Barry Glendenning - The International Bar

Yes, we were all a-quiver in anticipation at the thought of seeing an all too rare live show by the uncrowned king of Irish comedy, a show which would be the first time I had ever “caught him live”, as they say… but before Dermot Carmody took the stage, it was my workmate Barry Glendenning who treaded the boards for five minutes or so in the role of warm-up man.

So how did he do? Well, although he didn’t exactly reach Bill Hicksian heights – at one stage the ad-libs were getting more laughs than the jokes themselves – nor did he die on his arse. Indeed, at no stage was he forced to start mugging frantically in an effort to elicit cheap laughter from the audience. One gag which went down especially well was the story of the headline that never was: BP Fallon’s escapade at a gig in 1987, when the Beep was beaten up by an over-zealous security guard. The prospective headline for the news item? “BEEP BOPPED BY LOOLAH”.

The ensuing chuckles bought Barry a little more time, and he began regaling the crowd with anecdotes about his home turf of Offaly. “My mother sends me up the Midland Tribune every now and again,” he quipped, to be greeted by gales of raucous laughter. Problem was, it wasn’t a quip. It was a statement of fact. “What’re you laughing for?” asked Barry, unsure whether to be relieved or enraged. “That wasn’t a joke!”

Early on, he kept glancing at the palm of his hand to look at his scribbled notes, like a student cogging in an exam, and when the audience copped on what he was doling, he turned it to his advantage by doing it in an obvious manner every time he stumbled over a word. The mark of a natural comedian? Well, probably not, actually.

The crowd themselves may have been fairly sympathetic, early doors – the7 were informed at the start that it was his comedy debut – but Barry gave it the full trigger out there on the park where it counts, Brian, and no-one should ask for more. (Plus, he’s a few inches taller than me, and if I say nasty things about his comedic prowess he’ll more than likely beat me to a pulp, so there you have it.)

“I’ve been bitten,” he gasped as he stumbled from the stage at the end, the sweat on his brow conspicuous by its absence. “I want more. Fucking hell, I’m definitely going to do this again.”

Let that be a warning.