West Bromwich-born Frank Skinner, 66, studied for a master’s in English literature and worked as a lecturer before trying standup for the first time aged 30. He won the Perrier award at the Edinburgh festival fringe four years later, in 1991. On TV, he co-hosted Fantasy Football League, followed by his own chatshow and Room 101. He currently presents a show on Absolute Radio and a critically acclaimed poetry podcast. He now returns to Edinburgh with a new show, 30 Years of Dirt. He lives in north London with his partner and their 11-year-old son.
What’s the concept of your new standup show?
I’m not big on concepts – I always think they’re an excuse for not writing enough jokes – but I accidentally landed on one. It’s about the fact that when I started out, I loved a knob joke, but in the past decade that’s worked against me a bit. People see it as a bit lowbrow. Yet whenever I’ve been infected by that snobbery and tried to write a clean show, it’s failed. So the new show is about how I enjoy good old Rabelaisian wit. I call it that to lend it intellectual credibility.
Is Edinburgh close to your heart? Isn’t it where your son was conceived?
It is. In Advocates Close. Not literally in the close, in a flat. I also won the Perrier award there, so it’s full of happy memories.
What changes have you seen on the comedy circuit over the decades?
A lot of modern comedians secretly want to be actors. They’re always asking agents: “Can you get me into a drama?” What used to be an hour of standup has become a one-person theatrical event. They talk about personal tragedy amid the gags. I don’t have a problem with that. When I started out, Patrick Marber would go on stage with a plastic ear or a little trumpet and do silly prop gags, then Mark Thomas would do 20 minutes of hardcore leftwing politics, then I’d go on and do knob jokes. Somehow, that mix of styles worked.
Do comedians nowadays fear causing offence and getting cancelled?
I’ve always operated near the line, and if the line moves then I move with it. There’s definitely comedy to be had on and around that line.
In the process of becoming more inclusive, has standup lost its edge?
Comedy is supposed to be difficult. Otherwise there’d be all sorts of losers doing it! I enjoy the challenge of navigating through the landmines. Besides, it’s not like I’m desperate to go up there and lay into various minorities. I don’t do that in my normal life. Why should I on stage?
Has the success of your poetry podcast taken you by surprise?
I did it very much as a labour of love, but it hasn’t been the niche thing that I assumed it would be. I do them in my bedroom on my laptop. Self-sufficiently hunched over a microphone, talking about poetry, is a joyous way to operate.
Have you heard from people it’s inspired to read or write poetry themselves?
One guy I know really well, who’s a very unlikely candidate for this, said to me: “Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve started writing poetry as a result of your podcast. Not to show anyone, it’s just a good way of clearing my thoughts.” I’ve also heard from quite a few poets. Donna Stonecipher, the American poet, told me sales of her book went up 600% the week after the episode about her.
Which poets do you reread most often?
I read an article last week about people who’d been up for poet laureate but got rejected by the government and I basically loved them all: Auden, Larkin, Stevie Smith, Robert Graves. But it’s important to keep reading new poets too. I hadn’t heard of Jean Sprackland before the new series, for example, but she’s great.
Is there a poetry book you recommend or buy as a gift?
A fantastic anthology called The Zoo of the New, compiled by Nick Laird and Don Paterson. I’ve got a garden bench that my brother-in-law bought me. It’s got a brass plaque with a quote from a Liz Berry poem called Birmingham Roller. I love to sit there with my feet up, grab an anthology and just see what’s on the next page. That would probably be my definition of bliss.
How did it feel to get an MBE in the new year honours list?
You get an email, which is not how I expected to find out. Turning it down never crossed my mind. Because I’ve got that vaudevillian strain in me, there was no soul-searching, it just seemed like a brilliant thing. On the day, you’re there for four hours with no food or drink. It’s a little like being detained, except there’s lots of gold on the walls. The actor Stephen Graham was there too, which made me feel better. He does lots of gritty stuff, so I didn’t feel like a sellout.
Do you now sign your name as Frank Skinner MBE?
No, but I’ve noticed it appearing on letters. I went to Royal Ascot last month and it was on my invite. These are strange times indeed. For a joke, some friends bought me some headed notepaper that says: “From the desk of Frank Skinner MBE”.
You said you might vote Green before the last election. How will you vote next time?
I always have those wobbles but I basically just vote Labour. When I was in the student union, I came down to London for a march and we went to have a look at 10 Downing Street. This will age me, but James Callaghan got out of a car and waved at me. I thought: “Right, I’m voting Labour for the rest of my life.” It’s also based on a romantic sense of my working-class background, although my dad was a working-class Tory. If anyone asked why, he used to say: “If you put a beggar on horseback, he’ll ride into hell.” But I don’t think you can class Keir Starmer as a beggar.
Has Starmer got what it takes to win?
Definitely. I think he can start getting the mugs made. If the Labour party doesn’t win the next election, you wonder if they’ll be here for another one.
You’re a practising Catholic. Would you consider doing a show about your faith?
I do mention it on stage but only because it’s so integral to me. I don’t feel the need to preach, but I don’t exclude it either. If something funny happens in Mass on a Sunday, I’m not going to edit out the fact that I was in Mass. My mission is to normalise rather than evangelise.
Are you and David Baddiel as close as ever?
Obviously our friendship’s taken a bit of a knock because he’s just written a book celebrating atheism [The God Desire]. Jews Don’t Count was brilliant, but if I wanted to read the work of atheists, I could walk into any newsagent. No, we’re still very close indeed. I love him, it’s as simple as that.
The Women’s World Cup is in full swing. Is it surreal to hear Three Lions still being sung?
I enjoy hearing it being sung an octave higher at the women’s games. If the Lionesses win the World Cup, my excitement won’t be any less than if the men won. I would’ve been loath to say that 12 months ago because it sounds like some sort of woke gesture, but I genuinely think it’s thrilling.
How are you feeling about your beloved West Bromwich Albion next season?
I’ve never had less optimism for a season. It’s worrying to have a Chinese billionaire owner who borrowed £5m from the club and has missed two deadlines to pay it back. It’s a matter of time until we get deducted points for financial irregularities. You get a bit older, don’t get to games as often and wonder if maybe you don’t care as much. But then somebody takes over the club and abuses it and you feel real rage. Maybe the passion is still in there.
You turned 66 this year. How do you feel about ageing?
For most of my life, I was an old man in waiting, so I feel at home now. Some people are born to be younger – they have an incredible teenage time but spend the rest of their life lamenting its loss. Whereas I feel my time has only just arrived.
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Frank Skinner’s 30 Years of Dirt is at the Assembly George Square, Edinburgh, 3-27 August. Tickets at edfringe.com
