Christmas Whistle/Thermometer/Compass

As the winter hush of Christmas descends upon the land and children everywhere are misled about how toys are actually made, we crammed in one last 2012 outing for that other rotund jolly fellow: The Fat Controller!

With many Clapham residents returning to their family homes for Christmas the streets of SW4 were chill and deserted. But the inside of the Railway burned with the warmth of a thousand candles (that doesn’t sound a lot at first, but when you think about it probably is pretty warm, especially in a building).

So for our elite Clapham Comedy audience The Fat Controller produced six delightful acts from wherever he keeps them (Clunky metaphor, change this bit)

First up, was the double-super Geoff Marsh (his stagename, his actual name is Hilario SexPanther). Looking a bit like Guile from Street Fighter II he wrung LOL after LOL from the crowd as if they were a flannel and he a brutally efficient mother, making sure the flannel was dry enough to hang on the little rail in the bath. A gentleman and an artist with sublime gags, the cross-section of Clapham we welcomed that night were charmed.

Next up was Farrell MacKenzie, a favourite at the Fat Controller. While he shared his misgivings about his new haircut with the audience there can’ve been no doubt about his act. Different and just as brilliant each time we see it, I could write for a fair while about great bits of his he didn’t do (lying to a child about the word “deciduous” and password-strength). But Clapham lapped up his new stuff on months of the year and fertility like alcoholic cats would Baileys.

Following Farrell was the freshly-shaven Adam Greene. Another Fat Controller favourite, he brought the room together like a more successful Kofi Annan. Unique on the circuit for his Imperial War Museum material, in 2013 he has pledged to have at least two minutes about each of London’s major museums. He also brought the microphone stand, a first for the Fat Controller in Clapham. Thanks Adam.

The night was Gabriel Ebulue’s last gig of 2012 and the SW4 audience were treated to his seemingly-effortless effective laidback delivery and unique mind. A certain snail’s loss was comedy’s gain and we look forward to having him back in the New Year.

As we do Jack Grant, who brought a heart-stopping and hilarious Dickensian social realism to the penultimate spot, taking as his topic the job market and trying to impress girls. He manfully surmounted a moment where he produced the wrong piece of paper from his pocket but put it back and took the right bit of paper out of another pocket. He also ate a sweet he found on the floor. We are delighted to inform you he was accepted for the post of “Ha ha ha!” by an appreciative crowd.

Closing the night was Nick Elleray, who opted to go microphoneless and project. The Fat Controller has to admit there was a bit of hiss from the amp but we’ll sort that for next year.

Regulars may have seen Nick before but his set was nearly all new and classy stuff, with a garnish of the classics at the end. He brought an ease and assurance to the closing spot that was almost regal while never being imperious or exclusive. As ever, we were super-pleased to have him involved.

Special prize this week was a three-in-one whistle, combining a whistle, thermometer and compass.

It only remains to thank the delightful staff of the Railway, without whom the pub would be literally unstaffed and Clapham far the poorer. Thanks guys!

We’re back in the New Year! Starting on January 13th, come, bring your families, your friends, people you’ve just met in Clapham! Have a great everything in-between, love you.

The Fat Controller


One thought on “Christmas Whistle/Thermometer/Compass

  1. Ruth says:

    Wish I could have been there.

    Your metaphors paint a picture like a swan floating across a daffodil, the elegance of your descriptions is like a harpsichord tip-toeing through a field of aggressive hedgehogs. All in all your summary of the night is as delightful as a sock full of pudding found on Christmas morn.

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