Physical Address
304 North Cardinal St.
Dorchester Center, MA 02124
Physical Address
304 North Cardinal St.
Dorchester Center, MA 02124
Ahead of an exhausting run of tour dates, Milton Jones opens up about early stand-up failures, A-list hecklers and the cruelty of dementia
Best and worst is a regular interview in which a celebrity reflects on the highs and lows of their life
King of puns, Milton Jones gained a diploma in dramatic arts at Middlesex Polytechnic in 1985. The 60 year old is the surreal grandmaster of the one-liner, delivered in his trademark deadpan tone. The comedian from west London found fame after winning the Perrier Comedy Award for Best Newcomer at Edinburgh in 1996 and gained national prominence on the BBC’s Mock the Week, House of Games and Radio 4’s, Sorry I Haven’t a Clue. He is married to illustrator Caroline Church, with whom he has three children, Adam, 33, Jeremy, 32, and Amelia, 28.
My brother and I held apple wars against some French kids who lived in the house at the end of our garden. There were loads of apple trees and we would pelt each other across the wall. It was the best kind of warfare because there was no serious damage, just a hail of rotten fruit. It felt dangerous but contained, we were about 11 and we loved it. It helped that my brother and I were on the same team, normally he was the target, so for once we were united in our battle of Agincourt.
Gulliver’s Travels, we read it for English A-Level. I experienced a weird resonance as the teacher explained that it was satire, creating a cartoon out of something that existed. It was like a bell going off in my head – I thought, “I need to know about satire”. Weeks later, I joined the drama society (despite never acting or telling jokes previously), and I started doing impressions of my teachers. It was the first footstep in my career.
It is a cliché to say my wedding, but it was – it’s about what we committed to each other. Carol and I met when we were 17, at youth club, and we married in our very early 20s. We had an unwritten agreement to pursue our dreams and back each other – our marriage was a symbol of this promise. Although we had opportunities to do sensible jobs, Carol wanted to be an illustrator and I wanted to be a comedian. It felt easier to take risks and struggle together. I remember going to the accountant after earning about 37p that year, and he said, “Don’t worry Milton, maybe next year.” But Carol said, “Give him a few years and he will be earning enough to pay for much more.” And I thought to myself, “she believes in me.” That really helped.
Often the last thing I have written is my favourite, but there are some I have been performing for 30 years and, somehow, they have survived. Like this: “My auntie Marge has been ill for so long that we’ve started to call her, I can’t believe she’s not better.” I perform it at least once a year.
Making the other comedians laugh is brilliant. When there are seven people all trying to speak, and you are trying to get a word in while listening to what they’re saying, it is like patting your head and rubbing your tummy at the same time. If you say something that makes them genuinely laugh, you know you’ve cut through. I sat under the desk once – the longer I stayed the better the joke – but Dara Ó Briain got quite cross!
Once someone shouted “What is this?” and I thought, “Yes, what is it?” It was a good point and could have meant any number of things; it was an existential heckle. The second one, “These are just words,” made me laugh, they were perfectly correct.
I was in a club in Soho years ago. The show was going fine before a bloke started heckling me. I looked down and it was Paul Weller. The whole crowd looked and collectively thought, ‘it’s Paul Weller’. I was thrown. Then five minutes later someone else heckled – it was Robbie Williams. I thought I was in a weird dream, or maybe it was a set-up, a prank my brother had arranged. The crowd were more interested in the hecklers than the performer. I wanted to make a witty comment in response, but my mind went blank, and I couldn’t think straight. It was annoying because obviously I wanted to look cool in front of Paul Weller and Robbie Williams.
“Don’t give up” is the mantra my wife and I share. I say it to my own kids and anyone who is starting out in comedy or creative work. I knew comedians who were really good but gave up, and others who were not so funny but found success because they kept on. You can’t control good luck or bad luck, and sulking is no good for anyone, so just keep going and eventually you’ll find yourself in the right place at the right time.
We went on holiday to Belfast where my grandparents lived; it was the time of the IRA and there was unrest, bombing in the night and a real sense of fear. When I was six years old, my mother and I went shopping and I got lost – I was terrified. There were soldiers everywhere and I remember thinking, ‘I need to find a man with a nice face.’ I found this man who took me to the police. My mum was crying when she came to get me, although nothing happened – the fear was inside my head. But everyone was on edge, it felt dangerous. We cut our holiday short and went home.
One of my first open spots was at the Bearcat Comedy Club in Twickenham, and I suddenly realised the huge gulf between making your friends laugh and making an audience you had never met laugh. On the way to the gig, I decided to change my name to Gut Morgan. When I got on stage, I forgot all my words. I had bought pizzas, which I threw into the audience. I had this ridiculous idea that once on stage I would know exactly what to say. I died horribly that night. If you show any fear or hesitancy the audience lose faith and start talking. They also made sheep noises. I did not get back on stage for two years after that.
Obviously, throwing pizzas turned out to be not so funny, but I once did a corporate event for the bar and pub industry. It was all going fine before I asked the audience, “Surely it is not unusual to get free food and drink when you get it everyday?” Someone shouted back, “We never get free food and drink”, and I replied, “How come you are all so fat then?” They refused to pay me, and the owner advised me to run to the car.
Someone once yelled: “You look like a cross between Gérard Depardieu and Orinoco the Womble.” They had obviously thought quite a lot about it. When I got home and looked them both up, I thought, “Yes, they are onto something.”
Someone once told me that Economics A-level is a sexy subject to study. Even though I am terrible at maths, I took it. I got an E.
My mum died of dementia over a year ago, but before that her disease took a toll on us for five years. She would scream in fear and confusion when carers fed her or changed her clothing. Afterwards she would be so exhausted she would fall asleep, only to be woken to repeat the process and scream in terror all over again. It was an ongoing cycle of dread and there was nothing we could do about it. After the suffering finally ended it was a relief at the funeral to remember who she really was.
Milton Jones is on tour with his new show, HA!MILTON from 3 September 2024 until 30 March 2025, tickets are available at miltonjones.com