Billy Connolly Bicycle Joke: According to Billy Connolly in his latest book, Tall Tales And Wee Stories, Billy Connolly Bicycle Joke, “I have Parkinson’s disease,” and he wishes “he’d f***ing kept it to himself!” Earlier this year, the Glasgow-born comedian revealed that he would be retiring from the road. However, the page has benefited from what the stage has lost.
It’s an appropriate structure for Connolly, who has always been more of a storyteller than a quick-witted quip factory. “I believe the majority of comedians are today,” he says. On the show, people would come on and make Irish jokes and mother-in-law jokes, which I thought was hilarious.” It’s all different today, and I’m enjoying the way comedy is progressing – the level is very high.”
Even if his humor broke through boundaries (think the side-splittingly obscene ‘bike joke’ he delivered on Parkinson in 1975), Connolly never set out to be avant-garde in the first place. “I do what I think amusing,” he explains, “and if I find it funny, chances are someone else will as well.”
The author takes aim at ‘beigists’ instead of good taste, criticizing everything from pop station DJs to obnoxiously loud sirens as “one huge bore.” Connolly describes them as “cardigan-wearing, memo-wielding mobsters who are converting the world into [one giant bore]”.
He is especially adamant in his defense of the use of profanity. According to him, “it’s in the rhythm of our speech and the colour of our communication.” “Therefore, if you’re prone to get offended by cursing, you should avoid it…” (I’m sure you can predict what happens next!)
For those who have been following Yin for a long time, you may be aware that Connolly did not begin his career in comedy. With rock A-lister Gerry Rafferty, he made his theatrical debut as a banjo player and folk singer in a duet with whom he sang delightfully harmless ditties about cuckoos and chicken pie. You have to introduce your music, and I used to do it in a humorous, light, and sometimes abstract manner. ” “That gave me the idea for the structure of my comedy.”
Connolly, also known as ‘The Big Yin,’ had never authored a book until he was contacted by the publishers for the first time. In reality, he hadn’t written anything at all throughout that period. “Most comedians compose their material before going out and performing it,” he adds. “I do it first, and then I write it down,” says the author. He comes onto the stage with a list of headlines (“parachutists, booze, scrotum”), and the humor emerges as the show progresses through the many articles.
Printing allows him to be a little more disciplined – but not by much. The book is a cross between a memoir and a greatest hits album in that it weaves its way between personal stories, quirky insights, and highlights from historical routines, leaving it up to the reader to distinguish truth from fiction on a number of occasions.
Connolly is in a good mood when I meet him for this interview in a hotel room in London’s opulent Mayfair neighborhood. He is enjoying one of his better days. He enters the room with caution, his white hair flowing down to the collar of his denim jacket, and a big metallic ring on his right hand. He gives a strong handshake, despite the fact that he has white hair. Even though he seems to be in his late seventies, his condition is only evident in the continuous trembling of his left thumb, which is the only visible indication of his illness.
“I’m OK right now,” he adds. When I tremble a lot, it’s difficult for me to put my money into my wallet.” “I’m aware that things are going to grow worse, but I’ll take things as they come.”