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IIn a deserted office overlooking the Thames, Tom Allen is admiring the view. “They’re building some sort of sewer over there,” he says cheerfully, pointing to the moving machinery below. “How much is Les Mis. Have a good time! “Always dapper, the smooth-headed, neat-bearded comedian with the regular show is dressed today in a double-breasted blue flannel suit.” And look, this turns out to be a fox, “he gasps, opening his patterned pocket handkerchief to reveal its animal motif with all the momentum of a magician performing a trick of prestige.
Allen was born elegant in the South London suburbs. “I was dressing like some kind of millionaire shipowner when I was actually a Bromley kid,” he says. Evidence that he was different could be found far beyond his wardrobe, as he explains in No Shame, a new memoir that proves him to be an astute class observer. “I often put the feeling of being an outsider at the foot of being gay,” he says. “But really, it was so much about being an eccentric. I couldn’t fight it, so I thought I’d go through with it. “
While his peers listened to the garage, he was passing out with Noël Coward, who shopped for crockery and invited classmates to lunch. The one time he showed his face at a teen booze party, he took it upon himself to clean all surfaces before leaving. His voice also set him apart: he spoke as if he were born with a silver spoon in his mouth instead of a stick of Juicy Fruit. All of this bewildered his working-class family which is, as he says on stage, “quite ordinary. Almost mashed potato ordinary.”
In common with two of his heroes, Victoria Wood and Alan Bennett, Allen sprinkles the most withered remarks with affection, his examination in itself a form of love. That skill can currently be seen on The Great British Bake Off: An Extra Slice, the weekly postprandial analysis that co-hosts with Jo Brand on All 4. Allen purses his lips as he keeps guests at a safe distance (“Don’t blame me , it’s Panny D! “trills beautifully, referring to the pandemic) and wild their dubious homemade treats: breeze-block banana bread, mashed potato donuts. The nastier his tips, the wider his smile : These unfortunate bakers must feel like they’re being kissed and clawed at the same time.
At 37 he still lives with his parents. The plan, seven years ago, was to go home while saving for his house, except that he liked it so much he never left. “I love being with my family,” she says softly. And this setup provides a wealth of material. “They hate spending money on anything. They saved up to buy a kitchen, but then they went into Homebase and saw one on display that was being sold off, and they bought it without measuring it. So now they have this kitchen that’s no good!
“And I’m exasperated by this. I said, “Why didn’t you get what you wanted?” They said, “No, that’s fine with us.” Even now my father will bring Pyrex to the table straight from the oven. I say, ‘I bought all these serving plates!’ “Hands up. “My dad is like, ‘Save on plates. Don’t make a fuss. “”
The horror of making stories runs through No Shame, along with other variations on the theme. During his childhood, he is always warned not to be stupid or to show off. “I remember,” he says, “I was actually told by an adult,” You have ideas above your position. “Standing out is a vulnerability that I think my parents wanted me to avoid. Much of that has to do with the lesson because if people notice you, you may be targeted and judged. Glitz becomes a dangerous thing. Confronting others is the hallmark of suburban experience – and it’s rooted in that fear of what people might think . If you don’t have many agencies, money or cultural capital, all you have is the esteem of the people around you. The prospect of losing can seem extremely difficult. “
He is eloquent in the book about how feelings of inferiority, guilt and shame are unnecessarily passed on from one generation to the next. “The bill is being sent to the wrong address,” he writes, “yet there is still a sense that it must be paid.” The tensions surrounding the classroom and sexuality during his “unspent youth” fueled his fine-grained observational humor. “I find everyday theater thrilling,” he says beaming. But these tensions also contributed to a seam of complex self-loathing that didn’t pedal smoothly across the page.
Take the scene where he is beaten at school by a schoolmate, only to blame himself later for not hiding those telltale signs of gaiety that ignited his attacker. “My parents found that chapter very difficult to read,” he says. “They never knew at the time.”
He also walked offstage during his early standup years in response to homophobic abuse by a harasser. “I would feel more confident facing it now because I am much happier in myself. But at that moment I thought, “I don’t know what to do with it.” It was 2005, the clubs were very sexist and hetero-normative. I just got out and took the last train home. My dad said, “You gotta learn some putdowns.” But I never wanted to do a set based on the pleasure of that kind of person. “
Before becoming a standup, Allen gained some acting experience with the National Youth Theater and appeared in films, including the comedy Starter for Ten, based on the book by David Nicholls. There’s still the occasional audition, like the one that was unsuccessful recently to play Charles and Diana’s assistant on The Crown. Looking back on his teenage years, he says: “I wanted to be an actor but it turned out I was just gay. Standup isn’t something you really do as a teenager. You play instead. I thought, ‘Hmm. All of these shows seem to relate other people.'”
His first attempts to stand up were instant success, when he won two contests, including the BBC New Comedy Award, at the age of 22. These triumphs are dealt with quickly in the book. Do you have mixed feelings about them? “I didn’t like me at the time and winning competitions didn’t change that. I only got good as a standup after I learned to understand myself and celebrate my quirks and insecurities. “That meant confronting the big pink elephant in the room. These days he addresses his sexuality on stage with a statement (” Yep, I’m gay “) followed by a” Who knew? “look and throw away:” I’m a Gemini too, but they don’t make a parade. “
One of the most valuable aspects of No Shame is its admission that insecurity can persist even after you leave. “It doesn’t go away overnight,” he says. “While it’s wonderful that we’ve made great strides in terms of the law and visibility, it can be hard to catch up with that positivity if you carry internalized negativity after all these years.” Take the Pride slogan, Love Is Love. “It’s wonderful and so true. But I, for example, have never been in love and so I feel: ‘Oh, that’s already something other I can’t join. Because I found it impossible to have a meaningful long-term relationship. “
Does it have anything to do with being under the same roof as mom and dad? “No,” he says, softly but firmly. Then he adjusts his response: “To some extent, it probably hindered her. It could be the self-saboteur in me, or not wanting to be heartbroken. In my experience, it’s hard to get on stage and say, “Hey, I’m the fun person!” when what you really want to say is, “Just give me a minute” “.
He is now worried that he said something upsetting, that his remarks could be turned into a clickbait controversy. “Love is love, “she adds.” It’s just that there are many other aspects of what it means to be a queer person. Does it make sense? ” He looks worried. “I hope you won’t turn it into something that people will get mad at.”
The machinery outside gives a harsh, prolonged belch that resounds across the river. “Charming!” Allen exclaims. He must have had ideas above his position, I suggest. “Yeah, it reminds me where I’m from,” he says, feigning dismay. “The real sewers.”
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