One of London’s most enduring comedy clubs, the Comedy Café looks almost certain to close unless an intervention is forthcoming. Here’s a few words on the place and the man who took the helm there, all those years ago..
They’re talking about a new gig in town,
Well, in Shoreditch to be precise
The guy who runs it’s American
They says he’s ‘different’ but nice.
I went down to check it out one night
Hardly anyone there, five or six
But I met this guy called Noel
When he talks, he stamps and he clicks.
Cut to a year or so later,
The club is starting to happen
Professional or Try-out he’ll give you a go
He don’t mind if you’re good or a crap ‘un.
It becomes a comedian’s hang out,
“See you later, yeah? Down the Cafe”
Late into the night, comics drink and play pool
Maybe try and shag one of the staff.
They have Karaoke too, after the show,
Have a word with the compere, Geoff
Pick out a song and he’ll give you the nod
Just try not to be tone fucking deaf.
Downstairs they fall out into Rivington Street,
Upstairs they mull over their sets
At the centre, a speedy man in a hat
Telling tales of life with Tourette’s.
There’s a graveyard out back full of hecklers,
And laughter runs through the bricks
All down to the man who clicks when he talks
When he tics, when he talks when he clicks.