Mrs Brown's Boys deserved the last laugh over comedy snobs: JAN MOIR on the BBC classic's victory over Fleabag and Ricky Gervais at the NTAs

 On Tuesday David Walliams presented the National Television Awards with his usual flinty self-interest masquerading as a comic routine.

He played it for laughs, although few were forthcoming throughout the 150-minute transmission. Why? For a start, it is becoming painfully obvious that there is nothing fake about his preening narcissism, nor his reluctance to share a stage with another comic who might — God forbid — be funnier or more popular.

Walliams's me-me-me act is not comedy any more, but some weird form of psychotherapy; a cry for help, if you like. Even though we are the ones who should be begging for mercy.


Yet television executives adore Walliams, pelting him with all the plum jobs, over and over again.

Once upon a time it was the ubiquitous Stephen Fry who was so honoured. Now it is Paul O'Grady, Fiona Bruce, Phillip Schofield, Lauren Laverne and Walliams, Walliams, Walliams.

Between them, they seem to present everything on television and radio. The only exception to the ubiquity rule is Bradley Walsh (Doctor Who, The Chase, Take Off, Cash Strapped), who I'd love to see on more shows. Particularly hosting Strictly, which would be a dream and a scream.

Walsh was nominated but didn't win the coveted TV presenter award on Tuesday night. That went to Ant & Dec for the 19th year in a row.

It seems unfair that the presenting pair are judged as one person; a two-headed Geordie quip machine with twice the firepower of a mere human.

But I have no quibble with them winning again. After all, they are still the best in the business; funny, consummate professionals whom the public adore. And it is the public who vote for these awards, which leaves them refreshingly free of diversity considerations, or prey to voguish fads. Which brings us to Mrs Brown's Boys.

Not only did the long-running BBC series win the award for Best Comedy, it had the temerity to beat Fleabag (shriek), Derry Girls and Ricky Gervais's After Life.

When the result was announced it was as if someone had let off a cultural stink bomb in the room. Celebrity audience members looked appalled at the result, while many of those watching at home took to social media platforms to vent their frustration.


'It is everything wrong with this country,' wailed one viewer. 'The British public can't be trusted to vote,' blubbed another. In the past, some bods have even suggested that the BBC should 'hang its head in shame' for showing it in the first place.

Crikey. Mrs Brown's Boys has never been admired by the intelligentsia nor the critics, but it is hugely popular. Millions of viewers, including my own dear mother, love it, finding it hilarious in perhaps the same way they used to be amused by Dick Emery and Stanley Baxter. Hmm.

The show was created by Brendan O'Carroll, who writes all the scripts and is the undisputed star, appearing in drag as the eponymous foul-mouthed Irish matriarch complete with hair rollers and a great big mammy-sized mono-bust.

The ensemble cast includes his real-life wife, Jennifer Gibney, who plays his daughter. Confusing? Yes. You've only got to watch it for five minutes to think: 'What the heck is going on?' For every week Mrs Brown's Boys is a giant retro panto, with filthy gags, banana-skin humour and no place for sarcasm or introspection.

There is nostalgia aplenty — from Mrs Brown's candlewick bedspread to her peg bag — alongside any laughs to be gleaned from a little old Irish 'lady' making sex jokes. 'I've bought meself a pair of Meatloaf knickers,' she once said. 'On the front it says: 'I'll do anything for love.' On the back it says: 'But I won't do that.' '

Elsewhere, Mrs Brown mutters 'feck' a lot and has a weakness for malapropisms. When a couple holidaying in Venice had a nice time, she reported back that they enjoyed 'going up and down the canals on a gonorrhoea'. How my mum roared.

Mrs Brown's Boys may not appeal to me, but — unlike so many throwing their toys out of the comedy pram — I don't begrudge its success or feel a sense of superiority because I prefer Fleabag.

Perhaps the secret of its cheerful triumph is that it has a fireside appeal that celebrates family life — and also harks back to an age of uncomplicated comedy. Something that is more than welcome in these watchful, curated, hypersensitive times.


Anyway, despite the reaction of the taste snobs, it should be no surprise that Mrs Brown's Boys won. Since first being shown on BBC in 2011, it has gone on to win Baftas, broadcast Christmas specials watched by audiences of over 12 million and be turned into a hit film, Mrs Brown's Boys D'Movie.

How I hated that film — which had a joke about someone being as 'useful as a knitted condom'. But it was still funnier than David Walliams rippling through his vainglorious routine with blank-eyed villainy.

That's the real horror show, if you ask me.


After only three years — it feels like ten — Sandi Toksvig has left the Bake Off tent for ever.

According to reports, she has been unhappy on the show for a long time and used to hide in her trailer because she was so grumpy. Sandi, we have something in common at last!

For that is exactly how I felt watching you on the much-reduced Bake Off. Now the race is on for a replacement and we must hope — pray! — that whatever way the cookie crumbles, it is none of the usual dreary suspects, including Zoe Ball, Sara Cox, Davina McCall and I Claudia.