About five minutes into his set, my face hurt from laughing so hard. He’s completely charming and daffy and absurd and laughing along with the audience at the insane things he comes up with. His impression of a bluebottle fly (“a geometric nightmare”) is second to none. He imagined “Torontonians” (a strange word to his ear) as a crab-with-a-horse-head riding warrior people, feeding him Bounty bars (courtesy of an audience member) and gifting him with voodoo dolls (also a gift from an Old Gregg loving fan in the crowd). He stuck the mic to his eye and had us read his thoughts — if the show isn’t funny, it’s our fault. And his final story on neighbour Monkey Edwards (a porcelain monkey statue with a verrry long feather in his cap that gets in the way when Noel is making sandwiches next door) had me in hysterics.
All of this must sound like nonsense, and it is — but told by Noel Fielding it’s just about the most delightful stuff you’ll ever hear. I only wish I had been in the front row so my shins could have been caressed while Noel had his mischief-making Hat on.