Clowns, Queens and Campaign Chaos: Why I Took Politics to the Stand-Up Stage

On Wednesday night, something unusual happened during this election campaign. I took part in the Impeachable Comedy Jam, an election special edition of the open mic comedy night I run at The Vault.

If you saw The Guernsey Press the next morning, you’ll have spotted the headline:“These election candidates are just having a laugh.”

The article picked up one of the lines from my set:

“Comedy and politics are not actually that different. You're still working with a bunch of clowns. The only difference in comedy is at least one of us is trying to be the joke.”

It made for a catchy quote, and I stand by it. But in isolation, it can sound a bit cutting. So here’s the full context — because this wasn’t about mocking the process or belittling public service. It was about reconnecting with people, especially younger audiences, and using comedy to reflect on what politics often gets wrong.

Why I Did It

I’ve been a comedian, and I’ve been a deputy. And now, here I am, doing stand-up while running for office again.

I’ve run Improbable Comedy Jam nights at The Vault for a while now, and we’ve built a lovely, grassroots scene. I used to perform professionally in South Africa, and I’ve helped train up a number of local performers here in Guernsey, including Marc Cohen, who now co-runs the nights with me. Marc MC’d Wednesday’s event to ensure fairness, giving all participating candidates equal space and keeping the vibe friendly and open.

We’ve got a growing crowd of younger performers and audience members, and this event was a chance to bring politics into their space — not through leaflets or slogans, but through humour, honesty and a bit of risk-taking.

And you know what? It worked. A real mix of people showed up, including some who don’t usually engage in politics. A few came up afterwards and said they were genuinely impressed by the candidates who stepped up and got out of their comfort zones.

The Full Routine

So I’ve been a comedian. I’ve been a politician. And now here I am, doing comedy while running to be a politician again.Comedy and politics aren’t actually that different. You’re still working with a bunch of clowns. The only difference in comedy is, at least one of us is trying to be the joke.Sorry, that’s unfair.To clowns.You see, clowns have craft. They rehearse. They know what they’re doing. Their chaos has purpose.Politics? Well, it’s a bit like road diversions in Guernsey. Chaotic. Badly signposted. And sometimes you end up right back where you started, just angrier, more confused, and wondering if anyone is actually doing the work.Which, let’s be honest, is pretty on brand for the last States.I joke about it, but there’s a serious point.In the old days — and no, I don’t mean Guernsey in 1997, although sometimes it does feel like we’re still in the Middle Ages — the most influential person at court wasn’t the general or the bishop. It was the jester.The jester could speak truth to power. He could make the king laugh, and tell him the truth without getting his head chopped off. Now that is risk management.Funny thing is, when there was a queen on the throne, you didn’t always need a jester.Maybe that’s because the queen already knew the truth, and didn’t need some fool in tights mansplaining the cost-of-living crisis in rhyming couplets.Actually, I think we could do with a few more clowns in the next Assembly. The honest kind. The humble kind. The ones who rehearse and know what they’re doing.And while we’re at it, a few more queens.Real queens. Not the drama queens.

Why This Matters

This wasn’t about undermining politics — it was about making it human again. Politics can be serious, but that doesn’t mean it should be joyless. Laughter has always played a role in holding power to account. In medieval courts, the jester wasn’t a distraction from serious matters, he was often the only one allowed to tell the truth.

Humour breaks tension. It invites honesty. And it gives people a way in — especially those who might otherwise feel politics isn’t for them.

That’s why I did it. Not just to share a laugh, but to show there are other ways to engage. And perhaps, to remind us that a bit more humility, humour and honesty wouldn’t go amiss in the Assembly either.