Ever intrigued by new forms of comedy, last Friday I attended a recording of a new BBC Radio 2 show, "Lloyd Cole Knew My Father", at the Drill Hall. The ticket price was: free. Which, coincidentally, is my favourite ever ticket price. In a shortlist of one.

The show was written and performed by three ex-NME music journalists who have since gone on to carve successful writing and presenting careers in British radio and TV: David Quantick, Andrew Collins and Stuart Maconie. These names have lurked around the schedules for years, and the latter appeared as a pundit on so many of those sarcastic clipfest nostalgia programmes (I Love The 80s, Top Ten etc), that he was in danger of having on his headstone the words 'That Little Northern Man Off The Telly Who Remembered Things'.

Ricky Gervais even marked his status thus:
<i>"If Stuart Maconie ever gets Alzheimer's, his career's fucked."</i>

Considering Mr Gervais himself, along with Mr Quantick and Mr Collins, also appeared on such programmes, this is a mite unfair. However, Mr Maconie did seem to pop up rather more than anyone else, so it's his own fault.

It's been said that one of the problems with the current music press is that writers treat the various publications (NME, Mixmag, Smash Hits etc) as mere stepping-stones to a more high-profile media career elsewhere, and the likes of Kate Thornton and Emma Jones would certainly seem to bear this accusation out. "Lloyd Cole…", however, goes some way to remind you that Messrs Quantick, Collins & Maconie wrote about music because <i>they were actually interested in music</i>, and palpably still are. The show is made up of skits, anecdotes and gags based on their experiences. And it's an engrossing, deeply entertaining show. They were assisted by a fourth performer, the comedy actress Amelia Bullmore, and even had a special guest musical interlude, with Roddy Frame, Edwyn Collins or Ian McNabb chipping in with acoustic renditions of their hits. The spirit of Elaine Paige on 'The Two Ronnies' lives on!

One routine about the baffling promotional items sent out by record companies produced my favourite gag of the night: "Beth Orton jump-leads".

Another skit compared the wags who write in to the NME letters page as sitting around the Alquonquin Round Table: "Dear Sir. If the members of Atomic Kitten were laid end to end… I wouldn't be at all surprised." This latter got such a big laugh from the audience, that I wasn't sure if they were laughing at the Dorothy Parker reference, or at the 80-year-old Parker joke itself. It <i>is</i> a great joke, after all.

Watching a radio show being recorded, one does have to put up with re-takes of fluffed lines and so on, though this often produces welcome little bits of improvised entertainment from the performers. If they're any good. What came as a revelation to me was that, while not giving Paul Merton anything to lose sleep over, the three old rock writers displayed perfectly acceptable comedy performance talents of their own. Mr Collins (Andrew, not Edwyn) can even do a great Bruce Forsyth impression. It was additionally amusing to watch them having to do their own sound effects, going over to a little table of props to ring door bells, bang gavels, and so on. And I did wonder why Mr Maconie had to <i>grab</i> his free-standing microphone while everyone else was happy to hold their scripts and speak into the thing hands-free, like you're meant to. Maybe that's one for the psychiatrists.

Afterwards, I loafed around the Drill Hall bar, taking advantage of the drinks kindly bought for me by friendly types I'd met off the <a href="http://www.notbbc.co.uk/">NOTBBC web forums</a>. And then I took advantage of the discounted bar prices kindly offered to me by one of the bar staff that I just happened to know (thanks, Farzana). Several glasses down, I naturally then rudely collared anyone that couldn't get away, including the cast, the singer and BBC London presenter Jackie Clune (whom I've always wanted to meet), the author Jenny Colgan, and the journalist Andrew Mueller (whom I've annoyed at London gatherings for the last seven years, the poor man). So apologies to them. For being a bit tipsy, that is.

I can report that Mr Quantick, as well as being a deadpan Somerset Philip Larkin impersonator (complete with lugubrious tones), is Very Tall Indeed, a trait that occurs an awful lot in the world of comedy writing. If you find yourself born into the dimensions of a giant, and are no good at basketball, writing comedy seems to be the only possible option to take. Mr Collins in particular is extremely amiable and friendly, and not at all sarcastic and deadpan like one would expect a media type to be. So it is possible.

Some minutes later, I found myself arriving far too late at <lj user=andypop>'s RRR club in Chalk Farm, where <lj user=cleanskies> took my photo (did it come out, Ms Dennis?). I spent the rest of the club's duration continuing to drink, dance, and annoy all and sundry. Someone took my details with a view for me modelling or appearing in something (I think). One was encouraged to contribute a haiku to the club's Haiku Wall, so I quoted my favourite all-time haiku, by Mr John Cooper Clarke:

<i>"TO-CON-VEY ONE'S MOOD
IN SEV-EN-TEEN SYLL-ABLE-S
IS VE-RY DIF-FIC"</i>

And then I went home.