What’s the best thing you own?

Hello, gentle pumpkins. It’s Wednesday again, for me, and for some of you, and by chance for some more of you, in the future.

It’s actually Tuesday today. Not that any of that matters. The simple joy contained within this episode is timeless, and its consequences are far-reaching and potentially infinite.

What’s the best thing you own? I’m soft-launching a few of the questions which I’ll share between my guests in the coming weeks. Last week I asked Nina ‘what did you want to be when you grew up’ and produced a long and rambling rant about the grammatical idiosyncrasies of the future past tense. If you haven’t listened to that, as you can probably tell it’s generational content. Give it a spin.

What’s the best thing you own? Today, right at the end of our gorgeous interview, I will ask the Great Jack Barry to tell me about the best thing he owns. I’ve asked this question to a few people, and the first response has always been the same: “I like to think I’m not too materialistic, but…”. That’s how the sentence starts. I like to think I’m not too materialistic, but.

Now, I can understand why they’d say that. Having the best things in your life revolve around objects sounds pretty materialism-adjacent. If you were to say ‘the best thing I own is my 1949 E90 AJS Porcupine motorcycle’, I would say, great, that sounds like an excellent motorcycle, why do you like it? You might then tell me you like it because you like to take it onto the motorway and travel long distances extremely fast. And I would say, well then, Señor Earnesto Hoogerveen, that’s just wonderful. What is it you like more, the journey or the destination? And suddenly, we’re in simple joys territory.

If you were to tell me, ‘the best thing I own is my 1949 E90 AJS Porcupine motorcycle’, and I said, Madame Tangerine du Foc, why? Pray, tell me why? Why do you so love this porcupine motorcycle? And you told me, well, sir, that’d be because it’s worth $7 million dollars. Well, then we would have a rather different conversation.

See, this is not what I mean by the question, but the questioner is not at liberty to choose the answer. The question poser, by virtue of their posing, opens Answer Avenue, and where that avenue may lead is not the poser’s prerogative.

That’s the MO for this podcast as a whole. ‘Simple Joy’ does not mean one thing nor another. My exceptional guests are lent the liberty of interpreting simple joy however they see fit. I do this on the principle that natural conversation, as natural as a conversation can be with a pair microphones up your front, is one of the truest things in the world. The fact that I can’t choose where Answer Avenue leads, and the fact that my interlocutor (best word) cannot choose the question I ask, the fact that a conversation consists of two or more independent minds, brains rolling around together in the mud, that’s what keeps it honest. The less of an agenda I have in that conversation, the truer it will be. I don’t want to push and pull my partner. I’d like it to feel like we’re sharing, combining ourselves, making a cocktail of our thoughts in that specific moment. We might create a ground-breaking new flavour, or maybe we’ll just make a rum and coke, or sometimes, maybe, we might make a cocktail of yak’s milk and semen. But it will be real.

I think, if someone were to tell me that their 1949 E90 AJS Porcupine motorcycle is the best thing they own because it cost $7 million dollars, I might have to admit to myself that that isn’t what I meant by the question. But I hope I’d be chilled out about that. Because if I was chilled out about that, we might be able to get to the bottom of why they think that. My impulse is that anything surrounding money is too complicated to be a simple joy. Money is very complicated. But I think I derive some simple joy from spending money on things I really want. That’s ok, I think. This week I’m spending £60 on a new brake system for my bike. That’s a significant chunk, but it’ll mean that I have a bike, which means I can cycle to the New Forest this weekend to interview my next guest, Dr Lars Hansen, at his home in Lymington. Which I’m very excited about.

So the money is not the joy. But the money stands for a commitment, an act of making something happen, being proactive in seeking out the things that you want. And there’s joy in that.

I could talk to this person about why the value of their 1949 E90 AJS Porcupine motorcycle is important to them, and I think we’d have a good time doing that.

I want to give the guest their space in conversation, but that doesn’t mean that I’m just going to kick back as an interviewer. I have to have my antenna poised for interesting stuff. I have to listen carefully and choose my words carefully. I have to be open, I have to be gentle and warm but not crowd my interviewee, I have to really, truly care about our conversation.

But, sometimes, a guest is so engaging, witty, entertaining that all I want to do is sit back and watch. That’s Jack Barry.

It is an absolute privilege to have Jack Barry on the Simple Joys Podcast. Jack is unequivocally one of the best comedians in the United Kingdom right now. He’s been delighting audiences for many moons, both live and on screen – he’s starred in a number of big hits on the box, including Mae Martin’s Netflix original comedy Feel Good and Rose Matafeo’s Starstruck. Other TV credits include The Russell Howard Hour, Dad’s Army: The Lost Episodes and The Standup Sketch Show.

His standup is revered across the nation – his Fringe show was one of the Sunday Times’ eight top picks for the Edinburgh Festival, he’s had five stars in EdFest Magazine and four in Chortle, The Sunday Times and the Metro. He has opened for comedy titans like Russell Howard, James Acaster and Joe Lycett on their tours. He’s a true-to-life, tried-and-tested big-hitter on the circuit.

Also worth mentioning is that Jack appears in a lot of adverts, so you might recognise him from one of those. He had a spell as the face of McCoys crisps – a few years ago his lovely mug was on the front of every bag of McCoys in the country – and when he left my house after this interview, he was on his way to voice a cartoon pigeon for a GiffGaff ad. The pigeon was called something silly like Antoine or Pierre.

Alongside all the accolades others have bestowed on him, I’d like to add mine. I’ve seen him doing his own material and I’ve seen him as the MC at a stand-up night, and in whichever role he’s needed he is effortlessly charming and personably funny. He’s lovable and relatable but he leaves no doubt that he’s a total pro. He’s a natural performer in the most genuine way – there’s no pretence. He’s just super entertaining. He could talk to anyone, make anyone feel comfortable, and when he leaves the stage you can tell the whole audience wants to go for a pint with him.

And there can be no greater credit to his genuineness than this. In February, I had seen him perform twice in two weeks. After the second one, at Top Secret Comedy Club, I decided I would pull my finger out and ask him to be on the podcast. He was standing by the door on the way out. I crept up, tried to build myself up to it. When he gave me a big broad smile, all I could manage was, “That was great. I saw you last week too! And that was great too. I think you’re great.”

I got out of the club and kicked myself for not having mentioned the podcast. We’d had a nice conversation and I didn’t want to ruin it with a request, a demand on him, something that would make him have to awkwardly say ‘no’. I would make a useless salesman.

My friends left, but I stayed. I couldn’t bring myself to leave, because I knew I wouldn’t get a better chance than this. So I went back in. As I went back in, Jack walked away from the entrance and through a big black door opposite the main entrance. Dead set on getting it out before I changed my mind, I followed him. It turned out that the door he had just gone through was the door to the upstairs stage of the Top Secret Comedy Club, where there was still a full audience, in the middle of a show, and Jack was about to go on stage.

Jack looked over at me, standing next to him as if I, too, was about to go on stage. He probably wondered who the hell I was and why I was standing next to him.

The MC announced Jack and he went on and crushed. Absolute pandemonium. After he came off stage, he went back out through the black door, past the ticket desk, down the stairs and into the gents toilets. Just as he had begun a wee at the urinal, the door opened, a man entered and set up at the urinal a few down.

He looked over and sort of knew already who it would be. The same guy who had been awkwardly following him around for the previous 20 minutes.

The fact that he agreed to come on my podcast, and actually followed through, despite the fact that I had just visibly followed him into the toilets, is remarkable. It is a true testament to his character.

For the love of God, if you’re charmed by him over the next 45 minutes, which I know you will be, go and see him live. He’ll be on tour later in the year, and if you live in London there are opportunities to see him almost weekly, on bills with the cream of British comedy – he’s been on nights with James Acaster, Harry Hill, Janine Harouni literally in the last couple of weeks. See him, see loads of other funny famous people, see me there, probably. Go and see the Great Jack Barry if you know what’s good for you. Check his Instagram for his dates.

This feels like an April Fool, but it ain’t. It is with the giddiness of a toddler playing tiddlywinks that I introduce Jack Barry on the Simple Joys Podcast.