I Still Can't Get My Head Round Roy Jay

Consider me spook(ed)

The 1980s was a decade of British comedy that soared to giddy, genre-defining heights - The Young Ones, Blackadder and Only Fools and Horses to name just a few. But for every glimmering jewel, there was a leaden dud, a clunking monstrosity which repulses our modern palate and reminds us that mediocrity was still the order of the day - The Little & Large Show, Bottle Boys and Kinvig.

And yet, amid this sea of regrettable television, one man plumbed depths previously uncharted: Roy Jay.

I’m fascinated by Roy Jay in much the same way that I’m transfixed by footage of the nuclear explosion over Hiroshima. He’s so unique, so unusual and such an atrocity to inflict on humanity. Working all over the UK club circuit throughout the 1970s - with the occasional sojourn abroad - Jay developed his act to a point where, inexplicably, television came calling for his, uh, talents.

Appearing on light entertainment shows such as The Little & Large Show, The Main Attraction and The Laughter Show, Jay apparently thrilled audiences with his highly curious performances - the likes of which hadn’t been seen before or since.

Take this performance on The Bob Monkhouse Show from 1983. He slinks onto the stage, as if pulling himself along on an invisible rope, dragging behind him a sense of knowing absurdity. Jay quickly launches into singing Vehicle by The Ides of March before having the audacity to greet the audience as weirdos.

Then comes his signature tic - a startled backwards hop and an exclamation of “Spook!” What follows is a series of corny, mothballed gags as Jay peppers his set with random announcements of “Slither!” and “You’ll all be doing it tomorrow!” as he attempts to convince the audience he has them in the palm of his hand. And he does it all as he struts around with the confidence of a cat who’s not only got the cream, but also secured the freehold on the entire dairy.

Fast foward to the The Laughter Show in 1985 and, aside from the outfit, little has changed. Jay’s act remains as resolutely immovable as a lead-lined granite tombstone. Somehow, he’d managed to stick it out for two years (even securing lucrative adverts) with a formula which allowed him enough novelty to be granted an occasional presence on British television.

It’s an awful act - and I’ll go to court to fight anyone who says otherwise - but it’s so soul scarringly terrible that its absolutely unforgettable. There are so many questions which need answering. How were the seeds for this bizarre act sown? What were Jay’s artistic intentions behind it? And how was it allowed to get a foothold on television? Thankfully, I only discovered Roy Jay a couple of years ago - if I’d been exposed to him during my formative years, I dare say I’d have required years of intensive therapy.

Jay disappeared from British screens in the mid-1980s, not helped by an incident where he dropped his trousers at an indifferent club audience in Jersey. But , ultimately, he was undone by the limits of his own material. In a club, this sort of thing was fine. Up against the best that television had to offer? Well, it’s no surprise that Jay quickly sank into a sinkhole of mediocrity. A damning eulogy to one man’s career, but Roy Jay lingered just long enough to haunt us forever.