Last night was week two back at The Royal George (soho) and it was another packed room and awesome line-up. I was particularly excited about this show because there were seven acts on the bill whom I’d never seen before. Pretty much without fail over the years, these nights turn out to be an absolute joy of discovery and last night was no exception. Kicking things off we had Sean Knox and what really gets him up in the morning…final demands and overwhelming debt. It was then over to Frankie M and her desire to see a 40+ edition of TV’s Naked Attraction. I’m assuming she has a 57 inch screen. It was then over to Hussein Ali and how he cracked the dating scene. Hint: it’s all about discovering a potential match’s most frequently used emojis. Stephen Portlock and Hamlet, his imaginary guide dog were next. It seems Hamlet and guide dogs in general are having an issue with the new rainbow crossings. It’s either than or they’re all in a union and are walking their owners into oncoming traffic in protest of better quality dog treats. It was then the turn of Alex Mason who likes being a champagne socialist, a Sambuca socialist and several other more infectious forms of socialism. After Alex was Hannah O’Donnell, a gal from a long line of absolute goers who likes to keep family tradition alive and well. Hot on Hannah’s heels was Zayne Fulat who says there is no such thing as fat shaming in the Asian community: it’s just called conversations with your parents. Steven Mayne was next with a quick tutorial on how to be a great audience before the simply fabulous Steve Vertigo closed the first half with everything from too hot Mexican food and problems with quality rioting in the age of petrol shortages to the politics and rules of decency in fighting at a men’s urinal. Brilliant as always!
After the break and a member of the audience discovering they had a psychic butt, we got off to a wonderful start with Alex Hawley, a man from a very small town in New Zealand, aka Wellington, the capital. It was then over to Ellie-Grace Cashin, whose main trauma at Catholic school was the oppressive fear she might one day have an immaculate conception. Robert Enciu was next with Jungian fear of the subconscious battle waging in his purchase history of the next great gaming experience…or Nagasaki. I really couldn’t tell. Naif Mohamed was after Robert with the problems of an extensive array of siblings and how even your own tongue can sound just plain wrong at times. Next up was Rhiannon Kneads, whose ghetto accent gave her away as someone from the mean, Regency streets of Bath. Francisco Alejandro then left us pondering one of the great metaphysical debating points: was Jesus the really the original inventor of the CrossFit? It was then over the man, the legend that is Jimbo. From the most hilarious slapstick battle with the mic stand to getting two guys to come in, sit right in the front row and then charging them for the pleasure, I think it’s fair to say at this point that Jimbo once again stole the show. You gotta love a bit of Jimbo! The evening’s penultimate act was Greg Houston, a man who claims he didn’t move here to fuck The Queen, but having heard she was now single it did sway his decision. Closing the show was the incredible talents of DING, a musical comedy trio whom, if there is any justice, will be going places. Bringing a wonderful energy to the final spot, they hit us with songs from Addicted to Coffee and their fabulous Checkout song to a glorious little Halloween number. They’re just starting out so if you get the chance to see DING, grab it. You will not regret it.
So that was last night at The Royal George (soho). It was an absolute blast. It’s so, so good to be back there. Headlining next Thursday we have the hilarious Henry Ginsberg and the glorious craziness of Tom Briggs.