Where Punk Meets Pathos: The Unexpected Beauty of Verbal Diary

“I just wanted to make something that wasn’t rubbish.” It’s fair to say he’s succeeded. Verbal Diary has since sold out venues across the country, earned praise from critics and audiences alike, and was a headliner at the UK’s inaugural Rik Mayall Comedy Festival, sharing billing with Greg Davies and Peter Richardson. At 26, Tom doesn’t speak like someone you’d expect to have toured a self-funded musical comedy across the country. He still refers to himself, affectionately, as “just some bloke from Southend.” This new production of Verbal Diary is an original and riotous creature in its own right. Johnson has rewritten large chunks, added songs (including a new Otway/Johnson collaboration), restructured the narrative, and brought it to life with a ragtag team of creatives and musicians. Rather than simply reviving the show, Johnson has deconstructed and rebuilt it into one of the most heartfelt Fringe comedies of the year. Boldly fresh, while remaining deeply respectful of the original. You get the sense he’d much rather talk about the talent of the musicians in the play, comedy idols from bygone eras, or his lingering fear that he’s somehow still annoying John Otway. And yet, this is someone who’s done something quite remarkable. He took the kind of personal disaster that usually ends in a dramatic haircut or a year spent lying down, and turned it into a piece of theatre that’s as hilarious as it is unexpected.

“I got fired and dumped on the same day,” he says, laughing in that way people do when they’ve only just found the humour in something painful. “I had money for a deposit on a flat. And I was going to buy my girlfriend a Nissan Figaro. Instead, she left me for someone else.” And so, in a move that says everything you need to know about the man, he spent it reviving a punk musical from the 80s. “It's the best stupid decision I’ve ever made.” However, beneath the self-deprecating charm lies a fiercely original voice. Since then, he’s mounted a self-funded, multi-city tour. Rebuilt a lost piece of fringe theatre history. Written, acted, composed and dragged a seven-foot pop-up set into venues too small for it. His blend of irreverence, drive, and quiet ingenuity marks him out as more than just “some bloke from Southend.” Whether he admits it or not, he’s one to watch.

Verbal Diary follows Gordon, a photojournalist whose life implodes spectacularly in a single day. Sacked, dumped, and evicted, he finds himself in a new flat share and sets himself two resolutions: start a daily diary and win the heart of his housemate, Cheryl. As he crashes into the lives of his new flatmates, we are introduced to Cheryl, a sharp-edged medical student (Georgie Harriet-King); Phil, a shady layabout (Alex J Carter); Tristram, a deluded artist (James Little); and Eric Ericson (Carter), a perverse newspaper editor. On the surface, Verbal Diary (directed by Sara Thompson) is a farce. But the longer you watch, the more it reveals itself as something deeper. Gordon isn’t just a clown, he’s a reflection. Every character, Cheryl the ambitious, Tristram the dreamer, to Phil the drifter, to Eric the manipulator, is bound by a common thread: longing. They all want to be something. To matter.

That desperation, tucked beneath the absurdity, is what gives the show its weight. Though it sits firmly within the world of fringe theatre, Verbal Diary carries the structure and soul of something far greater. Beneath the jokes and chaos is a genuine tenderness, a meditation on loneliness, the fear of insignificance, and the simple joy of learning to appreciate what you already have. Integral to the show’s atmosphere is its live music, performed by a rotating string section featuring Hannah Whitbourne, Scutty Lee, and Charlie Skelton. Their presence brings a rich, emotive layer to the performance, bridging the worlds of gig and theatre with warmth, wit, and energy. And then there’s the set, described by reviewers as “the most impressive piece of design at the Fringe.” A towering seven-foot pop-up book, it folds out to become Gordon’s bedroom, office, a pub, a garden, and more. “Otway and Paul came up with the concept,” Tom says, “but the real credit goes to Dave Taylor for building it. Ash Whiting came up with the sketches for each page, and the artist John Bulley painted it — he did the Camden Lock bridge, too.” He pauses. “It’s a fantastic looking thing... but a bloody nightmare to get into some venues.” He says it with the exhausted pride of someone who’s dragged it up five flights of stairs with a hangover.

“Gordon’s semi-autobiographical,” he admits. “They all are if I'm honest. They all have insecurities in common. I wrote Gordon based on the worst parts of myself. Honestly, nervousness pretty much ran the first 24 years of my life. So all the anxious, hopeless stuff , the bits I don’t really like, they went in. At the time, I didn’t have any kind of outlet, so I just distracted myself constantly. Eventually, I started piecing the show together. I mirrored myself in Gordon, a loser who avoids everything and thinks running away will fix it all. It doesn’t. But he gets there in the end. He learns to appreciate what he’s got. That’s something.” From chaos to catharsis, the result is a show that doesn’t just make people laugh, it hits a nerve. Audiences across generations have connected with it. It’s not just absurd. It’s honest. Funny, yes, but there’s heart beneath the madness.

And would he recommend turning heartbreak into a musical comedy? “No. Go to therapy. It’s cheaper.”

The life of an Actor/ Comedian is not a road for the faint hearted. Johnson is disarmingly honest about how hard it is to make theatre like this — financially, emotionally, logistically. “Though I'm happy I did it, the Tour I just did wasn't as long a run as I had hoped because… well I’m paying for it! Simple as that. Theatre’s expensive. I had to sell my Car to fund it. But I wanted to do it right. And if that means lugging a giant book set into venues that weren’t built for it, then fine. I’ll make it work.” He lights up when we talk about Wilko Johnson, the legendary Dr. Feelgood guitarist and fellow Southender. “Now, Wilko... That manic, flailing energy. I used to see him at The Railway. Just brilliant. He looked like a man possessed. It wasn’t polished. But it was honest. That’s what I want in comedy. In theatre. People going for it no matter what. " Much of Verbal Diary’s humour, Tom says, comes from performance rather than punchlines, although there are plenty. His affection for the underdog is no coincidence. Across both his stand-up and scripted work, his comedy centres on people who fail, often spectacularly, but with heart. “I like people who aren’t very good at what they do,” he says. “A lot of what I do is performance-based, not gag-based. I’ve written most of the feedline/punchline jokes for the other characters. Gordon’s more of a narrator — he’s quieter, more reactive. He frames the chaos around him. It’s very Hancock… if you’re old enough to know who that is.” I do. Tom, technically, shouldn’t. But naturally, he does.

There’s something inspiring about Johnson’s blend of humility and fierce DIY determination. For someone so young, he carries the soul of a seasoned performer. His influences , Spike Milligan, The Young Ones, The Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band, and yes, John Otway himself, reveal a man who is fiercely independent and unafraid of chaos. But Tom isn’t a brash rebel. He’s a quiet, thoughtful creator who resists authority and exclusivity, not with aggression, but through a steady refusal to be confined. He’s a firm believer that anyone with even a flicker of creativity deserves an outlet, regardless of background, training, or access. And he doesn’t pull punches when it comes to the gatekeepers. Creative Arts institutions, he argues, shouldn’t receive public funding unless their spaces are genuinely open to all, not just the same clique you get with polished portfolios and eccentric haircuts.

There’s clear reverence in the way Johnson talks about working with John Otway and Paul Bradley, the original creators of Verbal Diary. “They didn’t have to trust me with this project, but they did. That’s not something I take lightly. I kept updating Otway, asking if this was okay, or if this was fine,” Tom says sheepishly. “I was worrying a lot about it, I think I drove him mad with all the questions”.

He pauses, his tone softening. “I’ve got a lot of time for Paul and John. I was nervous meeting them, especially Paul. He’s a brilliant actor, a real fixture of British television. He must’ve thought, ‘Who’s this oik turning up to do our play?’ But far from it, he’s been nothing but supportive. I love them both to bits. Just proper good blokes.”

It’s impossible to talk about Verbal Diary without mentioning the man who co-created it all those years, John Otway. Now 72, Otway still remains a cult icon and punk’s eternal underdog, powered by chaos and charm. But what’s remarkable is the kinship he shares with Tom, despite a 44-year age gap. Both are unpolished, unrelenting, and quietly kind. Both misfits, not by design, but by nature. On paper, Verbal Diary shouldn’t have worked. It’s loud, messy, and an unlikely blend of gig, play, cartoon, and nervous breakdown. Yet in reality, it’s quietly climbed the ranks to become something of a must-see theatre experience. Its magic lies in its ability to make you laugh, win you over, and, if you’re lucky break your heart a little on the way out. It's not irony that carries it. It’s care. You can feel it in the details—how the set folds out like something from a children's book, how the songs land somewhere between punk and poetry, how Gordon’s nervous optimism echoes something deep in all of us. By his own admission, Tom isn’t the most organised. But he’s proof that artistic success doesn’t come from perfection, it comes from heart. From stubbornness. From a dash of madness and the grace of treating everyone around you, collaborators, heroes, audiences, with decency. And in a world increasingly obsessed with curated sheen, maybe that’s exactly what we need more of.

So, what’s next? Another Otway/Bradley revival? “I fancy the idea of reusing the Verbal Diary set and making it into care home." he says getting animated. "Otway and Paul are two residents trying to escape, and I’m the sadistic nurse trying to keep them in. Quite like that.”

You get the feeling he might be only half joking.

Tom Johnson performs Verbal Diary at The CryerArts Centre in Carshalton on Thursday 30th October — a two-act special to close the show’s run. Tickets available at https://cryerarts.co.uk