Limmy's World: Brian Limond on taking his surreal comedy to the Hydro

It's a world that is about to be transferred to its biggest stage yet – a four-night run at Glasgow's SECC – and when we meet for coffee in Glasgow’s west end, Brian Limond, aka Limmy, is putting the final touches to the show. He’s still tweaking it to work as live performance, but seems upbeat after the UK-wide success of the tour that accompanied his first book, Daft Wee Stories, earlier this year. Despite much of his work being accessed primarily through online clips and vines, this most 21st-century of comedians can’t wait to perform live in a more traditional way – to see the whites of his audience’s eyes.

“I did my first proper shows at the Fringe in 2007 and I loved it,” explains Limond. “That was a tiny room and the people were right there – it was like doing a show in your living room with your aunties and uncles.”

The SECC is rather different from a tiny Fringe venue, of course, but the principle is the same, he says. “I suppose it comes down to the simplicity of someone paying for a ticket to be entertained. You sit there, I’ll try and give you a laugh. It’s daft and I really like it. The audience go away happy, hopefully.”

He says devising the live show, which will include some stand-up, sketches and plenty of audience participation, has been both enjoyable and “a total b*****d” at the same time. He talks through some of the ideas he discarded, and how some parts of the show have come together more easily. As he runs through the complex array of spreadsheets he’s using to keep track of each element of the show, it’s clear that Limond is a perfectionist, if not a bit of a geek.

First, of course, there's Christmas to get out of the way. Limond says he likes the festive season, especially now he and girlfriend Lynn are parents to five-year-old Danny. He'll be spending the big day at home with the family, looking for a chance to put his feet up, he says.

He doesn't need "stuff" so asks folk to get him chocolate, which he often eats in one, big "pancreas-bashing" session. I picture the scene and it immediately comes to life in my head as a new Limmy character. It's already making me laugh.

It’s difficult to explain to someone who doesn’t know Limond’s work what makes it so funny. As I’ve said already, the 41-year-old Glaswegian's clips, scenarios, monologues and characters are certainly surreal. There’s often a darkness to the humour, and a richness to the language that makes it particularly Glaswegian. Limond is also a talented actor with impeccable comic timing. But it’s more than that. And after spending a couple of hours with him, I think I’ve put my finger on it: humanity. And empathy. This is someone who knows what it’s like to experience psychological turmoil and has a deep understanding of the human condition. But more of that later.

The characters Limond has built up online and in BBC Scotland’s Limmy’s Show over the last decade are almost always experiencing psychological turmoil of some description. They are flawed but eminently watchable, often loveable; each is a mini Shakespearean tragedy. Watching gruff-voiced ex-junkie Jacqueline McCafferty – Limond in a blonde wig and lipstick – struggle to find her place in the world is heartbreaking as well as hilarious. We empathise with Jacqueline and admire her openness – but she takes it too far, which is where both the comedy and the tragedy come from.

And who among us doesn’t know, or at least recognise, Dee Dee, the stoner who is painfully, permanently lost in a drug-induced fog? Then there’s Falconhoof, the frustrated, tousle-haired host of a late-night phone-in adventure game show who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than languishing on cable TV and often struggles to keep his emotions in check.

This can make for uncomfortable viewing. But it’s also a hoot.

No longer just a digital sensation, the former web designer is now one of the most talked about comedians in Britain. He gained UK-wide recognition with guest spots on Charlie Brooker’s Weekly Wipe, but is still most prolific on the internet, moving between cult and mainstream success with sophistication and ease.

During conversation, Limond, who is from Carnwadric on Glasgow’s south side, swears a lot. All the time, in fact. I won’t bother to write in all the profanities as it would use up my word count too quickly. You know the sort of swearing I mean – peculiarly Scottish, often slipping by without notice. The swear words – mostly Fs and Cs – are not said in anger, more out of habit, adding rhythm, cadence and nuance to the sentences rather than force or aggression.

Limond’s chat is fluent and expansive, with thoughts, ideas, feelings and funny lines constantly batting off each other. Spending time with him is fun. And stimulating. But the thing that strikes me most as we talk is his complete openness. It’s one of the reasons why he is so good on Twitter, of course. His feed pulsates away all day long in a similar way to his conversation, but with pithier, often more controversial lines – and added video content.

Last month the Scottish Book Trust rated Limond as the second most influential Scottish writer on the social media platform, just behind the mighty JK Rowling but ahead of the likes of Irvine Welsh, Mark Millar and Ian Rankin. During the referendum he was dubbed a cybernat by some (mostly the London-based media) but perhaps this was only to be expected for an openly pro-independence comedian with a sophisticated grasp of satire who genuinely wanted to explore the arguments.

Unlike others in the public eye, Limond has also used Twitter to discuss issues in his personal life, in particular the depression and suicidal thoughts that have dogged much of his adult life. It is Limond who brings it up initially. He mentions it in passing and when I ask him to expand, there is no hesitation. He doesn’t find this stuff hard to talk about. He never has, apparently.

“I’ve always been a very open person, all my life, even at school,” he explains. “I’ve never been an embarrassed, ‘never talk about their feelings’ sort of person.

“Some people tell me talking about these things on Twitter is brave – but it’s not brave because I’m not having to overcome anything. Going to the doctors – for me that was quite brave, taking that first step. That was a bit scary, saying that I wanted to go on anti-depressants.”

Limond first attempted suicide at the age of 14, slashing his wrists while on holiday in Millport when a girl he’d been dating for just a few days wouldn’t say that she loved him. The incident was purely for attention he says, but it contributed to the creation in him of a pattern of thinking that “suicide was a sensible option in any type of stressful situation”.

Over the years, during his career as a web developer, the periods of depression increased and he started to normalise thoughts of ending his own life.

“Right, I’d say to myself, if I was feeling really stressed out at work, I could leave the company, or I could find another job, or I could top myself. It was one of three or four options. Sometimes I’d be looking for an excuse. If things were going badly it would give me a reason to think about it. I’d want there to be a right sad ending to my life, a tragedy. Part of it was martyrdom. I wanted my life to be tragedy.”

It came to head when his son was a baby.

“I remember being upset and constantly worried,” Limond, who has been with his partner Lynn for 15 years, explains. “I was breaking down, greeting about how much I couldn’t take it. I remember looking at a picture of my son, my baby, smiling. I remember locking myself in a wee cupboard and sitting greeting. I was looking at the picture and thinking ‘I can’t take this, I need to top myself’. My mind was starting to become fixed on it – it was happening and that was that.

“I was thinking that he was going to grow up and know that I looked at that picture of him but I still did it [killed myself]. He’d think he wasn’t enough – and that would be on his conscience. That might ruin his life. But even that wasn’t enough to shake me out of it, and I was greeting because of that.”

He says he was at breaking point but knew he needed help, and was finally prompted to see a doctor after finding out that his friend’s husband was taking anti-depressants and “didn’t seem like a zombie”. The treatment helped immediately, which came as a surprise to Limond, putting an end to the negative thought spirals that had plagued him for years.

“I’d notice for months I could live a productive life, still be creative – I created many of my favourite vines, and the ones people really like, during that time,” he says.

He has now been off the tablets for two years and is feeling “cracking, really good”. He meditates regularly to keep negative thoughts at bay, and says he has not contemplated taking his own life since coming off the medication.

He says one reason to speak honestly about the issue is society’s continued taboo treatment of mental health. And he believes nowhere is this more apparent than on social media.

“I’ve been told to ‘man up’ after talking about depression on Twitter,” he says, shaking his head. “Man up means ‘be strong because that’s what a man is’. And they don’t just mean physical strength, they mean emotional strength. What, because men get into fights or go to wars to fight? It should be ‘woman up’.”

Being a father, he says, gave him new insight into and understanding of the injustices faced by women – especially single mothers – in society, but he admits men in particular need more support to seek help with mental health issues.

“How do you get guys like that to get help when they are depressed?” he asks. “Men have a higher suicide rate. Maybe rather than trying to ‘de-programme’ them, we should use the macho thing because it’s already there. Maybe we should be saying if it’s weak to get help, then overcome that weakness, overcome that fear.”

Despite its limitations, Limond admits he enjoys Twitter because it allows him to “rabbit on, and be funny or shocking, just to entertain people”. But he says he notices a significant disconnect in the way people behave and interact on social media, as opposed to in “real” life, with users actively looking to either offend or be offended.

“People aren’t themselves on Twitter,” he shrugs. “They ramp it up, even when they’re trying to do good. They really go out to destroy people in a way that I don’t think they would if they were face to face.

“If you are sitting with people and someone says something really out of order, you’d maybe look in their eyes and see remorse or humanity. You’d think, ‘That person has made a c*** of it’, but you’d feel some humanity. Not on Twitter. You’d just get stuck in there.”

He adds: “A comedian would say something in stand-up and nobody would give a f***. But because we’re on Twitter and not in a comedy club, and you’re not a professional comedian, then we’re going to take it out of context. Then we’ll ruin your life, then we’ll move on.”

Limond says he has been on the receiving end of such faux outrage on many occasions and believes it is damaging to freedom of speech.

“How do you police the whole thing? As much as possible we need to allow free speech,” he argues. “Let people say what they want, and let others say what they want to argue with that. Look at Nick Griffin [former leader of the British National Party] – where is he now? If it had ended up another way, if Griffin had become really popular, then that would have been a failure of people arguing against him. You pick apart their arguments. Counter the hate if that’s what you think it is, rather than not letting people speak. Who determines who gets to speak?”

Asked about independence, Limond says he would “definitely vote Yes tomorrow”, but admits he feels a bit “knackered” with the issue and doesn’t believe there will – or should – be another referendum in the near future.

“I’m taking a rest right now,” he says. “It’s good that there are people chipping away, pointing things out, keeping a record. I appreciate all that. But I can’t get really excited about it at the moment.

“I don’t like how I’m being, but I feel the decision has been made for now. You can’t just have another referendum in five years. It would be a ‘f***-you’ to the people who voted No. Even if people are gasping for another one, you’ve got to leave it for a while, no matter what. Not in the next 10 years. And I say that in a bitter way – but the majority voted No.

“If we get into another war, then we have to go with that because we, as a whole, decided to stay part of the UK – I didn’t personally but we democratically decided to be a part of that.”

Not long after our interview, we did indeed get into another war when Westminster voted to start bombing IS targets in Syria from the air. The Limmy that took to Twitter to debate the issue didn’t seem particularly jaded.

“I wish we'd voted Yes, I really do. I'm no saying every No voter wants to drop bombs, but I wish we'd voted Yes,” said one tweet.

“It's a shame Scotland's getting dragged into a war by a party it never votes for, but what currency would we have used?” said another.

So, even “knackered” Limmy is more engaged, cutting and humane than most. Just like his comedy.

Limmy takes his live show to the SECC, Glasgow, on 28,29,30, and 31 January 2016. For tickets call 0844 395 4000 or go to ticketmaster.com