My son had two tickets to a secret Frankie Boyle gig.

So he took me along last night. It was the Hen & Chickens in Islington, a tiny venue holding no more than sixty people. The world’s most “inappropriate” comic was uncomfortably close so it was the only time I’ve seen the back seats taken first and the front row last. Frankie was trying out new material so nothing, and I mean nothing, was off-limits. When I was 19, watching something like this with my dad would have been unthinkable. We used to enjoy Sgt. Bilko, Morecambe & Wise and Only Fools & Horses together but nothing more risqué than that. But I’m glad my son is happy to ask his dad to a gig like this in a way I could never have asked mine. Though I did find myself missing the little boy with whom my relationship was once more Jim Reeves than Frankie Boyle.