Dear Uncle Rupert,
I know that of late the waters have been choppy for you, but I wanted you to know there is someone out there who holds you in great affection – namely me.
I call you uncle, even though we are not, as far as I know, blood relations but that’s possibly in my favour at the moment! No, I call you uncle because I feel like you took a paternal interest in my future. A bit like an elderly benefactor in a Dickens’ novel taking a common but ambitious young girl under your wing.
Thanks to your generosity of allowing 50 journalists to take redundancy from the Times newspaper last year I was in a position to fund an eight month trip around America, Australasia and South East Asia, during which I indulged my passion for comedy.
And I have you to thank for awakening in me that love of standing on a stage exposing my thoughts for the entertainment of others.
As an online editor for The Times website I was subject to the whims and fancies of your upper management team. Such was my daily frustration at the many, many idiotic decisions that I had to find an outlet for my stress. It is the type of situation that could lead to alcoholism, snorting pharmaceuticals or marriage. I chose a different form of self-harm – stand-up comedy.
During my final year in your employment I hawked my humour around the open mic scene under the stage name Kitty Kavanagh, making it to the semi-finals of So You think You Are Funny? and performing at the Leicester Square Theatre for Just the Tonic and Funny Women.
I think you would be very proud of how I spent your money. I started off in New York, where I was offered a gig at the Broadway Comedy Club, then followed gigs in San Diego and San Francisco where I now have a small but growing fan club of transvestites.
After taking my act to our American cousins (I know you’re not too impressed with them but hey look how long it took for the FBI to find that Osama bloke! By the time they conclude their investigations you will be in a better place and James will have to butch-up and take the whipping) I headed over to New Zealand.
It was a little disconcerting to discover that New Zealand is very similar to Wales, only not as exciting because I know where to get drugs in Wales. However, after gigging in Auckland, I moved to an island called Waiheke, which welcomed my comedy. I ceased to wear shoes, hung out with South Americans on boats and in my spare time organised and performed stand-up comedy gigs.
Following that experience I flew into your hood, Australia. Your mum wasn’t in when I popped round, but the gardener said she would have been delighted to have met me as any friend of Rupert’s is welcome to tea.
I did slightly exaggerate our friendship; after all, I’ve only met you once when you visited my office. You were so intent on working out what was happening on the screen in front of you (helpful hint, it was this thing called the internet, now you’ll know for next time) that you ignored my boss man’s introduction to me.
I gigged in Brisbane to an audience entirely of teenagers, who were brilliant at quickly getting over their shock at the previous comics ‘jokes’ about attempting to have sex with his dog. Sydney was also full of dysfunctional characters. Possibly it’s the sunshine what does it, but it felt to me like Sydney residents had flicked through the Argos catalogue of mental illness and ordered with abandon. Thoughts?
But the urge to entertain kept me moving along and soon I found myself in Phnom Phen, Cambodia where I have the as yet unchallenged accolade of being the first Western stand-up comic to have performed in the country. Well, they’d not had much reason to laugh in the last 40 years but the country is re-building itself and as part of that they want to encourage more performers to visit and inject new life into the once thriving arts and culture scene.
Incidentally I kept a blog while I was away. I doubt you will have time to read it with all the goings on, but if you get chance and James is allowed off the naughty step, maybe he can print off pages for you to chuckle over while being driven to and fro from parliament questions?
The idea was to turn the blog into a travel book, but the literary agent I spoke to said that even though it was hugely enjoyable, thanks to Richard and Judy, publishers were loathe to buy any non-fiction not fronted by a celebrity.
Now, this is where I do get a bit shirty with you Rupert. By closing the News of the World you have scuppered my plans to get roasted by a premiership footballer, sell my story, get on a reality show and flog my book. Therefore it will remain in electronic form only. This is a great shame because as you know Rupert, that internet thing is just a passing craze!
Love and hugs, Samantha
Samantha Lyster will be telling tales from her travels at Funny Women on August 17 at 2.40pm. Find out more HERE.
