I took a risk with a punchline at a gig in Rochdale – but it paid off

In Rochdale Town Hall, the mayor invites me into her parlour. These are the perks of showbusiness. 

On the wall, the coats of arms of all the previous mayors. They start simple, but as the 20th century progresses, each individual design tells more of a story, gives us a greater glimpse into the life of that mayor. 

Perhaps the most important story is told not by the shield but by the lack of a name above it.

This was Cyril Smith’s. Smith was seemingly an avuncular figure, close to his mother, shaped like a seaside cartoon, and known for advertising cream buns. The slogan at the time was “naughty but nice”, but Smith was neither of those: he was criminal and cruel. 

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In 1979, the Rochdale Alternative Press reported on Smith’s sexually abusive behaviour towards children but, as so often, it was considered better for all – ie the Westminster establishment and local constabulary – to let the crimes be covered up. After his death (isn’t it always?), Greater Manchester Police admitted there was overwhelming evidence that he sexually abused many boys, some as young as eight years old. 

The current mayor insisted his name should be removed from the wall and proudly told me she still owned all the copies of Rochdale Alternative Press she read as a teenager. She also showed me the lift that she had a major hand in designing. Something I must tell my friend John, who designs the lifts of railway stations and will often contact me when I am on the rails to say of my destination, “good lifts there.”

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He is pleased with the London Bridge lifts as he got to use explosives on them, but he loves the Edinburgh Haymarket ones most. Give them a go next time you have a heavy bag. 

Rochdale Town Hall is an immense piece of work, beautifully restored, in a town that is battling to thrive when much has been boarded up. The paint of the main hall is dazzling. My eyes imagined it had been freshly painted, but this was the paint of over 140 years ago which has been so carefully brought back to vivid life. A small patch above a door reveals the greyness of the paint as it had been pre-restoration. 

Also, if you look above the vast painting of the signing of Magna Carta, you will see what appears to be a knightly image of a time-travelling Phil Collins, and I’m sure I saw some of Jethro Tull hanging around King John. 

During my gig, despite the mayor being in the front, I risk telling the joke about Billy – punchline “not so funny when it’s your mum”. The silence on the way to the punchline is even more ominous than usual, but the relief at the punchline echoes in laughter around the room and it is a very echoey room, so I hope the joke wasn’t still bouncing from wall to wall during a meeting of the Ombudsman of Rochdale the next day.

My pals Zena and Dave say we should go for a post-gig drink at The Lucky Duck. The pub quiz has just come to an end and the bar bustles, tastefully decorated with a poster for the TV sitcom Are You Being Served?. I take to it immediately and we stay too long. We exit as the final shutter comes down and the last tram to Didsbury is gone.

Zena has written one of my favourite books of the year, a short story titled Two Similar Looking Men With Umbilical Hernias. You’ve either immediately decided to buy it or ignore it from the title alone. It is filled with a beautiful and dark imagination:

“I had a boyfriend with an umbilical hernia once. Eventually he had to have his belly button removed, which made him look as inhuman as he turned out to be.” 

Read it with a pint in the Lucky Duck.

Robin Ince is a comedian, poet and broadcaster.

Ice Cream for a Broken Tooth: Poems about life, death, and the odd bits in between by Robin Ince is out now (Flapjack Press, £12). You can buy it from the Big Issue shop on bookshop.org, which helps to support Big Issue and independent bookshops.

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