear during an interview with Woman and Home, in December 2012. ‘I think you’ve just got to make sure that you don’t slip into complacency. So I never iron or hoover when he’s there, so that when we’re together we go for lunch or nice walks. And there’s no routine, so you can’t get bored of no routine, can you? It gives us both breathing space, and we see each other a lot more than we would if we lived together because we plan ahead. He’s still the most important person to me. But I think I am also important.’
On stage she discussed the subject with more candour. At one of her live shows she admitted: ‘When we’re apart, and I get to sleep in my own bed, on my own, I fucking love it. Starfish! I love it. We all love our partners but when we’re trying to get to sleep they all do niggly things, don’t they? Like… breathing.’
It was a modern and somewhat refreshing arrangement – one that even Sarah admitted others found unconventional. But then, they aren’t a conventional couple. In 2008, at which point the couple had been together for two years, The Metro reported: ‘In the town where they live, they are affectionately known as Mr and Mrs Rape…’
It went on to quote Sarah as saying: ‘I can talk about how happy I am with him, but I still can’t do forever with him, even though I love him. We’ve decided on 19 years and then an appraisal.’
Four years later, her views hadn’t changed. ‘I don’t know if we’ll ever move in together. It’s weird how everybody thinks that what we’re doing is odd, whereas I think we’ve nailed it. Everybody else is doing it wrong.’
But though strong and independent, and definitely flying the flag for women in comedy, Sarah was no militant feminist. When Gary once stayed in her flat while she was away, Sarah was horrified to discover upon her return that he had broken something electrical. ‘Because I’m a feminist, I rang my dad, so he could tell me what to do,’ she explained in a 2009 web interview. ‘But as I was chatting to him, Gary fixed it. And although I’m capable, sometimes it’s nice having someone do something for you and it’s nice for them too. Often I’ll let Gary open a stiff jar because it makes him feel all puffed up and masculine, even though I could have done it myself.’
It was obvious that Gary and Sarah shared a fun-filled, loving relationship, but what about the possibility of children? Was that something she would have considered changing their current arrangement for?
In short, the answer was no. Sarah didn’t see any baby Millicans in her future – with Gary or anyone else.
During a 2010 interview with thisisleicestershire.co.uk, she joked. ‘A friend recently had a test for polycystic ovaries and it turns out she has it and is pleased,’ she told the reporter. A condition that is caused by an imbalance in female hormones, polycystic ovaries causes the sufferer to grow unsightly facial hair and leaves them with difficulties in conceiving a child. ‘Now… I don’t want kids and neither does she, so I called her a lucky cow,’ Sarah said. ‘Come on, there’s a reason why she has a beard and a belly…’
In 2011, she took the subject of not wanting offspring more seriously, when she told The Guardian: ‘I have
no intentions of having children. I have no responsibilities apart from myself. Even in my relationship we’re very much two individuals who are in love rather than being “a couple”, and that’s a massive distinction in my mind.’
A year later she hadn’t changed her opinion. In an interview with The Mirror, she explained: ‘I don’t have kids and I’ve never wanted them. They ask a lot of questions and I’m not good at answers. I’m not massively knowledgeable on a wide range of topics and I think to be a parent you have to know why the sky’s blue at least.’
Gary has definitely broadened Sarah’s horizons – if not to the point of entertaining the idea of children, then at least in the world of food. She had never been out for a curry, or a Chinese, before hooking up with the comic – two cuisines she now enjoys frequently. ‘I can’t believe how adventurous I’ve become,’ she says.
And while unconventional, the pair are known as the Terry and June – or George and Mildred – on Twitter, because of their cyberspace exchanges. Both of them are huge fans of the social networking site, and tweet regularly to their followers. As of January 2013, Sarah’s followers numbered an incredible 705,000, while Gary’s count was at a respectable 38,000, and included Jamie Theakston, Dara O’Briain and Charlie Brooker among his followers.
As well as their comedy exchanges, they also tweet about each other’s TV and live appearances, to support each other’s work.
With her on-stage jokes about Gary, Sarah can sometimes go straight for the jugular. ‘I saw my boyfriend in a suit and I must admit I was a little bit turned on,’ she said in one routine. ‘I don’t mind telling you – I think it was the prospect of a regular income.’
But despite their living apart and despite the effect her marriage break-up had on her view of love, there was a beautiful romance about the pair. Maybe she had just become a more realistic romantic.
In 2009 she gave an interview to an Australian newspaper and told them about her most recent birthday. ‘My boyfriend took me to Blackpool… to see an Elvis impersonator,’ she revealed. They’d had fish and chips, and normally teetotal Sarah even pushed the boat out with a half pint of shandy. She said: ‘That was me done for the night. Brilliant.’
But the most telling sign of her devotion to Gary came when she chose him over her other great love – cake. Sarah famously loves sweet treats and talks about them often in her routines. She has a section on her website dedicated to pictures of her favourite confectionary, and many of her fans bring cupcakes to her show for her.
But in a 2010 interview with The Herald, she was asked to choose between cake or sex, and after a lot of thought, said: ‘Oh, there’s a question… Well, they’re not mutually exclusive. You do know that? I’m going to go out on a limb and say cakes are better than sex because I can’t have sex in here now with you watching. Well, I could but it would be awkward. Whereas I could have that…’ – she indicated a calorific strawberry construction in front of her – ‘…on a train. I could have that on the passenger seat while I’m driving. I think maybe cakes are better than casual sex, but sex in a relationship with someone you love is better than cakes. But if someone loves you they buy you cake, so it’s win-win really.’
‘All you do is write what you think is funny – you don’t know if people are going to come, like it, if reviewers are going to come, if they’re going to like it, and all I’ve got to go on is what I find funny…’
CHAPTER 8
Sarah Millican’s Not Nice
By 2008, Sarah had been successfully gigging for four years. She had won The Amused Moose Award and been runner up in three other highly regarded competitions. She now had an agent, a new boyfriend, and was getting repeat gigs in a variety of venues up and down the country.
Life was good.
She had also finally moved out from her family home and into a smart rented flat in Manchester – it was the first time Sarah had ever lived alone, and she told Woman and Home magazine: ‘I had no idea how awesome it is and I don’t know if I ever want to go back. It’s just the freedom. There’s no compromise necessary. It’s a sort of healthy selfishness and it also means that I’m not selfish when I’m with my boyfriend.’
Sarah chose Manchester for a number of reasons, the most important of which being its location. ‘Manchester is so much easier for gigs,’ she told The Manchester Evening News in 2010. ‘There are so many places just an hour or two away, so you can come back and be in your own bed a lot.’
She now refers to Manchester as her adopted city, and likens coming into the main train station as how it used to feel when she came across the Tyne Bridge – like she was coming home. ‘I loved it and I loved the people and the feeling I got when I came here,’ she said in the article, which joked that she had been appointed an ambassador for ‘Marketing Manchester’.
The flat-hunting process had been another funny experience, made so by her unintentionally comedic parents. Neither of them could understand why Sarah would want to live on her own. Her mum told her: ‘People only live on their own if they’ve got no friends’, while her dad made her look up the word ‘hermit’ in the dictionary.
When she first started looking for her new home, Philip helpfully suggested not looking at any with a balcony – in case she was tempted to throw herself off. ‘He wasn’t being funny, or cruel – just practical, which is the position me dad comes at everything from,’ she says.
But soon she was happily settled in her new place, where she could enjoy the simple pleasures of living alone – like walking around naked and decorating in whatever style she liked. ‘Suddenly there were no restrictions, no compromise,’ she has said of the time. ‘You don’t have to say, “are you alright with those blue curtains because I quite like the red ones, but you like the blue ones”. Now I can have red curtains. If I want no curtains, or curtains made from children’s ears, I’m going to have them.’
Living on her own also meant she could turn her flat into a sauna, without anyone complaining it was too hot. ‘I love to be warm,’ she told The Radio Times in 2012. ‘When my friends come round they tell me they always have to wear short sleeves as my flat is always “Nana hot”. We bought onesies last Christmas, but with the heating on we were close to collapse. I never want to be rushed to A&E in head-to-toe fleece.’
Happily settled in her new life, it was time for Sarah to step it up a notch – by going solo at The Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Sarah had performed at the festival before, but never alone. Instead, she had done what many other comedians choose to do when they are first starting out: she shared a show. She had previously dipped her toe into the Fringe waters by performing as part of an ensemble cast, like for example, at the Big Value Show in 2006.
Comedian Ian Fox says there are benefits to choosing this approach, and that often, many comedians will come together to produce a compilation show. In his online blog, entitled How to Produce a Free Festival Show, the seasoned Edinburgh show producer gives the following advice to new comedians:
‘If you’re a new comedian and you regularly do 10-minute slots, don’t sign up for a full hour slot thinking that you can set yourself the challenge of having an hour’s material by August. Over the last few years I’ve seen loads of new acts try and fail at this. Mainly because putting together an hour is extremely difficult; 40 minutes is hard enough but it’s that last 20 where it all goes wrong. Instead, best thing to do is find some other comics in a similar position and put on a showcase where you do 10-15 minutes each and rotate as headline and compere.
‘There are enormous advantages to doing this. Firstly you get all the benefits of performing every day, such as increased confidence and becoming more relaxed and loose on stage, without the downside of having to endure the painful sight of audience members getting up and walking out on you. Plus you don’t get a mauling from whatever press turns up to see you. It’s also much cheaper, as you split the costs between you. Any press reviews you pick up will be likely to be positive – unless you’re completely rubbish –
and you’ll come out of it with one or two decent quotes for your CV.’
The other great benefit, as Sarah was to discover, is that doing compilation shows means that in the future you can still be eligible for the prestigious festival’s Best Newcomer Award, as the rules state you have to be doing your first solo show, 50 minutes or more in length, to enter.
Sarah was obviously setting herself a real challenge when in January 2008 she booked herself in for a one-hour slot at The Pleasance Courtyard – a well-known Edinburgh Festival comedy venue. She titled her show Sarah Millican’s Not Nice, and began counting down the months to the August spectacular.
Sarah knew that her material had to be of a very high quality – there would be reviewers and journalists in the audience, as well as people who had paid good money to see her. It was also a considerable financial gamble for Sarah, as performers have to pay registration fees, venue hire and accommodation costs. Unsurprisingly, very few shows even break even. The 2008 festival registration fee alone was a hefty £289.05.
No one new to the world of comedy goes to the Fringe to make money. They either go for the networking opportunities, they simply treat it as a training ground, or they see it as a springboard for career advancement.
It was, and still is, a very competitive environment. Essentially all the best comics are performing at the same time, in the same city. Sarah didn’t want to disappoint the people who had chosen to see her over anyone else.
She spent the next few months revising her material, and practicing her ‘I’m having a lovely time’ face. Then, when the time came, Sarah packed her bags and moved into a little flat in Marchmont, Edinburgh, which she was sharing with another comedian. The festival lasts for nearly a month, so most comics share together to keep costs down.
Sarah Millican--The Queen of Comedy Page 7