Photo of Dara O Briain

Dara O Briain's Blog

  • Tough Gig - Or, the power of Elf ears...

    Last tuesday night ITV broadcast "Dara O Briain's Tough Gig" in which I spent a weekend with the Live Action Role Players of Skullduggery in Canterbury.

    Some insider telly stuff: The total viewing figures for the show were 902,000, which is sort of low for that time of night, even if it was up against Big Brother. It's less than half of a episode of Mock The Week and less than a quarter of the figures for when I was on Parky a couple of weeks ago. In fact, they're the kind of figures that get quoted when people talk about the decline of ITV and compare "Dara o Briain's Tough Gig" to the "Morecambe and Wise 1976 Christmas special" or something.

    In telly terms, no fucker watched it.

    But bizarrely, every fucker seems to have seen it.

    I've spent the last week talking about to people about my time in the forest, foam weaponry, drinking mead and more often than not, those bloody ears. Apparently they were a complete victory style-wise. they may have been the equivalent of Kate Moss walking through the mud in her designer wellies during the last Glastonbury.

    However i'm not sure if I'm putting the ears on the map or if the ears are doing it for me.

    If you haven't seen the show, I've put some of the gig on the page for your delectation, from a clip that i think the telly company slid out onto Youtube. The entire show might appear there soon. If it does, i'll stick a link on to it.

    Big thanks to all the LARPers then, for hosting a brilliant weekend and being so generous when they must have thought we were going to do some sort of hatchet job on them. No chance. Like I said on the film, they're my kind of nerds..

     

     

  • And for the Irish...

    Amidst all the news about Mock the Week (below) a quick mention about my first love, The Panel.
    The pre-election series is in full flow, and you'll have noticed that I haven't been there. A sort-of principled decision, given that I've been living out of the country for a few years now and even my vote is registered in the UK, so I felt it might be a bit cheeky to fly in and lead a political discussion in the run-in to an election I have no investment in, and am not around to follow day-to-day or live with the consequences of.
    Terrible grammar, but i'm sure you get the point.
    A gift for the Irish in my absence then (you'd have to be Irish to get this, I think)
    On my regularly graffitied wikipedia biog, someone has recently added:

    "At college gigs, Dara is often greeted with the chant "Ooh Aah, up Dara""

    I told you only the Irish would get it. Now let's see how long it stays up...
  • Mock the Week is Back....

    With remarkable timing, BBC 2's some loved topical panel show returns this summer, just in time to miss Tony Blair's handover of power.
    From July 12th, and for twelve whole weeks, we'll be returning with the usual sniping and bunfighting and not letting each other speak and all the stuff you've been missing in the few scant months since we were last allowed on to the air.
    No word on line-ups yet, but it's unlikely the producers have gone off anyone in the last while, barring romantic misadventure, but I can report, that in a controversial move, the opening monologue has been ditched in favour of cutting to the action fast, and because it was always a chore to write when I'd sooner just be messing around during the game instead and not preparing shit all day.
    Anyway, details will follow. The point is.. We're back. soon. ish.
  • St. Patrick’s day is over! Thanks be to Fuck!

    It's always a relief to get past March 17th. Always.
    Don't get me wrong. I like a weekend's boozing as much as the next man. (And in London we get the day itself, plus the nearest Sunday. It's a double whammy.)
    I also like an afternoon spent watching some sporting dramas unfold. (When I lived in Dublin it used to mean going to Croke Park to watch the All-Ireland Club Finals; these days, of course, it's - Jesus wept! Who saw this coming?– the emerging Irish cricket team.)
    I also also like spending time in the company of my fellow gaels making conversation dense in references and allusions our friends from around the world will never get. (That's not as impressive as it sounds – "D'ya remember tayto? I do! D'ya remember Bosco? I do ! Imagine what bosco would look like eatin' tayto! Mad!")
    I just find the whole week leading up to it more and more claustrophobic, as well-meaning punters suddenly start to address me solely in terms of the three facts they have in their head about Ireland, three facts that, as time goes by, obviously bear less and less relevance to the Ireland I'm from.
    For example, if one more fucker asks me if I'm enjoying the Cheltenham festival…
    It's not a rude question, of course, but you won't believe the reaction if you say no. Particularly if you then explain that loads of Irish people don't actually give that much of a fuck about Horse Racing. (And they don't; I've told stories onstage about horse racing to Irish crowds. Blank faces all around. Per capita, we gamble less than the English).
    I'm telling you, I have almost been assaulted for saying that lots of Irish people don't care that much about the horses. By English people, this is. Assaulted. I've had people roaring "of course you love horse racing", and no amount of patiently explaining that I grew up in a commuter belt suburban town, a long way from horses of any kind, just like they did, seems to get through to them. It's just hardwired into their brains.
    And it's a week of that.
    I suppose you'll be watcing the horse racing? Well, er, …
    I suppose you'll be knocking back the Guinness this weekend? Actually, um… I don't really like the taste of.. eh…
    That Rugby team of yours, eh? I know, they're great, but I don't really understand the game because I didn't go to one of the twelve schools that play it in Leinster and so… oh fuck, I give up…
    The English are always going about identity, and how they need one. Take it from us, everyone has an image of "irish identity" and, at times, it's flung at us like a strait-jacket.
    p.s. All of this doesn't explain how I ended up last Sunday afternoon on the stage in Trafalgar square, in front of 20,000 people, doing an Irish dance while holding a pint of Guinness.

Login

Forgot password?

Need an account? Sign up