It was a lot of pressure for the comic, especially since the show – Thoroughly Modern Millican – hadn’t even had the Fringe seal of approval yet. But she’d had the same fears about Chatterbox, and they had since proven spectacularly unfounded.
This year, Sarah was really looking forward to Edinburgh. It would mean she would stay put for a month, which was unusual for the travelling gagster, plus she would be able to spend lots of time with Gary and her friends.
In 2011, Sarah shared her digs with fellow Fringe comediennes Juliet Meyers and Sally-Anne Hayward. Meyers was in town for her show, I am Spartacus, at The Assembly Rooms, while award-winning Hayward was performing her lunchtime show, Don’t Judge Me.
Both comics have a very similar style to Millican, so it was easy to see how the trio had become firm friends over the years. Hayward in particular was a fellow master of observational humour, focusing on dead-end jobs, annoying parents and the joys of living alone.
Sarah packed up her slippers and her favourite mug and travelled to Edinburgh for the mammoth month-long festival. On her first night, Sarah and her flatmates had sausage and mash for tea – a tradition that had started a few years before and now had become a ritual.
The town was already buzzing about her and she was being touted as one of the biggest names at the festival, which strangely surprised her. ‘People say, “you are one of the big hitters this year”, but all it really means is a lot of the really big names aren’t going,’ she told The Daily Record, who immediately said she was doing herself a huge disservice by the comment.
They weren’t wrong. Yet again Sarah had sold out her Fringe run, a feat made even more impressive by the fact that she would this year be appearing at The Assembly Hall.
For Chatterbox she had been at The Stand, an impressive location that held 150 audience members. Now, just a year later, she was at The Assembly Hall – which seats an incredible 840 people each night.
It wasn’t the biggest venue she would ever play, but it was a definite rise up the pecking order. And she’d even had to add four more dates at the Edinburgh Conference Centre, to keep up with the voracious appetite for her stand-up. ‘It feels nice to know I’ve got an audience because very few people going to Edinburgh know that,’ she told The Record. ‘What I like is it shows progression. I won Best Newcomer, then had my difficult second album, which actually went well and got good reviews, and then for my third show last year I was up for the main award, which felt like I had gone from being good for being new to just being good. That’s all you ever want, to just be learning and getting better.
‘It means if the show is rubbish thousands of people will hate you, instead of hundreds, so you have to make sure it’s doubly good. I don’t want to let anyone down. I want them to go away thinking, “that was great, I really enjoyed it”.’
If comedy was the new rock and roll, then Sarah was definitely morphing into Mick Jagger. There was no longer any doubt: she was famous. But she still couldn’t quite get her head around it. ‘I still find it a bit odd,’ she revealed. ‘People have always been really nice and supportive and I appreciate it but I am not a massively tactile person. I don’t want to get a wipe out after I shake somebody’s hand but I also don’t want to hug every single person I meet. So it’s trying to get a balance between that. It doesn’t feel normal and I don’t know if it ever should.’ Arriving on stage each night to a dramatic X Factor-style theme tune, it felt like Sarah was musically proclaiming this disbelief at her new celebrity status.
Loosely based on Sarah’s self-proclaimed ‘risk-averse nature’, Thoroughly Modern Millican centered around a childhood memory of going to the funfair. Some people are go-getting bumper cars, she claimed, while others are more cautious dodgems. ‘Exciting is when you start a new tea towel,’ she quipped, after telling the audience she believed she was firmly in the dodgem camp. ‘Live life to the full, that’s what it’s all about!’ she said, rousingly – before undercutting herself with a perfectly timed: ‘No it isn’t.’
She discussed drugs, saying she’d never taken them and preferred a Twix or a cake. ‘I did have an apple the other day,’ she said with an air of mock adventure, reinforcing her well-cultivated image of an exercise-shy cake-lover.
Her friendly inquisitive style was still very much in evidence, suggesting that fame most definitely hadn’t gone to her head. Revealing more intimate secrets of her domestic life, she asked the audience for some of theirs in return – such as any obsessive quirks they might have. One woman admitted that she had checked under the bed ever since watching a particular episode of a crime drama. ‘What would you do if you found a man under your bed?’ she asked the woman, and listened to the whispered response. It was comedy gold and she repeated it to the audience: ‘Oh, you’re a lesbian so you don’t know?’
Once more, Gary didn’t get off lightly, as she discussed his snoring and sexual practices. The audience laughed hysterically when she confessed that the custard jug at her local carvery had got her juices flowing on one of their dates. ‘Get in the car,’ she’d breathlessly told Delaney. ‘And bring the custard…’
The show was unremittingly saucy but rarely crude, a fact that made some of her more risky jokes infinitely more palatable. ‘I like swearing,’ she admitted at the beginning of each show. ‘And anyone who doesn’t like it can f**k off.’
One of the other questions she asked the audience was: ‘What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever used to wipe you bum with?’
‘A sock,’ shouted one person.
‘A sandwich!’ admitted another.
‘A pantyliner,’ came another offering.
‘That was my only period joke and it wasn’t even mine,’ she giggled.
‘I love you!’ shouted one man in the audience. She asked him to repeat what he’d said, and added: ‘I heard it the first time, I’m just really needy…’
It was another great show, although many found Millican’s decision that she is a dodgem oddly incongruous with her history. After all, it had been a brave decision to quit her job and focus on a career in comedy. She couldn’t have predicted the success she would have but she chose to take the risk anyway – much more of a bumper car mentality than a meek and mild dodgem.
‘With Cheryl Cole no longer crying perfect tears on The X Factor, the path is clear for Millican to become the nation’s Tyne sweetheart,’ wrote The Metro. ‘Thoroughly Modern Millican is another filthy-minded and frequently hilarious ramble through personal and relationship foibles that trades heavily on her natural warmth and ability to tease confessions out of the audience… In Millican’s own words, it’s “champion”.’
‘The theme for Sarah Millican’s latest show is a gift for critics – it’s all about how she’s risk-averse,’ wrote comedy website Chortle. ‘Because her comedy is rarely, if ever, going to take a chance, being based so firmly in homely, comfortable domesticity. Equally, there’s no gamble in buying a ticket; you can be guaranteed a solid hour of charming anecdotes, easily identifiable situations, and the odd pun, all accompanied with a saucy self-deprecation. It’s that certainty that means in just four short years she’s become one of the biggest acts on the Fringe.
‘This adept offering is perfect for the dodgems; a trusted and proven hour sure to generate if not “uncontrollable” smiles, but plenty of grins and the odd hearty chuckle. Leave the bumper cars to fling themselves to the more obscure corners of the Fringe, and the very real possibility of disappointment you will never get with Millican.’
With the rave reviews rolling in once more, Sarah relaxed into her fourth Fringe experience. She found new places to have late night pots of tea with her friends and larked around with her flatmates. She even punched one of them in the head and explained: ‘She was wearing a hard hat we found at our flat.’ She sang Summer Nights in the cobbled streets while stone cold sober one night, and watched as much of the other comedy offerings as she could, picking out Michael J Dolan and Tim Key as being among the most memorable.
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Having Gary around was both a joy and nerve-racking. She had laughed uncontrollably when he stole a poster of her without realising someone had drawn a moustache on it, but was nervous when performing in front of him – especially since her Would I Lie To You pal Ronnie Corbett was in the audience that night too.
One a rare day off Sarah found herself co-hosting the Radio 2 Arts Show with Penny Smith, for a special edition being broadcast live from a tent at the Fringe. Penny was pleased to have Sarah – such a great fan of the festival – with her on the show and it was a chance for Sarah to talk about what headlining at the festival really meant for her.
‘My whole year revolved around the Fringe,’ she told Penny. ‘I have sleepless nights in September because I haven’t thought of a title for the next one. Then in February I do my first preview and then I work constantly – doing other things – but on trying to make my show as good as it possibly can be. Then you come up here, you stick your head above the parapet and you hope that people might like it. It’s like nothing else, I absolutely love it. I can’t imagine not doing it.’
The duo chatted incessantly, obviously enjoying each other’s company, before getting back to the topic of the day. ‘We’re not doing very well, are we,’ laughed Penny. ‘We haven’t talked about Edinburgh and what we’re doing. We are interviewing loads of fantastic people.’
They made a great pair, chatting to Tim Vine, actor Julian Sands and beatboxer Shlomo. Shlomo may have become a phenomenon in the human beatboxing world, but he was still amazed by Millican’s incredible horn impression, which he asked her to teach him.
As the Fringe came to an end, it was once more time to announce the festival’s winners. Strangely, Sarah missed out on a main nomination – but she was honoured to have one of her gags voted into the top 10 best jokes of the Fringe, an accolade awarded by digital channel Dave.
Comedian Nick Helm won the prize overall, while veteran entertainer Paul Daniels won the wooden spoon award for the worst joke of the festival, with: ‘I said to a fella: “Is there a B&Q in Henley?” He said, “No, there’s an H, an E, an N, an L and a Y”.’ It was a dubious honour, but Daniels seemed pleased.
The top 10 were:
Nick Helm: ‘I needed a password eight characters long so I picked Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.’
Tim Vine: ‘Crime in multi-storey car parks. That is wrong on so many different levels.’
Hannibal Buress: ‘People say “I’m taking it one day at a time”. You know what? So is everybody. That’s how time works.’
Tim Key: ‘Drive-Thru McDonalds was more expensive than I thought… once you’ve hired the car…’
Matt Kirshen: ‘I was playing chess with my friend and he said, “Let’s make this interesting”. So we stopped playing chess.’
Sarah Millican: ‘My mother told me, you don’t have to put anything in your mouth you don’t want to. Then she made me eat broccoli, which felt like double standards.’
Alan Sharp: ‘I was in a band which we called The Prevention, because we hoped people would say we were better than The Cure.’
Mark Watson: ‘Someone asked me recently – what would I rather give up, food or sex. Neither! I’m not falling for that one again, wife.’
Andrew Lawrence: ‘I admire these phone hackers. I think they have a lot of patience. I can’t even be bothered to check my OWN voicemails.’
DeAnne Smith: ‘My friend died doing what he loved … Heroin.’
When the festival was over, Gary drove Sarah and her luggage back home to Manchester. She was exhausted, and grateful to have booked a few weeks off before she was set to embark on her exciting second tour. But she was also a little sad. She wouldn’t perform at Edinburgh again for another two years, as she had decided to miss the festival in 2012.
Sarah was planning to give herself a well-earned break from the summer extravaganza, to give herself time to concentrate on other aspects of her comedy career. ‘I might grow some tomatoes and paint a wall,’ she told journalist Emma McAlpine. ‘I’m calling it nesting. Even though I won’t be having any kids, I’ll be building a nest.’
She still however, planned to go up to the Edinburgh Festival to support all her comedy friends. ‘I’ll still go and take people out for lunch who are crying because there’s a lot of upset. A lot of people on the brink of… something. If you can just run in with your arms and a hug you might save their show that night. Or their sanity!’
For the first two days back at home she didn’t leave the house. ‘I’m focusing on relaxing and catching up on sleep,’ she wrote in her blog. ‘I’ve only had one bath… and no showers. I disgust myself. F**k knows when I’ll put a bra on again. I’ve spent a lot of time in a nightie that makes me look like Bubbles DeVere. It’s so comfy, if a little tent like.’
She arranged a few lunches out with friends and enjoyed having nothing in particular to do, which was a rare treat. She discovered new local cafes, nurtured an addiction to The Great British Bake Off, and did a few domestic chores, like buying a bedside lamp so that she could enjoy reading Tina Fey’s new biography. ‘I’ve slept a ridiculous amount, eaten the same dinner four days in a row, and eaten twice at the same restaurant where sausage and mash is listed as a starter,’ she wrote, before realising a week later that she still hadn’t unpacked her Edinburgh suitcase.
‘That is one of the joys of living alone,’ she mused. ‘No one but me to climb over the massive open suitcase in the hallway and I can even do it in the dark now. Some people would consider it lazy to not have unpacked yet, but compare it to the fact that my fake mini Christmas tree is still in the spare room, fully erect, fully decorated including lights, so that when December comes I can just plug it back in. Lazy, or Brilliant?’
Sarah also took a few days to go on a mini break with Gary. ‘We can sing our silly songs and just be daft with each other. Planning days around meals and never wearing a watch. That’s my kind of holiday,’ she wrote in anticipation of the break away.
In September 2011 Sarah embarked on her tour of Thoroughly Modern Millican. She was conscious that it would be a long stint, especially since she kept adding dates to keep up with demand. She wouldn’t finish until the following May, but this time she at least had a tour manager. ‘Last year it was just me driving everywhere, so it’s been really nice to have some company,’ she told one journalist. ‘He makes sure all the lighting’s right so I can concentrate on the show. I would say it’s like having my dad there but he’s the same age as me!’
In an interview with The Sun, she revealed that she darkened the room during the gigs to encourage the audience to share their sex-related secrets. ‘I always make sure the room is really dark so I can’t see them, which makes them happier to join in when I ask them to talk about sex,’ she explained. ‘Because it’s dark they know I won’t recognise them in the street afterwards, so I can’t run after them saying: “You’re a bit of a slag, aren’t you love?”’
It was clear that an awful lot of hard work went into her 90-minute shows, which involved a lot of improvisational comedy as well as her scripted gags. But she still had time to feature on a few panel shows on her rare days off. In October she appeared once more on Would I Lie to You, and this time revealed a very personal story about touring life. The other guests – David Mitchell, Bill Oddie and Frank Skinner – would have to decide if it was true.
‘I once wet myself in a car, and then blamed it on my friend’s dog,’ she told everyone.
‘I’m willing to believe it,’ said host Mitchell, before asking why she had done it. ‘Because I needed a wee in a car,’ Sarah said bluntly, giving nothing away.
Rob Brydon admitted that he had once urinated into a litre bottle of Volvic on the Severn Bridge, while Skinner agreed he’d had a similar experience. ‘The problem was I had a bottle of water, and I had to drink the water,’ said Brydon. ‘My body was saying, “no, no more water!” It was a terrible cyclical thing, no sooner had I got it down it was out again.’
‘So basically apart from me this is a commonplace occurrence,’ joked Mitchell. ‘Essentially, lavatories are just for me.’
Sarah explained that she’d had to take the car for valeting soon after, and it was there that she blamed the strange odour on the dog.
Skinner was unconvinced. ‘I think Sarah is the kind of strong, independent woman who would step out of the car, stride over to the hard shoulder, and just go,’ he said.
But Bill Oddie said he believed the tale, and he was absolutely right. It was hardly surprising – the amount of time Sarah spent on the road while she was touring meant that she must have been caught short once or twice in her life.
The day after the episode aired, the BBC made an announcement. ‘Award-winning comedian Sarah Millican has landed her own series on BBC Two,’ read the statement. ‘The Sarah Millican Television Show will be a mix of Sarah’s unique and brilliant stand-up, with some special guests along the way.’
The six-part series would be filmed in front of a live studio audience at the new BBC Northern hub, MediaCityUK, early the next year. Based in Salford, it was appropriately close to her Manchester home.
The show would be a joint venture between Sarah’s newly formed production company – Chopsy Productions – and So Television, Graham Norton’s successful business.
Her brief sofa time with P Diddy had been very lucrative indeed… ‘I am thrilled to be making a series for BBC Two,’ Sarah said in her own statement. ‘So thrilled that I do little claps every time I think about it.’
Alan Tyler, BBC executive for entertainment commissioning, added: ‘Sarah Millican and So Television feels like a bit of a dream team. Sarah is one of the UK’s funniest comedians and we are delighted to bring her first TV series to audiences on BBC Two. She is a truly unique combination of wit, warmth and killer punch lines. Sarah is in great hands with So Television who are one the foremost entertainment producers in the UK.’
Sarah Millican--The Queen of Comedy Page 20