Interview
Stuck In A Lift
Stephen Bailey used to be a professional envelope licker
Talking cursed Red Bulls, boneless food, Girls Aloud and weird jobs with the comedian ahead of his UK tour
We exist in the age of concept comedy, where shows often have a wider message, a bigger picture for the audience to ponder on as they walk out of the theatre. Stephen Bailey just wants to make people laugh as much as possible.
“For this show, there were two things I want to hit, which are: one, the world’s not been great lately, so I just want a really fun night out,” he says. “I want people to laugh. I don’t want them to be like, “Oh, well, we learned this” or “That was interesting…” I want them to just go, “Oh, I had such a good night.” That’s all I want. Then the other thing is I’m moving back to the estate that I grew up on, and I feel like there’s a whole full circle thing there. I fought so long to get away from it, and now I can’t wait to come home. That’s sort of the sentiment: it’s time to go home.”
The journey home has been an interesting one, too.
“I grew up on a council state with not much, so the razzle dazzle of showbiz was attractive. The only difference is, I actually went for it, and it’s tough. But then it’s that typical thing that you hear famous people say: at the end of the day it doesn’t matter what you’ve got, it’s who you’ve got. I feel that, and I’m ready to come home now, be back near my mum and dad and my nephews. I don’t know if it’s an age thing. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve done showbiz for about a decade now. I don’t know what it is, but I’m happy being at home.”
Ahead of his tour – and his move back home – we got stuck in a lift with Bailey to talk classism in comedy, seeing Girls Aloud four times in concert, and trying to bring up The Lizzie McGuire Movie onstage.
Who would you most like to be stuck in a lift with?
Am I only allowed to be stuck in a lift with one person?
You can pick as many people as will fit in the lift.
You know, those small lifts are always dead tiny, but they say they hold like 16 people? I would like to be stuck in a life with all of Girls Aloud, Chelsea Handler and Graham Norton. Oh, that would be a fun lift. And maybe someone like Bear Grylls who’s always going to have water on him so we don’t get parched. We’ll get to know each other and Bear can get us out.
Who would you least want to be stuck in a lift with?
Probably any other comedian. Well, I know Chelsea Handler’s a comedian, but maybe any other comedian, because they’re not as fun when they’re off stage. I will tell you that now. I think they save their energy and their wit for on stage, and then we’re all tortured artists offstage. But the amount of weird situations I’ve been put in in this job, there probably aren’t many people I wouldn’t share a lift with.
What’s the weirdest interaction you’ve ever had with a famous person?
I once did this show on Channel 5, and it was me, Joe Swash, Bobby Davro, Cheryl Baker and Michelle Collins. It was incredible. But there was one point where we were all in a hot tub at the same time, and I thought, ‘this is weird’. I mean, I started working at Sainsbury’s. I used to stack Müller yogurts, and then all of a sudden I’m sat drinking champagne with Bobby Davro in a hot tub. That’s mad.
What’s the last live show you saw?
Actually, I think it was the Girls Aloud show in 2024. I went four times. It was so good. I got invited, so I took my sister, then I went with my girlies who I went to uni with, and then I met their manager, and he said, “You should come to the last night in Liverpool”. So I went to Liverpool as well. Obviously they’ve got banging songs, but they really know how to construct a show.
What do you have in your rider?
Nothing, because I’m cheap, and we ultimately pay for it. So I have Diet Coke. I read Simon Cowell decorated his dressing room so it felt like his flat. One day I would love to get to that level. But at this point, while we’re doing Swindon Art Center, we’re just going to have some Diet Cokes.
What work of yours do you feel like didn’t get the attention that it deserves?
Oh, I’m so glad you asked this question. So many. I definitely think my last tour, Crass, did not get enough attention. And I think it’s because I just do a funny show, like comedians in the 90s and early noughties, and there’s not really a message. I think everyone’s got used to a message. So if you’re just funny, I think audiences love it – they’re on their feet, they’re dancing, we’re having a laugh – but I think the industry just isn’t bothered.
Then another show I did, which was a TV show I hosted that did not get enough attention, was Celebs On A Farm. Again, that bought the snobbery out in the industry, because we did four series of it, plus one series in America, and it was a hit show to the audience, but it was never going to win a BAFTA. I think people in the industry judged it on its name, because it did what it said on the tin: celebs, on a farm. But if you watched it, there were a lot of interesting conversations. There was one year where we had a brilliant conversation between a real life farmer and Kerry Katona, and it was about mental health and depression, because a lot of farmers live with that. In my head, I was like, “It’s a shame, because the industry will not watch this whole series to see this bit.” That in itself, I just thought deserved an award, because it was such an accessible conversation about mental health.
There is so much snobbery in comedy, isn’t there? You’d think it would be the one industry that knew not to take itself too seriously.
I think it’s probably one of the worst for it. I’ve been rejected from jobs because of my voice. Or where they’ve happily told me, “Well, you’re not into politics”. I’m a 38-year-old gay man from a council estate living in Britain. I am political. Just by my existence. I work with Labour a lot, but because I don’t say it on stage, people think I’m not political. We’re all layered. Like, go on my social media… But if I don’t do it in the one show you came to, that’s probably because I’m performing to a drunk crowd on a Friday night in Covent Garden. We’re entertaining people, we’re doing comedy, so I’m going to make them laugh. I could talk about politics all week. I could go on things like The Last Leg. They will never book me, but I’m more politically engaged than half the people they have on it.
People aren’t coming to comedy shows because they want to keep engaging with politics. We’re all engaging with politics constantly. At the moment, we’re in a cost of living crisis. I always joke that we lived off food banks before food banks were trendy – meaning that back in the 90s, when not everyone was using them. When I’m at the Leicester Square theater on a Saturday night, when people have been out all day drinking, I’m performing to that crowd. But put me on The Last Leg and see what I’ve got to say. I think there is a classism, because there are people invited onto those shows who I know don’t ever talk about politics on stage.
Someone said to me recently, “Oh, do you think you don’t get on the political shows because you’ve got that Corrie voice?”. It’s blatant snobbery. A middle class comedian doing dirty jokes is called sex positive, and that’s powerful. If I do it, I’m crude. If I do any material about my boyfriend or whatever, because that’s the relationship I’m in, then I’m just doing gay stuff. But a middle class comedian I know is a champion of LGBT rights. Hello? It’s stuff like that.
What’s the worst advice that you’ve been given?
Don’t ask for things. I’d never have left my estate and I’d still be working at Sainsbury’s if I didn’t ask for things. It’s sort of that, ‘know your place’ attitude. I have colleagues who are privately educated, who I hear spoken about, and they’re “so determined,” and I’ve definitely been called desperate for doing the exact same thing, which is just reaching out to someone. That’s how I’ve got a lot of my jobs, so that’s why I think it’s bad advice.
I’m not someone that can just wait around for a job. I pay my mortgage, and there was no financial support for me – which is absolutely fine, I chose to do this – but I remember coming out the pandemic being like, “This either has to start working for me or I need to go back to a proper job.” I remember ringing a producer and was like, “Do you think I’m good enough? I’m just ringing you for advice”. She was shocked. She’s like, “I can’t believe you’d even think about quitting. You’re so brilliant.” I said, “But then I’m not getting the opportunities because I’m either not in the right gang, or I’m not in with the right person, or this and that…” Then she gave me a job.
Everyone wants Alan Carr or Jimmy Carr on everything so they’re not thinking about the next lot of people coming through, and by asking them, you make them think about you.
What’s the worst job you’ve ever had?
I had a job where I worked at the town hall in Manchester and had to lick envelopes for those annoying leaflets that you get through the door. I got fired after four hours because they said I was talking too much and slowing down the line.
If you had to have a song playing every time you walked in a room, what would it be?
‘Something New’ by Girls Aloud.
What’s your walk in music?
I change it for every show. For my last tour it was ‘Don’t Stop Moving’ by S Club. I think there are comedians that see themselves as artists and storytellers, and they are comedians that see themselves as entertainers. I definitely lean more that way. I just want to be the start of your good night. In my head, after you’ve been to see me, I’m your first few drinks, and then you’re going to get a bag of chips and cheese, and then you’re going to go to a gay bar, or one of those bars with the flashy dance floors. I like to think I’m the start of a whole night.
Who do you often get told you look like?
Do you know who I always get confused with? Owain Wyn Evans, that weather man who plays the drums. I once got stopped at a comedy festival – bearing in mind he is a weather presenter and I am a comedian – I got stopped and I asked for a selfie, which I happily obliged to. Then they said, “We love it when you play the drums during the weather, you should incorporate that into your comedy.”
What’s your most controversial food opinion?
My controversial food opinion is I don’t like anything on a bone. I don’t want to have to fight for my food. If I go to KFC, I want boneless. If I’m getting a nice fish somewhere, I don’t even want to see you cut it in front of me. Just cut the freaking fish and put it on my plate. We’re not cavemen anymore.
What’s the film you’ve re-watched the most?
The Lizzie McGuire Movie. I’m always trying to find a way to slip it into my show, and it’s so disappointing – not that many people seem to know what it is.
Do you have any superstitions?
I would say no, but I do follow all the obvious ones, like don’t walk under a ladder and stuff like that. I do have one with comedy, which is that I never drink a Red Bull before I go on stage, because the one time I had a Red Bull before I went on stage, I died a death. It only happened once, but once was enough. I’ve had gigs that were not so great, but this one time was a full-on death. It hasn’t happened since, so it must have been the Red Bull.
What did your 12-year-old self think that you’d be doing now?
I honestly thought I’d be a French teacher. My degree is in French. That’s also why the classism annoys me, because I’m like, excuse me, I’ve worked very hard to be middle class. I’m fluent in French. I’m a black belt in Taekwondo, and I train with an actual boxer three times a week. What more do you want from me?!
