Home Sweet Home

In September, my mum moved house. No big deal, right? People relocate every day! I’ve changed address four times in as many years. This occasion is a little different though. In September, my mum moved out of my childhood home.

Now, I prefer to look forward, not back (an approach which has ensured I don’t repeat my college feat of power walking into a lamppost). I am not one for nostalgia. Consequently, I can’t tell you what my earliest memory is (although that might have something to do with said lamppost).

It would be ridiculous though for me to have lived in the same village for twenty-two years and not have a single thing to recall about life there. After all, Peter Tavy was the backdrop to so many firsts for me. My first stand up gig was at the local variety night, my first job was at the pub, and my first pet tore into the neighbourhood’s shrubbery. Admittedly I can’t remember the latter but I’m reliably informed that Thumper was as violent as his moniker suggested and nowhere near as adorable as his Disney namesake.

Whilst I may never have finished learning how to drive around Peter Tavy’s narrow winding lanes and tight bends, I did explore all other forms of transport here (except, much to my mother’s consternation, the weekly bus into town). I have skateboarded down my hill, rollerbladed outside the village hall, sledged down my neighbour’s snowy banks, and blissfully floated around a river on a big black rubber ringer whilst chased by adults desperately trying to stop me from drifting out to sea. Ah, happy days.

Typical family photo.

I spent two decades in this eccentric little village and, as a result, have grown into an eccentric little man. It’s not hard to see why. Only in Peter Tavy could I have walked around a drained Mill Pond. Only in Peter Tavy could I have been followed by a cat called Smudge whenever I headed out to wonder in the woods. Only in Peter Tavy could I have been enlisted to play a Dalek. Twice.

I perform in London now but my first crowds were back in Devon. I danced all evening at Harford Bridge for them. They provided my first heckles (but fair enough, I admit the village quiz we Way boys wrote was alternatively too difficult and too easy).

And at this point, we come full circle to my first first. If I had to pick a key formative moment that sums up the fun of Peter Tavy life, it would be my inaugural spot as a comedian. That night in January 2009 was my first truly solo turn. Previously I’d written and performed humourous skits with my siblings but now I was to be onstage on my own.


Yes, another snowy scene. I only have access to Winter pics, okay?

I was waiting backstage ahead of my debut. The only other people with me were my previous collaborators AKA Kit and Joe. I’ve no idea why they were there but it’s great they were because they helped me relieve my nerves in the most novel way. We had a sword fight.

In retrospect, the clacking of wooden sabres would have no doubt been heard (we were, after all, only a wall away from the audience) but it really helped provide a welcome distraction from my imminent display of mediocre gags. This moment of silliness combines so many elements I love – family, joking around, and a good show. All of these are qualities I associate with Peter Tavy.

So yes, I may have to learn a new address and phone number but I won’t forget the old ones. They will remain as much a part of me as the former farm that was our home and the village which was occasionally the recipient of our post because our family name makes us sound like streets.

How, then, to sign off this farewell to my village? Well, as well as refraining from reminiscing, I’m also not particularly emotionally articulate so I’ll just keep it simple. Thank you, Mr Peter Tavy.