Words matter. These are the best Greg Davies Quotes, and they’re great for sharing with your friends.
I am not a father, and the only children that I get close to are my nieces.
The only difference between a comedian and someone else? We need to make people laugh more.
Me and my sister made up a game called ‘Milky Cow’. We were on holiday in France when I was 12, and there was a kid who had bovine features, and every time we went past her, we’d say, ‘There’s Milky Cow’.
Being a teacher was great, but it wasn’t what I wanted to do, so it was ultimately crushing.
The most expensive thing I’ve ever splashed out on is… a tailor-made suit. It cost £1,400, and it’s the best money I ever spent. It’s a miracle thing – I put it on, and I don’t look overweight.
‘Man Down”s my absolute priority. If they give me another series, I’ll throw everything into it because I really like the characters. But after that, I’ll certainly be getting back on stage because I haven’t done a proper gig for two years. Which is ridiculous for someone who loves it so much.
I had a great time as a teacher, but I was just treading water, as a lot of us do.
I have no system of writing. It’s chaos. I could be upside down on my bedroom floor; I’ll be scribbling on a pad that I’ll then lose. I’ll be on the toilet with my laptop on, sitting in the pub with my iPad.
One day I woke up, had an early mid-life crisis, and decided it all had to change. I went and did Logan Murray’s comedy course for 11 weeks and then started sneakily doing open-spot gigs, and that was it.
Some friends think I’m dull now. But I think it’s great that I’m no longer trying to make everyone laugh in the pub.
If you want something badly enough, you go for it.
Every time I wrote a school scene, I thought of that drama studio, because that’s where I was a bit lost at sea.
I don’t watch an awful lot of television. It’s a very strange thing, and I don’t know a lot of people who work in telly who watch a lot of it.
As a young ma,n I was an absolute idiot. I think my exes would say I was a likeable baby. I had a teenager’s bedroom when I was 32.
I am often driven by necessity, rather than actually doing things like an adult.
I love what I’m doing and will continue to do it, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.
It often occurs to me that this is a strange way to make a living. But it’s wonderful, too. There are many ways to read maturity, and I’m not fighting the instinct to simply enjoy that kind of nonsense. I love that someone would pay me to draw on somebody else’s bottom.
I can’t remember the last time I can say I felt truly unwound.
I have no desire to work my adrenal glands any harder than necessary. I like lazing around; it’s pretty important to my well-being. But I also get bored, so that’s when my culture-vulturing kicks in.
I’ve never disguised the fact that I wasn’t happy in teaching. But the reason was that I wanted to do comedy. I would have been a very unhappy security guard or a very unhappy greengrocer.
As anyone who’s done any acting will tell you, if you haven’t got a malicious evil streak, it’s such a joy to let one out.
‘Taskmaster’ taps into a universal humour of people making a fool of themselves.
Carla Lane’s ‘Butterflies’ seemed to be on in our house at all times when I was a kid, as did ‘The Good Life.’ But it was ‘Fawlty Towers that made me really sit up for the first time. Basil’s incandescent rage made me howl.
I was a drama teacher, so I had the opportunity to show off in front of a captive audience. I essentially did 13 years of stand-up. Whether my pupils would agree that I was remotely interesting or not is another question.
I was scarred in 1977 by watching Jaws, and I’ve never got over it.
Anything my dad says about what I say about him, I can remind him of ten examples where he publicly humiliated me. We’re really close. The culture of mickey-taking is well established in my family.
I was a very young 21-year-old. I was very scared. I spent three years at university in west London, and I went into central London three times. I came from Shropshire, and just having travelled that far was enough ambition.
I grew up in Shropshire, but I was born in Wales. There was a hospital seven miles away, but my dad drove 45 miles over the Welsh border so I could play rugby for Wales. But as a skinny asthmatic, I was only ever good at swimming.
My dad is the funniest human being I’ve ever met in my life – for years, I’d watch him hold court in whatever situation he was in; he was the most amazing raconteur. I often feel I’ve hijacked what should have been his career.
If you’re doing a job, and you secretly want to do a different job, you start to blame the job. I was blaming the teaching for that fact I wasn’t performing. I really felt I needed to follow a comedy career.
Comedy brings out this rage in people: they get furious when they don’t like something. I have some lovely hardcore fans.
Love at first sight is probably for stupid people, but maybe I’m just cynical.
My dad, who had spent his life as a lecturer, said, ‘That’s all very well, but you need to earn a living, so why don’t you teach?’ I did, and 13 years later, I woke up.
Humour is learned behaviour, and I know exactly why I learned to be funny. I did it from a very early age. My dad was a hilarious man, and the way we interacted was being silly together. It was a way to hold his attention.
In standup, the feedback is instantaneous, and if it fails, you know you’ll be off-stage and hiding in a short time.