Bongs, Birds, and Bad Ideas
Media City, Manchester. It’s 2pm. The place is buzzing. There are suits, runners, and wannabes all doing their best “media hustle” shuffle. The walls are plastered with smug grins of TV royalty past and present, like a shrine to British telly. But I’m not here to gawp at Ant & Dec or pretend to care about some gameshow nonsense.
- BY FRED SPANNER
I'm here for the main event.
The big dog. The man, the myth, the legend with a voice like gravel and a soul soaked in Guinness: Michael Pennington, aka Johnny Vegas.
The chaos-loving, pint-clutching court jester of the North. And trust me, in a world of media clones and Instagram filters, Johnny’s the most genuine thing you'll find this side of a Greggs steak bake.
We head to The Lowry members' bar for a chat. I need to get the big guy into “Vegas mode” from the off. So I deliberately open my notepad on the wrong page.
Oh, wait, these are my questions for John Robb about his new Oasis book. Shall we do these instead?
“Haha. Yeah, all right.”
OK. So, when did you first hear about the Oasis reunion?
“I didn’t mate. I must be out of the loop.”
So, it’ll be quite a short book then?
'“It’s more of a brochure.”
Great start, so let’s do the real questions. I stopped off to get a picture at the Salford Lads Club on the way here, just to tick that off my bucket list. Were you a fan of The Smiths?
“Do you know, I came to them later in life, cos when I was in sixth form, all the students who were into them were all doctors’ and lawyers' kids. Those who said they were goths were the ones getting dropped off in a Jag. I think it kind of alienated me. It was only when my mates started playing them later in life that I thought I’d missed out a bit.
“The same with The Cure. I just clung on to being a mod. I think I wasn’t embittered enough at that age. I was still celebrating life. I’ve grown into my goth”
In your previous Loaded interview - some 24 years ago - you said you were worried you wouldn’t see 40. Are you relieved to have reached your 50s?
“I think I was right to be worried at the time. I didn’t like this phrase about comedy being the new Rock n Roll. It wasn’t. I mean, I tried to throw a telly out of a hotel bedroom window, but it was fixed to the wall by brackets. I demanded my tour manager bring me a Phillips-head screwdriver. No, but seriously, I put everything into Johnny. I did have a notion that maybe I was supposed to burn twice as bright, but for half as long.
“But then, children come along and you mellow. Other priorities take over, other opportunities present themselves, like acting. It showed the toll that stand-up took. It made me take stock. Looking back at it, it’s very strange. To me and everyone else, I am Johnny, but I’ve been able to regain much more of Michael in my later years, and what he’s capable of.
“Johnny was 'all or nothing,' and it completely consumed me at the time. I think, like most comedians with ADHD, it’s whatever you’re most attracted to at the time.
“Suddenly, I’m past 40 and I didn’t know what to do. I mean, I hadn’t planned for it.”
Do you think Johnny would have existed without the ADHD?
“I think he would have. He came from a different place. He was more of a defence mechanism. Michael is an observer by nature, and quite timid, and Johnny was his alter ego. He wasn’t a character created in the traditional sense. He’d been there a while and plotting a way out and trying to turn adversity into something positive, taking no prisoners along the way. I thought I’d get sectioned when the book came out.
“I always said I was his agent, his PR person who cleaned up the mess. So now, I’m starting to see more of Michael and getting back into my art. I met a fantastic sculptor, Emma Rodgers, and we’ve started working together. So yes, I would side with that as a superpower, now.
“ADHD can be hindering with decision-making, timekeeping, and certain anxieties. It works well with art as you’re never short of ideas. It’s like catching butterflies. Which one will I catch next?”
In your previous Loaded interview, you mentioned carrying a box of matches with Chris Moyles’s name written inside, so that if you suddenly dropped dead, it would give the police something to go on.
“Haha! Christ! Chris and I have really warmed up recently. No, I don’t know what that was about or why. I think it’s well documented now that if I keel over, it’s of my own doing. God, the stuff you come out with when you’re younger!”
Have the “Where’s monkey?” shouts died down at all?
“Slightly. It’s still there, and I knew it would be when I took the job. It’s strange, as it was something that defined me for a while, and it was an odd thing to get used to. I come from a stand-up background, and then when the ads hit, I was just known for that. Suddenly, there’s a generation that didn’t know I did stand-up.
“I didn’t like to do stand-up on TV because Johnny wouldn’t have been a believable drunk. It wasn’t a bullet-point delivery. Sometimes, I could work up to seven minutes before a punchline. You had to invest in it.
“It’s a certain generation that knows me for the monkey. Fifty-year-olds even shout it out at supermarkets, and then hide in the next aisle. I walk around and I go, “Really?” I feel like a headmaster telling off a kid.”
It’s like the Richard Wilson bit in Father Ted.
“Yeah, the ‘I don’t believe it’ catchphrase. I feel like saying, “I’ve done other things.” Why does no one shout out, “Krook, Bleak House?” At the time, it was more money than you could imagine for the simplest of jobs.
“But, during lockdown, Benidorm went onto Netflix, and I’ve won a whole new generation of fans.”
You and Elsie Kelly were an amazing double act in that show.
“Oh, she was incredible. We became instant friends. I mean, the initial idea was for her character to die and float around the pool on a lilo all day, without anyone realising. But there was an instant chemistry that the writers saw, and they decided to keep her in. And the rest is history.
“Sometimes you just say stuff randomly, and it gets quoted back. I think the worst one was a clip of me messing about afterwards on The Last Leg. We were trying to record the links for the next week’s show. We were just having a laugh, and I didn’t realise they’d recorded it, and put it out.
“I was walking along the street with me mam one day, and someone came up and shouted, “Balls deep in carp! I once had a wank over a nun!” It had gone viral on the web because it wasn’t fit for broadcast on mainstream telly. My mum was going. “What’s he on about?” It was never meant to get out, but it did. The thing is, I couldn’t even remember I’d said it.”
Which of your acting roles did you feel was your best fit?
“Oh, without a doubt, Moz. With the lifestyle I was living at the time, it felt like a home-from-home. It was kind of stand-up-meets-acting. Unlike a lot of castings I did, there was no preparation needed. We all worked hard and we played hard.”
How wild did it get back then?
I played hard. Most days, after being in the press club at Manchester, I often wondered how long I’d got left. I’d go on set sometimes with two hours sleep, and I’d fall asleep mid-scene next to Andy-Lee Potts. I woke up when they called ‘lunch’. I’m like, “Was I out?”, and he says, “Yeah”. “How long?”, and he says, “Long enough to be rude.”
“There was one day when all of the cast went out the night before. They put us all in a room, and Ted Dowd came in and declared that none of us were fit for work. I mean, I’ve never done this in any other job. It’s not the done thing.
“Everyone’s sitting there saying, “I feel fine, do you feel fine too?” We were fighting each other for broken biscuits, and we were so bent out of shape we were slurring our words.
“It was a great time, but I’m just glad I survived it.
“When I wrote the book Becoming Johnny Vegas, I knew everybody wanted to know what happened when I was full-time Vegas, but I thought, maybe I’ll write that another time. I think my son was at an age where I thought I couldn’t pull him up on anything if he read about all my exploits back then.”
There’s a time and a place, yeah?
“That’s right. I’ll tell him when I’m in the nursing home.”
When were you at your absolute happiest?
“Personally, I think it was when I was dividing my time between being in London and I had split time with my son, which I’d been after for ages. It was like having everything that I’d fought against, like getting him to school, making him a packed lunch, and that pressure suddenly falling to me. It was actually brilliant. It doesn't last forever, but you start thinking that maybe normality is actually okay. It was a real contentment.
“I suppose it was because it stopped being about me. When you’re so focused on yourself and suddenly it shifts to someone else, it’s a game-changer.
“Professionally, I have never had so much fun as working with the guys on Ideal. We were all mates, and it's the one I’ve dearly missed. It was the one that hurt the most when it was cancelled. That’s not to say other jobs haven’t been brilliant, but that was the one where I missed going to work.
“Lately, I think right now it’s pretty good. Creatively, I’m living my best life in the studio, making art. Emma and I have a joint exhibition at the Walker Gallery in Liverpool. I’m so proud of that. I’ve got a kiln at home. I wake up in the morning and I’m ‘making’. I have a wonderful partner who understands why I go out collecting bricks.
“I’ve loved directing, too. Every time you think you’re living your best, something else comes along. The problem with thinking about what your best time was is that you might resent where you are now. I think you have to always look at the best in everything you’re doing.”
The Ideal stage show kicks off here at The Lowry later this year. Where are we picking up the story from?
“We’re basically twenty years down the line. Picking up where the characters are now. Without giving too much away, let’s just say Moz hasn’t moved too far from where he was last time we saw him. I mean, it’s the whole point of the show, isn’t it?
“I always said that Moz was agrophobic and had just found the perfect job where he could work from home. The only scenes where we ever went out of the building were when we went on holiday, and when I was on the roof. We actually got to see the outside of the house, which I felt was a nod to The Young Ones. I’d never even pictured what the outside of the flat might look like.
“We were pretty sure we weren’t going to be recommissioned. So we took the cast outside. When we were recommissioned, the opening scene of the next season was us coming back from Spain, cos it hadn’t worked out.”
You thought, “Let’s just blow the rest of the budget on an outdoor scene, if we’re not coming back?”
“Haha. Yes! Every new commissioning editor meant there was a possibility of a clean sweep of programmes. We didn’t get the same level of support as we did in the early days. It was a real battle. Kenton Allen really fought for us, though.
“But it was really strange being outdoors with the cast. It was like we’d been in a home and we’d escaped. Like a secret comedy lab, where they’d been running experiments on us. Like One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest.
If ever a show was meant to be on stage, this is surely it?
“Absolutely. We always said that the flat was a cast member. It really was. We had an outside broadcast recce at a flat. When it was lit up, Graham Duff and I just looked at each other and thought it looked like Neighbours. It was a bit too nice. We thought we really needed dirt and grime to make it look realistic.
“It was hard work, cos I was in pretty much every scene. Everyone else was coming and going, but I was living there.”
Sadly, Mark E. Smith is no longer with us. What was he like?
“You know, they filmed that in a different studio and didn’t tell me. They didn’t want the two of us getting together. Can you imagine the carnage? I found out though, and I sneaked in. He was brilliant on the day, but he had this piece of paper, and he kept looking at it after every sentence. And I’d say, “Are you Jesus?” And after a long pause, he said, “...yeah.” He hadn’t even looked at the script or anything.”
Are there any new characters?
“I can’t say too much, but there is one new character and a few surprises along the way. Quite a few of the existing cast are coming back. It’s a massive thing to take this on the road, so a lot of it is down to availability. It’s really gathering momentum now, and we’re talking about getting some very special guests.”
The show had a huge cult following, didn’t it?
“Oh, absolutely, and we made sure that if anyone came up to us and told us they were a fan, we’d take the time and talk to them. Because we owe them that. Without the fans, there would be no show. It was word-of-mouth. The numbers kept increasing.
“It wasn’t all plain sailing. My partner at the time decided we should play the game ‘If you could have one night with another person, who would it be?’, and I’m like, “No, No, there’s no-one,” but she kept pushing and I just thought of the most harmless and unlikely person. I said, “I don’t know. Maybe Janeane Garofalo.” I swear to God, a week later, she was cast in the show. What are the chances?
“I had to go home and say to my partner, “Erm…g.g.g.guess who’s joining the cast?” I told her I’d heard she was a celibate lesbian, so I was off the hook. Next thing. Episode three- we’re snogging…
“Janeane told us Kiefer Sutherland was a fan and was up for coming over and playing her ex-boyfriend. I mean, the cameos we had in that show! Paul Weller's appearance was a day to be on set. You know when you’re lying in bed thinking, “This is the best job.” He was so sound that day. It was the dream scene with Kara Tointon, too.
“We really punched above our weight as a show, and I’m really proud of it. We fought tooth and nail to get it on iPlayer. All seven seasons are on there, and it’ll find a new generation of fans. What you want are parents who say, “I watch it with my lad.”
“You know how sometimes people have projects where they just won’t let go. They keep talking about a show they did years ago. It’s like they’re holding on too tight. But, with this, you know it’s a bit special. And, it’s selfish. I wanna get back with everyone.
“We never got the chance to finish the story. It ended so abruptly. We begged for a Christmas special, and it didn’t happen. This gives us a chance to finish the tale.
“It’s a joyous thing that folk can now come and see it live.”
It’s a joy that you can do anything live at all after the fast-paced career you’ve had. Any advice for comedy newcomers out there?
“I’ve always told newer comics to beware of old comics offering advice. Because there’s always a hint of, “It was better in my day.” I’ve always said to be original, and if it’s going wrong, don’t tell the audience. They don’t know what’s intentional, and be ready to adapt on the night.”
And with that, we go our separate ways. Johnny lumbers off into the distance, a walking pint of Northern soul and chaos, fading into the Media City sunset.
Let’s be honest, twenty years ago, if you’d told him he’d still be standing in 2025, he’d have laughed, burped, and probably spilled a kebab on your shoes.
But here he is. Still standing. Still swearing. Still pure, unfiltered Johnny Vegas. And he’s not done yet. Not by a long shot.
Next stop? The Ideal stage show. Expect madness. Expect mayhem. Expect monkey business.
Get your tickets at thelowry.com
