Somewhere in the future Geordie comedy hall of fame, there’s a plinth reserved for Sarah Millican. Sure, she’d be the first to admit she’s technically a Sand-dancer, hailing from South Shields as she does but nevertheless, sitting spotlit between Scarlet O’Hara and Bobby Thompson and just across the corridor from Viz and Auf Wiedersehn Pet, there’ll be bronze of our Sarah.
Mining the seam of warm smutty humour unique to the people born within spitting distance of the Tyne, Sarah is your mam’s dirty, funny friend, tumbling through life forever calling you flower and popping round for long cups of tea.
Whether getting slapped in the face by pastie-hot dog turds, enduring sensitive ladybits invigorated by bathbombs, triumphantly trumping in front of a troubled masseuse, or moving to the countryside only to find herself balancing pride in becoming the lady of the house with the shame of the incriminating, bobbing terrors of the shared septic tank next door, Sarah’s boundless warm charm was bolstered by some invigorating fuck-you feminism, the kind that leaves body-shaming shop assistants gobsmacked and celebrates a middle-aged woman triumphantly comfortable in her own skin.
Armed no doubt with even more lurid tales of days endlessly peppered with barely-endured and improbable palavers, Sarah returns to Newcastle in September to round off her smash-hit Outsider tour.