An apology to Sarah Millican.

When I was 16 or 17 years old, I was taken to a show at Leicester Comedy Festival somewhat against my will, an intro into stand-up which I’d never really encountered before, because a friend had a spare ticket. Leicester is actually quite a big comedy festival: it’s the last week before Edinburgh Fringe, so you get all the big comics in all the small venues last-minute workshopping their shows and ironing out the kinks. This particular show was above one of my favourite Indian restaurants (shout out to Kayal for truly excellent Keralan food), and it was to see Sarah Millican.

If you don’t know Sarah, her persona is warm and northern and filthy, but by all accounts it’s not a persona at all. She’s a big twitter user and every Christmas spends her time communicating with fans and the wider community who have nobody to spend it with. Other comedians talk about her generosity and her fans really, really love her because she’s genuine and humble. She’s on TV quite a lot doing shows like Live At The Apollo, the audience always reacts well to her, and because of that she can use her platform to help the careers of other women and PoC comedians who wouldn’t get as much exposure without her. Basically, Sarah Millican is probably a lovely person, and very good at her job.

This show was a preview, so a little rough around the edges, but looking back it was a privilege to see such a famous comedian in such a tiny room. She was quite entitled to hate our party – one of us arrived late, when her set had already begun, and somebody else’s phone rang (fully rang, not even buzzed on silent mode) whilst she was performing. We were the worst, and I was ashamed all the way through for the people in the audience who wanted to be there, but aside from a bit of roasting (I think) she continued her set and her fans seemed satisfied (as I recall).

The show finished, I walked home, and I flippantly tweeted something along the lines of ‘Eurgh just saw Sarah Millican, didn’t laugh once, women comics aren’t funny’, and tagged her in it. I thought nothing of it until a little while later, when I got a response from Sarah. I don’t quite remember what she said, and I have NO intention of sifting through ten years of tweets to find it. I do remember, though, that she didn’t argue with me or defend her set or set her loyal fans on me. She didn’t say she was emotional about it or call me names or swear. I don’t think she even directly said how ignorant I’d been. She just told me if she wasn’t my bag then I should check out other female comedians and not hold such prejudice, and I think she also told me I was hurtful and there was no need to tweet that even if I believed it and said it to my friends. She clearly saw what I said, and she clearly wasn’t happy about it, but all she did was let me know. I felt sheepish rather than ‘owned’.

I’m sure she doesn’t remember this happening (and if she does oh god am I truly even more remorseful that I caused her lasting pain), and I know that she and others have come across the same attitudes before and since, from people much more powerful and with greater repercussions than my dumb twitter handle, but by reacting in an informative and appropriate (an icy tone was definitely appropriate here) manner she stopped me and made me think. Made me think about sexism, and I grew into a feminist. Made me think about online hate, and I grew into somebody who will stand my ground and even complain but not be directly mean to a person. Made me think about ‘guilty pleasures’, and I became less pretentious and stopped judging other people’s hobbies and interests. I’m not saying it was the single catalyst which transformed me from a troll (which I wasn’t) into somebody who values the social contract, but it pushed me in the right direction and taught me to practice the equality I believed in. It was a long time later (and a whole public discourse happened in this time) that I found out about internalised sexism and learned behaviours, but I didn’t have to be a part of that conversation to learn to know better. I just had to grow some empathy, and I’m glad Sarah Millican taught me before I said something truly heinous online.

So this isn’t just an apology to Sarah Millican, although it is that. I belittled a woman unnecessarily and made her feel shitty at her job just as she was coming up, which was a dick move and I regret it. More than that, though, it’s also a thank-you to Sarah Millican. By showing that she was aggrieved and calling out my bullshit she humanised herself in my eyes and caused me to grow into a much better person. Yes, I was a teenage idiot and needed to grow up, but I think that’s a lesson that isn’t bound up with age, and one that a lot of people older than me never learned.

This is how twitter can be a force for good, and why I think sure, the generation after mine has all kinds of problems that came with growing up on social media, but they’ve also gained empathy from hearing other voices. They’ve become aware of the wider world and made friends from their own and other socio-economic, geographic and ethnic groups, and there’s a library of information that they have access to so that they can learn or problem-solve or even be entertained. I think social media can be a force for good, and I’d like to thank Sarah Millican, comedian, for teaching me to use it responsibly.

NB I think my friend Laura was already roasting me before SM replied to my tweet. I was a dickhead, but a well-meaning one surrounding myself with smart people who pointed out my lack of empathy when it showed.

TO DO:

• Just keep writing that dissertation! We’re so close!
• Find a full-time job.
• Tell my friends it’s me, not them – I’m living in a burrow of Heine, Plath and not having the energy to engage much further than that.

Today’s Culture:

• The new Star Wars trailer. The noise I made after I watched it was… not human.
• Watching wholesome YouTube content that’s got nothing to do with the world burning. I recommend Dungeon Dudes as they’re fun, creative, and absolutely going to put you in a fantasy world.
• Carrying less around so that I don’t break my back, facilitated by my darling new Mulberry bag. I LOVE a quality leather good.