Warming Up

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I thought Wolfie's death would hit me once I was home, but I am still just in a daze from it and whilst it's definitely affected my mood I haven't really shed a tear yet.

Would seeing her dog bed, lead and collar send me over the edge? As it turned out, no. Not even when I put her dog bed in the outside bin. It would be wrong to try to donate that to some other dog, or use it again if we get another dog, mainly because after 9 years, it's scuffed and damaged and stinky.

Maybe something else will trigger a flood of tears- Sarah Millican noted that perhaps my wet eyes at the end of Celia Pacquola's show were about something other than the show.

I am sombre. I am sad. I am remembering her fondly and with love. I am glad she is not suffering. I consider her my best friend. She had a terrific life of love and fun and I know how much she loved and wanted to protect us.

But for now, the tears won't come.

Maybe I am dead inside.

I didn't even cry at the news that there will be no Mrs Brown's Boys this Christmas, because Mrs Brown has somehow sustained a broken jaw. If I was Mrs Brown I think I would have relished the prospect of writing two episodes of the show where Mrs Brown is unable to talk and the other characters get to say whatever they want. It seems like an incredible opportunity for comedy and to show that the star of the show is humble enough to step back and let the others do the work.

I worry that Mrs Brown saying she won't do the show is a signal to comedy fans that all they have to do to stop a show they don't like going out is to punch the main character in the face. The show must go on. For the sake of Paddy McGuinness. And Ricky Gervais. And all the divisive mainstream comics.

I do not want people breaking comedians' jaws. Some will say the ends justify the means, but I think people should be allowed to watch the comedy that they like, without someone with an iron bar twatting them in the mush.

Hit comedians with custard pies, sure - they have made it quite clear that's their thing. Or throw a bucket of confetti over them. Or hand them a big spherical bomb with the word "BOMB" in it and a burning fuse. Or drop an anvil on their head. But please don't break their jaw.

You can just turn over or turn the TV off. You don't have to break their jaw.

And comedians, if you get a broken jaw, it's your duty to carry on being funny with some other part of your body. Whatever life throws at you, you have to make comedy out if it.

I think an episode of Mrs Brown's Boys where Mrs Brown is in pain and can't say a thing might finally unite the people who love her and hate her.

Back 15 years for the Retro RHLSTP/RHEFP today. With Adam Buxton's first appearance on a podcast of mine.

Clip

Three more live shows in London and then that might be it for RHLSTP. So book now. I am going to try and go out with a bang and six top drawer guests.

And it might just be a break from RHLSTP (though my feeling is it's time to go) and I will, I think, carry on with the book club ones (and no way I am ever stopping Newsround).

Also I will almost certainly be returning to the Fringe next year, but to do my Oh Shit I'm 60 show.