Comedy of the Week - The Making of Colin Hoult

Episode Date: March 2, 2026

An audience show in which Colin explores how his bizarre family made him the man he is today. Now, as a 45 year-old dad, he wonders if it’s too late to do anything about it. Based on his hugely successful 2024 Edinburgh show, Colin weaves anecdotes and musings with all too real stories about his early life, featuring a recurring cast of characters: his perennially pessimistic mum, his not-quite-in-reality brothers and his long-suffering Dad who screams ‘why can’t we just be a normal family?’ Colin asks “is it a surprise my neurodiversity was missed?' But growing up in Nottingham we just had a simple phrase that covered everything - ‘he’s not right’. Colin paints a picture of a childhood full of secrets and lies, dominated by Mum’s terror of ending up in the local ‘madhouse’ whilst espousing paranoid conspiracies and pulling out the Ouija board on Christmas Day. Whilst inherently funny, the craziness is recounted with love and sympathy. A brilliant storyteller, Colin intercuts tales of that childhood life with stories about his own contemporary family and how one has been shaped by the other. What does he want to pass on and what does he absolutely not want to? How does he be the best dad he can when his basic understanding of the world is so scrambled? Each episode begins with Colin telling us how he’s, possibly inappropriately, reacted to something mundane that has just happened or been said to him. He’ll unpick the story across the episode tracing his reaction back to his upbringing with other themes, stories and observations along the way. Colin’s stand-up is intercut with childhood and contemporary scenes. Colin plays all his family members, neighbours, distant relatives, postmen, etc.

Hello, it's great to be here in... My name's Colin. That's probably not the name I would have chosen. I don't think anyone's chosen to be called Colin. I grew up in Nottingham in the 1980s. Colin was a very unpopular name back then. This was in the dark days before the Firth and the Farrell. So I'm an actor, a comedian, a welder.

Got to have a backer. Over the years, I've played many memorable characters. in comedy, tragedy, Shakespeare. I appeared in Measure for Measure, for Measure, the extended version. I've spent so long playing characters. I hardly know who I am anymore. Now, as a 45-year-old dad thing, I find myself asking the question,

no one else is wondering, who's the real, Colin Hol? What bizarre encounters and lurid sights led him to be the man talking to you today? Perhaps tonight by exploring my fevered brain we can begin to understand who I am, who you is and what for. This is the making of Colin Holt. So I've entitled this particular story, Might As Well Be Dead.

That's a cheery title, isn't it? Cheery Star to production. Might as well be dead. That's actually something my dear old mum, bless her, used to say casually she walked about the house during my early years on this remarkable planet. Oh, might as well be dead. It's quite a heavy thing to say, isn't it?

willy-nilly to throw out. She'd say it about anything. It starts raining. Ah, I might as well be dead. Something crap on TV. Ah, might as well be dead. But she tried her best to raise us right. As a kid, I struggled to make the fur sound. My mum would do it with me every day.

She'd go, come on, little Colin. Say fox. And I go, Sox. And she said, no, come on, say Fox. Sox. Once she tried to trick me, she went, say socks. And I went, socks. It didn't work. She used to worry that me and my brothers

were hunching our shoulders. too much, right? So she'd sneak up behind us and click her fingers and go, strings! Strings! But I'm getting ahead of myself. What was I talking about? I do have ADHD, so if you distract me, it is a hate crime. Does anyone else have ADHD?

Yes, no, I was going to say, we're recording in Brighton. Does anyone not have ADHD? But you have it. You shouted, do you have it? No. No. I feel you might. What's your name? Kathy.

Yes, coming off you in waves. No, you're not. Anyone actually been diagnosed, so to speak? Hooray. Yes, hooray. If some people, if you don't know what ADHD is, it's a type of neurodiversity, obviously, like, you know,

autism and all the sort of made-up ones. Honestly, some of them are ridiculous. There's one called hyper-recognition. That's recognizing people too much. I feel like I've known you for years. What's your name? name? No. I grew up in Nottingham in the 1980s and we didn't really believe in mental health. You know, I'm not sure we believed in health. But most people I knew couldn't even spell ADHD.

We didn't need words back then, did we? You know, you remember. What was your name? Easy. Easy. Is that an instruction? Your name's really easy? Well, it's not really my name, no. Yeah, I got that. But you remember Easy back in the day, we didn't need all those words, did we? like neurodiversity and autism and ADHD. We just had a simple phrase that covered everything. He's not right. And that's all we need about that.

Look at him, he's not right. What's he doing? But essentially if you still don't know, ADHD means you're either very annoying, very entertaining or both. But either way, you don't have to suffer us for too long because we either turn up too late or we drift off mid-sentence before we've...

So I live here in Brighton. I do live here in Brighton, so don't live here in Brighton, I live here in Brighton, so don't follow me home. But it's lovely. I do love it. It's very tolerant. It's a bit like being in six form all the time. Everyone lives near each other, you know. Everyone's on a project, but no one's really working. Forgive me, Britonians, but sometimes I feel like Brighton people, you know,

you can be a bit too clever, clever for me. You know what I mean, a bit clever. Sometimes when you talk about neurodiversity, they say things like, yeah, but aren't we all kind of neurodiverse? Aren't we all a little bit autistic every now and again? And I'm like, do you realize how offensive that is? Do you know, we can't all just be a little bit autistic every now and again because if we're all just a little bit neurodiverse every now and again,

then I'm not special. So I am Colin Holt. I got as far as giving you my name. I'm named after my dad, who was also called Colin. He believed in sticking to what you know. I was born in Nottingham, the youngest of four, including the dog. And I never really felt that I fitted in with the others, you know, especially the dog who was always giving me the side eye.

Nottingham is a city populated by ducks, right in the middle of the country, and as Midlandsy as the Midlands could be, I used to dream of running away somewhere exotic like Derby. Nottingham in the 80s was also a place of dreams, of artistic frustration, the desire to dance and sing and twat about, always scared that someone would deck you for it. What are you dancing like that for, you big bender?

Every day hummed with a constant low-level anxiety that any minute you'd get life wrong and be pouncing. upon. This one neighbour we had, right, let's call him Barry. He was forever coming around, banging on the door, loudly pointing out all the faults with our house, all the stuff that needed doing, telling us all his frightfully boorish opinions. All right, how are you going on then? Oh, look at that wall, right, cracking it. You want to get that sorted. I say, you're about council, not picking up bins, disgraceful, isn't it? All these foreigners treated like kings. I'm right, though, aren't I? They are different from us. You want to get that light fixed? It's right,

knocking into it. Just like a non-stop soliloquy of everything in his head with no pause to breathe, telling us every thought he'd ever had without stopping. I appreciate that I sound like a massive snobb saying all this. I realise that. But what was snobbery, you know, and what was my neurodiversity struggling to cope? I'm neurodiverse and allergic to banality. As you can imagine, I have few friends. I never really got on with the other kids. I didn't have a proper Nottingham accent. So everyone thought I was right, posh. Oh, I could hear my eye talks, Finkses better than us, don't they,

using all them big words. But it wasn't that I thought I was clever. I had what I now think of as the neurodiverse accent, which is the same wherever you're from. You could be Geordy, scouse, from knots. If you grow up neurodiverse, your accent's always like this. Hello, can I talk about all the different transformers? I could name every single transformer.

Optimus Prime, just all of them. The normal world often sees. so loud and confusing. Becoming characters was my way of navigating through it. I had to study faces, mimic voices, try to understand people's reasoning and motivations, try to appear normal and not the absolute freak I feared I was. I think mum and my whole family were trying to do the same.

They just didn't have my incredible God-given talent. I'm going to tell you a story now, a story which I think says it all. It's a true story, apart from all the bits I made up. It's all about real people. You're in it a lot, easy. But it's all meant with love, understanding and acceptance. And if you don't like that, you can sod off.

So picture the scene. It's 1986. Christmas. Nottingham. I grew up in an area of Nottingham called Maplere, right? Mapley's known for two things. And when I say known, I mean in Mapley. Mapli Top and Mapli Hospital.

Mapli Top was like the high street up the hill, right? And my mum used to say, let's go up top, shall we? Should we do it? Should we get on the bus and go up top? It was like the most exciting thing you could do. And when my wife, Cat, first met my mum, my mum was like, should we go up top? Should we go up top, cat?

Not Top Cat. But should we get on the bus and go up top? Cat's like, what is this place up top? What is this place? It sounds magical. It sounds like Las Vegas. She gets there. It's three shops and a weatherspoons.

My oldest brother, Steve, he's always going up top to have his dinner, right? And he rings me up to tell me what he's had. Oh, I had a lovely dinner, Cole. Oh, right, nice. It was only five pound. I said, what was it, Steve? He says it was only five pounds. He was right now.

He says, what was it, though? He says, oh, it's piled right upon your plate. It was only five pound, pound. Cheese. I said, what was it, Stephen? He says, oh, he's piled upon your plate, five pound cheese. So, was it just cheese? For some reason, he's a one, Stephen.

For some reason, he's always called himself the Neen. He's giving himself a nickname, and the nickname is The Neen. No one knows why. Sometimes it's Auntie Neen. We don't know why. But he sends my kids' birthday cards that say, happy birthday love from Uncle Stephen,

slash Auntie Neen. I said, why'd you put Uncle Stephen slash Auntie Neen? He says, so they're not confused. Everyone's got one in the family. I've got loads. My other brother is Pete. For some reason Pete's always talked to

a bit like Sean Bean. I don't know why, but he says everything like he's in Lord of the Rings. Like a wise warrior. Could I have a chip buddy, please. With mushy peas, thank you. He's a believer. He's always looking for something to believe in.

You know, Christianity. I love it. Buddhism. Why not? Once he tried to convince me the film The Matrix was real Yeah, Cole, this will blow your mind Who's the main character in the Matrix? Neo. What's Neo backwards? The one.

Pff. It's not though, is it? It's Owen. When I was a kid, Pete used to go, Don't end up like me. Whatever you do, Cole, don't end up like me. Don't have the life I've had. I was like, Pete, you're 15.

So that was Mappley Top. Anyway, that was Mappley Top. Hospital, on the other hand, was the mental hospital near us. Back in the 80s, it was this ominous Victorian tower, right? And it was right outside my bedroom window. My mum used to go, don't show me you not right. Don't let them see you're not right, Colin. They'll put you in Mappley, you'll never go around.

Sometimes you'd see smoke coming out at the top. She'd go, yeah, that's some burning the schizophrenics. My wife, Kat, she's from a more middle-class background, you know what I mean, a posh background. Has anyone sort of married into a posher background? Anyone done that? I mean, I'm saying married into it. It's been 15 years.

They haven't quiet excepted me. But the biggest difference for me going from that world into the posh one is just the quiet. It's so quiet. My God, it's quiet. In my house, you weren't allowed to be quiet. Everyone had to keep talking all the time

or someone would think someone was wrong. Do you know what I mean? Why aren't you talking? He's not said over 10 minutes. What's going on with him? It'll end up in Maplere. But in that house, it was just so quiet all the time.

At the first time I went in, I felt like I'd gone into Narnia. And when it was all like Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da Classic FM on the radio Nobody's screaming All the knives and forks are in the knives and forks drawer Not in the bread bin

I was like Oh oh I think I actually orgasm the first time I walked up And they've never really forgiven me for that To be honest But I go into the house Da-da-da-da-da mother-in-law's there You know like come in Colin come in Like Mr Tumnus you know welcome Colin

Come here. You know, everyone's wearing jilets, you know. Everyone's trousers fit. It's a magical world. But I feel like when I go into a posh world, I sort of become like a creature. Do you know what I'm like, thank you. You know.

Like I don't know how to be myself. Like thank you for having me. Like sort of cap in hand, you know. Would you like a cup of tea, Colin? And I'm like, yes, please. And she goes, Earl Grey. And I go, I don't know what that is. She goes, grab yourself a cup, Colin.

Not that one. Okay, not that one. We've got you a beaker, Colin. Thank you. Thank you. But they're lovely people. They really are. First time I stayed over there,

I was chatting with my wife, Kant, and her father was there, you know, just sort of stood by the side waiting. And I was like, is he okay? And she's like, oh yes, he's just waiting for us to finish talking. You know, I'd never had that experience before. People waiting for you to finish talking before they also start talking.

Anyway, we finished talking. And then he just went, um, just so you know. I put a glass of water by your bed. Okay. Lovely. Lovely. I looked at Kat, absolutely baffled. Kat said, did you not have that growing up?

I said, genuinely, I don't think we drank water. But anyway, while Kat was waking to the haunting strains of Pukoviev, the things I'd hear on a daily basis in my household, mum would just come out with these all the time. She'd walk in, sit down, and just go, Oh, and it's awful. Oh, they all want shooting, don't there? Oh, they all want shooting.

All of them. And that could be anyone. Nazis? Yeah, fair enough. Call me old-fashioned. Nazis want shooting. Hooligans want shooting. Aunt Emeril across the road. She just borrowed a coffee cup, never gave it back.

She wants shooting. So, anyway, Christmas, 986, the snob that I am, I say, mum, can we just play a game? Like a Christmas game. You know, like I imagine all the normal families in the normal houses did.

They just played a Christmas game. My mum goes, right, we're doing a Ouija board. You've no Ouija board. You've heard of a Ouija board. It's a way, of course, of contact in the dead. You get a board with letters, numbers. I wonder if you've revised it at 910, I can do them all. You write yes, you write no. You put a glass on it. You summon a ghost into the glass

and it answers your questions by movement. The glass, I don't know how it works, it's science. So there we are, doing this Ouija board, Christmas Day. There's my mum, there's my dad, big Cole. He's a real man, tough guy, he'd have you easy. Rip your head off. But then he only put it back because he was kind. You're a big bloke. Gret big belly on him.

You remember I used to be when men could be men. Just let it out, mate. Let that belly out. Don't even worry about it. Gret big beard, just full of crap. You know when people say men should be allowed to be men. Men should be allowed to be men. Why can't we have real men? I was around in the 80s. Real men were absolutely disgusting.

The thing I remember most about my dad blessing, Big Cole, was just in farting and burping all the time. Just constantly, walk in the room, just, oh, bloody hell, what were that? What were that? Like, he'd never done it before. Like, he was surprised. Oh, bloody hell, who were that?

I mean, with hindsight, he was probably gluten intolerant. Christmas, 1986, we're doing the Ouija board. Mom, Big Cole, my dad. My brother, Pete, he always looked after me, Pete, right, my big bro. He once said, from now on, Cole, we're not called Pete and Cole. We're called Thunderwolf and Lightning Wolf. He was Lightning Wolf. I was Thunderwolf.

I said, why is that? He said, because when Thunder calls, lightning strikes. He was about 21 at this point. Which is actually really sweet, you know. I love all my family and I love that it means if I'm ever in trouble, he'll be there. matter what, I just have to call his name and he'll be there. One there ten years later when I got mugged in alleyway in Manchester, there was a... And they're going, Lidemore!

Nowhere. It was actually me and my friend got mugged together. We were on away back from drama school, singing songs on the musicals. And I don't know why they picked hers. We'll never know. It's a mystery, you know. So we got mugged, they separated us. They took my mate off with the cash cards, and I was left in the alleyway with this little sort of ratty dude, and it gets quite awkward.

just two men in an alleyway, you know, with F like 20 minutes. So he addresses this. And he goes, I bet you want to whip me, don't you, mate? I'm thinking, yes, I want to kill you. But I'm a drama student, so I say, hate you, of course not, darling. And he goes, good, good, because I've got a mace in my pocket. He goes, all right, okay. So what, do you mean a mace?

He says, a mace. Like pepper spray, mace. He goes, no, no, I've got a mace in my pocket. It's what, mace, like, nutmeg? he goes, no, a mace. I said, what, do you mean like a medieval ball and chain? He goes, yeah, a mace, a flail, so don't mess with me, all right. I mean, I know technically, he was wrong.

It was called a morning star, but I wasn't going to split hands. Anyway, it turned out afterwards, he didn't have any weapons, right? Because if you're mugging someone, you get caught by the police, it's better for you if you don't have any weapons, do you know what I mean? Little tip for you. In which case, why didn't he say he had a knife or a gun? Why did he say he had a medieval ball and chain? So I said, all right, I won't mess.

Then we stood around for a bit, you know, and then he goes, What, you do in New Year? I said, well, I sort of depends on this, ends up, doesn't it really? But it's all right in the end. We cast him in that year's Taming of the Shrew. So, anyway, yes, the stories.

There's mum, me, dad, Big Cole, my uncle, Keith, a very old man, you say the word theatre like this, theatre. Don't know why, because he's from Nottingham, but he's like, hey, Cole, do you want to go to the theatre? I say theatre, it was the Royal Concert Hall, we saw Shawaddy Wadi five times.

They were excellent. Keith had a photo of himself as a boy by his bed, and when he went on holiday, it sent postcards to the boy. Dear Keith, having a lovely time. Love Keith. Not right. Finally, my eldest brother, Stephen,

Auntie Neen. Once, Stephen came up to me, and he said, Hey, Cole, guess what I've done, mate? I said, what? He said, I've wiped my bum with an antiseptic wipe. I said, why'd you do that? He goes, to see what happens? I said, what happened? He goes, it really hurts.

Do you want to do it? No. Steve keeps a fridge switched off in his front room. I said, why you got a fridge switched off in your front room? He goes, that's where I'll keep me Christmas presents for next year. Why'd you keep me in a fridge switched off at your front room? He goes, I know where they are then. So you sort of see why my neurodiversity was missed, really, don't you?

So there we are. Christmas Day, gathered around the table, about to do this Ouija board, absolute smorgas board of undiagnosed neuroses. Mum says, you get one question, right? Don't muck about, don't say anything daft, pointing at the knee. She starts us off, is anybody there? Classic.

And the glass moves. Yes. Everyone's like, is that you? No, is that you? No, no. My dad, Big Cole, What is your name? Oh, bloody old.

The glass moves. G. O. T. P. M. Z. Gottoms.

My mum goes, yeah, yeah, there was a Gottonspuff lived here. Really? Yeah, Mr. Gotsamapoff. I think you... I think he was Polish. Pete, were you murdered in this house? Why do you say that lightning wolf?

I'm getting really freaked out by this point. I'm seven years old. Were you murdered in this house? Yes. Uncle Keith takes it up a level. Do you mean us harm? Jesus, Keith, what do you ask that for? And why'd you say theater?

You're not right, me? You're not right. Do you mean us harm? There's one person left, right? My brother Steve slash the Nien slash auntie Nene. He's in touch with the afterlife. He can ask it anything he wants, any question at all. My brother Steve, are you a gorilla?

My mom said, a gorilla? What do you mean like a monkey? Oh, isn't it too awful? Yeah, that's what I want to ask. Are you a gorilla? Yes. And then it kind of fizzled out, to be honest. Now I'm not saying it's impossible

that a gorilla called Mr. Gottensopoff was murdered in Nottingham in the Midlands and then returned to hauntas in the mid-1980s but it sounds unlikely, doesn't it? But every Christmas, ever since at some point my mum will just stop whatever she's doing and go, hey, do you remember when we got haunted by that gorilla?

So that is my true-ish story. That is at least part of the making of Colin in Holt doing a Ouija board on Christmas Day. What does it tell us? I'm not actually sure. But what gets me is that no one at any point stopped and went, hang on, what are you doing? You're doing a Ouija board on Christmas Day.

He's seven. Stop. But that was just normal for us. You know, maybe we were all neurodiverse. But like Barry says, well, everyone's bloody getting it now, aren't it? They're giving them diagnoses out like, sweet. I reckon half of them have making it up, mate.

Never had none of that in the past. Just got wrong with it, didn't you? It was better back then, want it? I don't know if it was, Barry. You know, I look at the previous generation. I'm not sure they were okay. I mean, take my grand. Apparently, she just went to bed for two years.

That was just the legend. Yeah, she just went to bed for two years. That was just normal back then. That's what you did, want it. It were better. I'm not sure it was better. People just weren't allowed to say anything and there was a World War

and a Holocaust and before that World War I millions of people killed for the reason of maybe I'm speaking out of turn but I don't think that sounds like a terribly functional society and before that we had the Victorians yes they had frankly delicious hats and facial hair and charmingly amusing bikes

but I'm not sure that offset the poor houses workhouses and slavery before that we had the plague I'm skipping bits and then before that the dinosaurs and look what happened are those pricks and amongst all the death and devastation through time were all these people muddling through who were not right

but it's been nearly 40 years since Mr Gotsma Puff joined us on that Christmas day he's never been back my brother Pete is now a therapist trying to help all the thunder wolves don't end up like me whatever you do Steve the Nene is writing a book

He phones me up, he says, I've written thousands of words. I said, what's it about? He says, oh, it's thousands of words. I say, yeah, well, what happens? He goes, oh, it's thousands of words. My dad, Big Cole, he's sadly no longer with us. I did get to say goodbye to him. I did get to see him just before he died.

I didn't think I'd make it, but I managed to get back to Notting him. He was lying there on his deathbed. I walked in, I said, hey up, Dad. And with Herculean effort, he managed to lift his head, turn and look at me one last time and go, Oh, bloody hell, gone. Gone. And my mum, well, I'd like to share with you two things

which I learned recently, which had made me rethink a lot of my, admittedly, rather snobby perspective on my past. You see, my mum, despite all the mad, often destructive stuff she comes out with, despite all the things she's constantly fretting about getting wrong because she's not right, my mum is the most creative, imaginative person

who gave me any of my gifts I have. The only reason I'm here doing this and not her is because I was born with a tiny bit more look and privileged than she was. And she wouldn't be able to get to Brian. She won't get on trains. She thinks they're evil. But she told me a story recently, right?

And this is something she's barely told anyone before. Don't worry, I made sure she was okay with me telling it here. She told me that when she was a girl, she tried to take her own life. The policeman who found her brought her home to her father, my grandfather, someone I never, met. The policeman told her father what had happened. He shrugged and you know what he said to her? Oh well, he might as well be dead. And that's the voice she's heard in her head ever since might as well be dead. Walking around all her life with that in her head and I've been the same

a lot of my life. When I can't cope with the world I don't understand, my instinct is to think, yeah, might as well be dead. Suicide rates among the neurodiverse are much higher than among the neurotypical. If you convince there's no place in the world for you, then yet you feel you might as well be dead. But perhaps the opposite is true. I know struggling with all this is hard and the world is tricky to navigate sometimes, but it's still packed tight with beautiful things. A world where you can learn the name of every single transformer ever, Optimus Prime, other transformers. Then you can flip it maybe and say, you know what, might as well be alive. And the other thing I heard recently, I was talking to a friend who I'd known for years from comedy

and I had no idea but he grew up on almost the exact same street as I had and we got to talking about the old Mappley Hospital, the Black Tower outside my window and they knew all about the history of it and it turns out far from being this terrifying Victorian hellhole that people were thrown in and never seen again when it was first opened in the 1920s it was the most progressive mental hospital in the world

it was the first place to let patients out into the community There were no bars on the window, there were no locks on the doors. And for many patients, yeah, they were struggling with mental health, but it changed their lives. They had talent shows, table tennis competitions. So they're looking down on us, walking around going, oh, ain't it too awful? Might as well be dead.

You don't want to end up in mappler. Patients are up there playing table tennis, singing club traffic can I drinks out for you. So who are the madder ones? The ones inside or outside. But I'm so proud of my mum, because she gave as much love as she could, despite being given so little.

For some reason, neurodiverse kids often struggle to make the fah sound as I did. And every day my mum will be with me going, come on, little Colin, you can do it. Say fox, and I go thucks. And she goes, no, say fox, ff. And I go, thugs, and I go, thugs, and say fox, thugs. And then one day I went, ff, and she went, that's it.

She goes, ff, yeah, come on. Flip sake, Mom, can you leave it now? I've got it. And she says, that's it, little Colin. Now, strings! Strings! Could you talk about being invisible, or double denim? Who knows what's next on the new series of Just a Minute?

Belting out a rendition of Godabelt. Whatever the topic, our panel has just a minute to speak, without hesitation, deviation or repetition. Join Zoe Lyons, Desiree Birch, Paul Merton, and many more for the new series of just a minute with me, Super Kids. It's funny because it's true. Listen on Radio 4. And the full box set is available now on BBC Sounds.