After silently marvelling at Josh Widdicombe’s memorabilia lining the walls and furniture of his home office, we are later gobsmacked to discover that among his treasured items lies his Strictly Christmas Special penguin costume. Okay, maybe treasured item is a stretch, but it’s not in the bin, nor storage.
Holding it up for us to have a gander, the comedian tells us that his ‘what the fuck am I going to do with this’ attitude quickly switched to ‘maybe I should have that out in case I need it for something.’ Wise, we’d say.
Also wise is Josh’s approach to stand-up comedy. With his Not My Cup Of Tea tour starting in the autumn – his first time hitting the road since giving up alcohol in 2023 - the 46 year old calls his pre-stage prep as ‘so underwhelming’ (it involves a piss about on his phone, having a Nando’s or napping with his home-brought duvet and pillow).
Dad to two young children with his wife Rose Hanson, currently his kids aren’t all that aware of what their dad does for a job. But, we have a niggling feeling that will change when they grow up to realise that he and fellow comedian Rob Beckett became chart-dominating podcast legends with Parenting Hell – quite literally impossible to achieve without their existence.
How did you come up with the name for your stand-up tour?
People keep saying, 'Is it a deeper thing because you've stopped drinking?’ Or, ‘Is it a statement?’ No, I just like the phrase – and having an excuse to have a cup of tea on stage.
Do you prefer being teetotal?
Definitely. Life is easier and touring is easier. Touring is a tiring thing, even though it shouldn't be. I'm not very rock and roll on tour. Comedians aren't very rock and roll at all. The ‘comedy is the new rock and roll’ has absolutely died a death with our generation. We're a bunch of boring bastards.
We don’t believe that...
We’re addicted to WhatsApp, that's about it. That's about as far as our cravings go these days. People are talking about how they're driving home because they want to do the school run. It's come to that.
Is that you?
100 per cent. If there's a competition for who's got the most boring life then I reckon I can beat Rob and Romesh [Ranganathan].
What’s your home comfort that comes on tour with you?
I've got a bad neck and hotel pillows give me one as they're too thin. So, I bring my own pillow in a carry case – you look like a fucking wanker turning up at a hotel. This tour, I've got a duvet as well. If there's a sofa at the venue in my dressing room, I'll just make a bed and go to sleep. Isn't that pathetic?
Sounds ideal to us.
And then I’ve obviously got the duvet in the car on the way back. I'm not driving – that would be inexcusable to put a duvet over you when you're driving, but I'll sit in the back and go to sleep.
Do you run through tour material with Rose?
No, I'd rather die, and she'd rather die. She's the person who finds me the least funny in the world. If someone says to me, 'I've got a new bit of material', I think, ‘I would rather be dead than listen to you doing stand-up one-on-one with me.’ The thought of trying material one-on-one with someone is mortifying, because it's meant to be in front of an audience. The pressure on that one person… they're always going to say it's good, whatever the situation. The only way to test stand-up material is to gig. The tour itself is not the stressful bit, the stressful bit is turning up above a pub with some bullet points written in a notebook. The great thing about it is, as a comedian, you always have to go back to square one.
Did you ever think Parenting Hell would become the success it has?
No, I think you'd be mentally unwell to have those hopes. If you go into a lockdown, start a hobby podcast done over Zoom and say, 'If we don't play the O2 with this, this will be a disappointment' then that's a bad way to live your life. I think when I inevitably die, as things stand, the two things that would be in my obituary are The Last Leg and Parenting Hell. One started for just the Paralympics and one started for just lockdown. Neither were meant to continue in the way that they have. There’s something very liberating about not putting too much pressure on something. There's a real advantage to doing something, having people find it, and then you do it in response to it being popular.
How do you feel about your children listening back one day?
I'd say they won't, because they're not interested in my career at all, as things stand. Would I listen to my childhood as a podcast? Yes, I probably would. I think people who don't listen to it slightly misunderstand it and think it's complaining, and it's not, because I think the whole thing is based on Rob and I desperately wanting to be the best parents we can and how difficult that is. All the things are on me or Rob. We're the idiots, or occasionally, [Rob’s wife] Lou [Watts] and Rose, but it's never the kids. It's never like, 'The fucking kids.' It's not that humour. So I'd be really proud to play it to them and go, 'I hope you see this as what it is, which is a billion-hour diary of your childhood by your dad, who was trying to fit in too much.' People love people who are honest about failure, right? Anyone who’s like, 'My life's great on Instagram.' I just think, 'What the fuck? Who wants that shit in their lives?'
We need to talk about the revelation that you wear a watch to bed…
I stand by it. I don't sweat at night, sue me. I don't see any difference between wearing it at night and not wearing it at night.
It caused quite a debate on the podcast.
I remember James Acaster saying to me, 'People complain that podcasts are just people talking about pointless shit. But I love talking about pointless shit.' That was his quote, and I do. I'd much rather talk about whether you keep your watch on at night than talk about Rachel Reeves' Spring Statement. I think more people are interested in that. They’re the kind of things we’re talking about on WhatsApp groups. I think maybe that wasn't represented as much before podcasts because people will go, 'No one wants a fucking TV show about whether you wear a watch to bed.' They’re probably right. I think you'd struggle to get away with it on Netflix… People will be going, 'You think Adolescence is important, but this four-parter in one shot about a man wearing a watch to bed... the government need to act on this.’
Why does your dynamic with Rob work so well?
He said to me that he didn't realise how little we had in common until we worked together. Me and Rob couldn't be more different. If you were to draw a line, it's like working class, middle class, lives in East London, lives in the country, into boxing, into indie music and books…
…wears a watch in bed, doesn’t wear a watch in bed…
Exactly! Rob is the easiest person I have ever had a working relationship with and I think he'd probably say the same about me. It's the relationship of a dog and its owner – we both think we're the owner, but we're both probably the dog.
What would you be doing if you weren’t a comedian?
I'd be so depressed. I wanted to be a writer – a comedy writer or something – but I wasn't very good at it. I was a bad, low-level journalist at The Guardian sports desk for a bit. It's scary to think about what would have happened if my first [comedy] gig went well and I thought it had gone badly. I probably would never have done it again. I think there's probably a parallel world where the British comedy royalty are all totally different people.
You did a post-grad course in magazine journalism… ever wanted to branch into showbiz?
No. It was the absolute peak of it as well at that point, when heat was selling a million [copies] a week or whatever it was – fucking mental. I wouldn't be a very good celebrity journalist because I'm too desperate to be liked, so I would never want to say anything bad about anyone. I know it's a kinder time now. I have a huge affection for print journalism and magazines. I often buy old magazines on eBay from the 90s and stuff. I think about collecting them all and then I never get around to it. I think they're really just exciting and anarchic – everything from Smash Hits to the early days of Loaded and then heat magazine. Magazines is a great industry.
If Strictly bosses phoned you up and asked you to do the main show, what would your reply be?
'This is unprofessional. You need to go through my agent. How have you got the number?' would be the first thing I'd say. And then I'd say, ‘I'm on tour this autumn, so I can't do it. Tickets are still available.’ Then I'd say that I had the best time I had on any show and it was incredible. I loved it and I loved Karen [Hauer]. She was just such a laugh to hang out with. I'm still good mates with her and Simon [Davidson], her boyfriend. I lost quite a bit of weight and ate pizza every night, too. So on that side, of course I'd do it again because it was brilliant. On another side, why would you want to ruin the best thing that you've done? That is the eternal question that I don't know how to answer. I’d feel awful doing it without Karen.
You’ve still got the penguin costume – maybe it’s a sign.
I don't think you can wear that every week, can you? I think come week six, they'd go, 'Mate, you've got to stop dressing as a fucking penguin. This is getting weird.'
Josh’s tour Not My Cup Of Tea starts in September and Parenting Hell is available wherever you get your podcasts.