Fordyce Maxwell: We’d have had to move house, leave the area, possibly emigrate

By Fordyce Maxwell
Published on 04/11/2012 00:00

HUMILIATION takes many forms, but one of the worst must be to be cajoled on-stage with comedian and – self-styled in his act – “biggest homosexual in Britain”, Julian Clary.

HUMILIATION takes many forms, but one of the worst must be to be cajoled on-stage with comedian and – self-styled in his act – “biggest homosexual in Britain”, Julian Clary.

No, I didn’t. Safe in the middle of a row near the back, I would have resisted physically being picked out by his laser gun for interrogation on stage as a potential “husband”.

But the flashing laser moved beyond the first two rows where you sit at your peril for any comedian’s act and I became increasingly twitchy until he’d reached his quota of eight victims.

Thinking of it now I feel the same way as I did then, only more so. After being exposed to ridicule on the stage I’d have had no option – we’d have had to move house, leave the area, possibly emigrate.

Two questions arise. One, why were we at a Julian Clary performance? We knew what the content would be and it was – double meanings at best, filthy at worst.

Yet, I admit it, I laughed at a lot of what Clary said. He’s gentle, teasing not aggressive, a professional with great timing, sending himself up as well as his audience. And that was why we were there, to 
see how his live performance compared with his TV appearances. Weel, we ken noo.

Question two was why the eight “volunteers” were prepared to go on stage to answer questions designed to draw a laugh at their expense and perform tasks that included dropping their trousers and eating a chocolate bar suggestively.

How the audience laughed, including me. There was worse to come as survivors of the selection appeared in bride, bridesmaid, and vicar outfits for the “wedding”. Then all trooped off with big smiles and bottles of wine to a great reception from friends and families.

In short, no-one felt short-changed, Clary had delivered as expected and no-one thought any the worse of the eight who had taken part.

Then, unexpectedly, he closed by speaking along to music something he had written himself, making a plea for homosexuality to be accepted because even in tolerant Britain, much more so in some other parts of the world, it is still not cool or easy “to be queer”.

He got a great reception 
for that too from an 
audience of rugged northern heterosexuals; at least when he asked 330 people for a show of hands from homosexuals and lesbians 
not one hand was raised.

Am I glad I went? Probably, all part of life’s rich tapestry. Would I go again? Probably not. It’s back to Ken Dodd – he doesn’t haul people out of the audience.