Queenie

Queen Elizabeth: Oh, Edmund... I do love it when you get cross. Sometimes I think about having you executed just to see the expression on your face.

I know that choosing to write about character from a 1980’s British comedy, might seem, well niche, but bear with me.

Mum was dying and the world was going into lock down. And I wrote my first creative writing in years about riding a dragon powered by fury.

“Sure,” I wrote, “sometimes it flies into dark walls.”

But mainly that dragon kept me soaring high, so I could see who I wanted to spit on and where to breathe fire.

It let me laugh at the ludicrous sight of a socially-distanced funeral. Three sisters obeying rules to have our grief shat upon by a lying government advisor. That fury dragon kept a spark going, so that I never forgot that empty room crying at a large life. I can never forget clapping for carers to have them be blamed for leaders’ failures. I can never forget my year 10 daughter being expected to play Guinea pig whilst others worked safe behind a screen.

It was a wild ride.

But when the fury ran out, I needed a new dragon.

So this is for the ferociously funny women I have met through stand-up comedy.

There are too many to list – I hope they know who they are – the mentors, the colleagues, the role models. (I will tag them all on social media). I found stand-up comedy as a retort to grief. And it was a band of women who coached me, taught me, encouraged me and laughed with me, that got me onto a stage with a microphone, swearing at strangers.

Being a funny woman in middle-age, is fraught with complications. I didn’t have a list of role models to look to. Of course, women have been funny on our screens for years. But the parameters of comedy for women can be narrow and suffocating. We are often the butt of the joke, being chased half-naked by a balding man. Or we are the chubby sidekick, mocked for our size by ourselves and others.

But then there was a queen.

A fabulously cruel, powerful, red-headed queen. My dragon-lady.

Dragons are magical, legendary creatures, winged, horned, fire-breathing. Beautiful but difficult. They have a deadly glance. They are sharp eyed and expect loyalty. I live in a country that celebrates St George’s Day, a festival of masculinity which slays the difficult, misunderstood dragon.

But no-one puts Queenie in the corner.

If you have never seen Black Adder II, let me explain the premise. Blackadder is a a conniving, snivelling, cynical courtier in the Tudor court of a capricious queen. He needs to be quick to avoid execution from the playful and domineering Queen Elizabeth I.

Queenie is my dragon, my faithful, ferocious comedy mentor. She is demanding, childish and powerful. And that is how I feel on stage. I flirt with the audience, and demand they laugh at my jokes. I am capricious and cynical. And I do it, because Queenie is by my side.

Nervous before I go on stage, once I have the microphone in my hand I am in charge.

Queen Elizabeth: I may have the body of a weak and feeble woman. But I have the heart and stomach of a concrete elephant.

My job becomes to make the audience laugh. And the audience’s job – well, is just to fall in love with me a little bit.

I can only do this because of the women I have met on my way. This is a great big thank you to all those women I have performed with on the rare occasion that more than one woman is allowed on the bill. You are all glorious and fabulous in your own multitudes of ways.

The female comedy troupe is a small but growing army.

And you had better learn to laugh with us. Or else.

Queen Elizabeth: First I'm going to have a little drinkie, and then I'm going to execute the whole bally lot of you.