Tommy Tiernan

On doing his bit

It’s an absolutely awful world as long as you’re trying to fix it. Now I don’t mean that we should ignore the troubles of the world, happy out in our little impermanent bubble of self-satisfied distraction. A lot of people don’t have that option. Merlot and Netflix are hard to find in Yemen.

But no one gets out of this vale of tears dry-eyed. Happiness can come, they say, with acceptance of the fact that the planet is a spinning shithole, full of grief and wonder. You may as well be trying to get the Earth to revolve around the other way than attempting to cure it of its pain.

But the suffering of some is much more acute than the suffering of others, and to even have time to contemplate that idea means you are not part of the others, so we must do whatever we can, whenever we can, to help one another. It’s the decent thing to do, and we are bred, sometimes, for decency.

Pretty and gruesome

The world as we know it is a pretty and gruesome place. There will always be distress. Lions eat baby gazelles; couples argue; power oppresses; children weep, and on and on and on. A litany of terror. In The Book of Job, God asks the Devil, “Where have you been?” and the Devil replies, “On Earth, just walking around”. That’s what he does, just strolling about, drip-feeding misery and torment to all and sundry. And when you add apathy and lethargy as part of his arsenal, well, he’s a real formidable foe.

This ol’ world is not an easy place to be with your eyes wide open, watching. But sure who has the time for that? Who has afforded themselves the stillness to witness what actually happens? We’re on the road the whole time — caffeinated, late, texting, mithered. Under pressure of some sort for most of our adulthood. No wonder the last thing the body does before dying is exhale: “Thank God for that, did I get it all done? Peace at last”.

I try to do my little bit to help out, futile and all as it may seem. I am not a qualified doctor or a trillionaire, so there’s only a certain amount I can do. And what I do professionally can, at times, be sophisticated and clever — but other times, uncouth and mannerless. I had a strange moment of selfawareness on stage the other night in Dublin. I saw myself standing there on a rickety platform under a couple of headlamps, shouting the word ‘kock’ out to a room of 400 drunk, sweaty people. Jesus Christ, at 48, I would have hoped to be doing something a little more refined, but there you are. So how can I alleviate other people’s troubles or contribute to their well-being? When is the last time that you were on a plane, and the steward, with their arm around some suffering soul, shouted out, “Is there a comedian on board?”

All I can I do really are gigs. Gigs for charity. This foul mouth is a fundraiser. It’s how I fit in. I try and do one a month. I don’t lean one way or the other in terms of preference — whoever asks is considered. Sometimes, though, I know I’m just a name on a list. They’ve also probably contacted Brendan Grace, Ray D’Arcy and Evelyn who used to do the weather. Those are the celebrity circles I move in.

I cannot negotiate a peace treaty in the Middle East or help Mayo win an All Ireland. I cannot prevent men with evil inclinations wreaking havoc upon the innocent, nor can I stop crows ateing the eyes out of tired sheep. But phone me up and ask me to do a benefit night for you, and you might be in luck. I get asked to do all types.

Eggs thrown at me

Bono does a lot of work for Africa. I get asked to raise money for an astroturf pitch in Connemara. Maybe the Africans don’t have my number. I’d gladly lend a hand. Donncha O’Callaghan is an ambassador for Unicef. I was asked to stand in a stall at the Ballyshannon Medieval Festival and let people throw eggs at me. I don’t know what charity that would have benefitted. It may have just been to help people deal with stress.

I do get asked to do a lot of mental-health stuff. Do people think I’m afflicted myself ? I’m about as mad as you are, as the rabbit said to his reflection. A fierce amount of GAA clubs get in contact, as well as schools, sick individuals, homeless charities and counselling groups. I can’t do them all, but I want to do some.

I did a gig in Mountjoy prison, and one of the Scissor Sisters made me a cake. I ate it — you’d have to. It wasn’t perfect, but it was nice.

We can all do something.