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How did you get into comedy?
Slightly by accident. I had tried standup in my last year at university, then did three open mic gigs at the Edinburgh festival which offered strong evidence that I should give up. So I did. Eighteen months later, after a vague plan to try to get into sports journalism ended with me subediting articles about stock markets for a business publishing company (even less exciting than you might think), I booked one gig, at the Comedy Cafe’s Wednesday open mic night, hosted by Daniel Kitson. If that had gone badly, I don’t think I would have tried standup again. It went well enough to carry on, and within a year I was starting to get a few paid gigs, and standup gradually became my “job”.
Can you recall a gig so bad, it’s now funny?
In about 2002, I did a show in Killarney in Ireland. A very popular local act had to pull out, and they asked me to headline the gig instead. It was in a hotel nightclub where it was cheaper to go to the comedy and stay for the music rather than just go to the music. So the audience was a mixture of people who wanted to see someone else, and people who wanted to dance. The response to my set was a fascinating cocktail of silence, hostility, confusion, apathy, resentment and pity. The noise of the disco then kept me awake until 4am.
Any pre-show rituals?
Be thankful I’m not in a Killarney nightclub.
Do you have a comedy hero?
I don’t really like the idea of heroes and hero-worshipping. I loved the comedic invention and satirical ambition of The Day Today and Brass Eye before I did standup. Seeing Robert Newman at the fringe in 2000 inspired me to try doing more political material. I studied Ancient Greek comedy at university, specifically the plays of Aristophanes. In footballing parlance, it is ‘total’ comedy – everything from political satire and literary parody to slapstick, puns and dick jokes. If only he hadn’t sadly passed away more than 2,400 years ago, I’d love to have dinner with him. With an interpreter.
What’s been one of your all-time favourite gigs?
I did a couple of gigs at Naveed’s Comedy Club in Dhaka in Bangladesh while I was covering the 2011 men’s Cricket World Cup for ESPNcricinfo. Naveed had set up Bangladesh’s first comedy club a year or so previously and asked me to do a show there. It was in a tiny basement room in a block of flats, which he had kitted out like a New York standup club – brick backdrop, photos of Seinfeld, Steve Martin and others on the wall. It was a strange, wonderful and inspiring experience.
Best heckle?
In my early years in comedy, I did a lot of student union gigs. At one in Leeds, someone in the front row went to sleep. She did not fall asleep. She actively decided to go to sleep. Hard to hit back at that.
I used to do my fringe shows in the afternoon, and if there was a test match on, people would sometimes shout the latest score at me. Which was helpful, but did suggest I had not entirely commandeered their attention.
What has inspired your latest show, The Zaltgeist?
The increasing impossibility of understanding the world and its politics.
Does satire feel harder, easier, or simply stranger in 2025 compared to recent years?
All three of those. Plus: more exhausting, more repetitive, and more cathartic.
What’s next for you?
Hopefully, watching England pull off the greatest comeback in cricket history to win the Ashes. Then back home for a new series of The News Quiz, and the Zaltgeist tour.
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Andy Zaltzman: The Zaltgeist is on tour from 13 February
