Comedy of the Week - Stuart Mitchell's Cost of Living (Omnibus)

Episode Date: November 18, 2024

In this second omnibus episode, comedian Stuart Mitchell examines his own cost of living crisis with a move into the high flying world of banking - and just when he thinks he has it all, the world crashes around him. Stuart gives up everything he has worked so hard for in an attempt to be true to his self and is left wondering if his journey was really worth it, when he's scrambling to pay the bills?Each episode, Stuart looks at a chapter of his own unbelievable, but absolutely true, life story. A working class boy, with huge aspirations, Stuart achieved everything he dreamed of and more. However, he soon came to realise that the cost of having everything was more than he was willing to pay. A morality tale featuring his time working in Westminster, moving to a highly paid job in banking and willingly losing it all to find happiness; Stuart will make us all question the true cost of living.Written and performed by Stuart Mitchell Produced by Lauren MackayAn omnibus version of Episodes 3 and 4 of Stuart Mitchell's Cost of Living

BBC Sounds Music Radio Podcasts Welcome to Stuart Mitchell's Costy Living where hopefully I'll help you value the worth of what you have in life, but I won't attempt to fix all your problems. If you missed the previous episode, where have you been? A quick recap. Gordon Ramsay charged me £640.69 for lunch, yet I was the one who managed not to swear. Gordon Brown, along with many civil servants, charged himself less than the price of a Happy Meal for a free course meal,

yet still sat looking doer. And now we're on to episode two. No Gordon's in this one. Oh, and I check in and out during the episode, so don't get a shock when I appear. We're all conditioned to look at things a certain way. Mainly we're conditioned by the way we're brought up. My dad would never lay a finger on me.

He had this stare. If I was messing about, my dad just had to stare at me long enough, so my mum could attack you from behind. Dad brought me up to respect money and know the value of money. Earn your money and spend it wisely, he used to announce in the middle aisle of farm foods. Once a week, while other families were having a takeaway, we would all have a special family meal that we and the Mitchell clan used to call basically all the crap that's left in the freezer.

For your tea, you would have a quarter of lasagna, a mixed three chips and potato wedgesges and half a puff pastry. Yeah, Dad called it Glasgow Tapas. One of my earliest memories was when my Dad worked for Singer Sewing Machines. At home we all knew how to sew. Remember home economics at school? Half the year you would do sewing and the other half you would do baking. Right, we were all good sewers. So after six months in home economics all my classmates were struggling to finish a pillowcase and after two weeks I'd made a double dovey and matching curtains. I'd go with my dad into other people's houses to watch him repair sewing machines.

When I was eight years old, he took me along to a customer's house for a home repair visit. The elderly lady was too frail to travel into Edinburgh. I remember stepping into that old woman's house and smelling pee. Dad, after changing my pants, he noticed the reason the ladies sewing machine wasn't working was because she'd put the sewing machine needle in the wrong way round. Now even though the company position was to always take that sewing machine away regardless, back to the workshop, my dad turned her needle around and charged her nothing. She was delighted and she gave me a £1 coin.

I looked at that coin and thought, pfft, I need to pee myself more often. Laughter Not only was my dad rewarded that day, but I was rewarded too, because of my dad's kindness. It was the sweetest £1 I'd ever earned, and I still think about what that £1 coin meant to me. That old lady had more money in her pocket, I had money in mine, yet my dad had none. But everyone left that old lady's house that day richer, including my dad, because of his act of kindness.

Anyway, enough of morals and let's get back to me getting richer than a bunch of HS2 consultants. I've worked in government, the kind of job loathed and hated by the average member of the public, but I thought I could go one better so I became a banker As a banker I get big bonuses which paid for the fastest cars the finest wines and the very best experiences that your money could buy your money thank you thank you I wasn't quite Wolfie Wall Street but maybe the Badgery Buchanan Street. I fitted in perfectly. I took my girlfriend at the time on safari in South Africa,

using commission earned from other people's pain and misery. Did I feel bad? Aye. Devastated. I never even saw one rhino. In banking, this is how I operated. I'd fold you up and I'd say, it's time for your annual review. You had no idea when you take my call that dark clouds start to gather around you and I drag your sorry arse into my office. I can't be bothered coming to see you. You have to come and see me. Classic power move. And if it feels familiar, grannies do the exact same thing.

Now I don't like to blow my own trumpet, but make no mistakes about it, I was good at my job. I was like the Man United of banking, always getting results. Sorry, not Man United, Man City. Bankers won't admit this, I will because I don't work there anymore. Before you'd come in for your annual review, I'd find out everything about you. I would gain your personal and savings account information. Anytime you talk to someone at a counter or via telephone or on an app, it's recorded on a customer management system. So that when I meet you, I can use it against you.

I was your financial stalker. That's why in the branches they're called tellers. Because they tell us everything. And when we have everything signed over to the bank, we'd high-five each other under the table. Well, high-three in my case, because I'm missing the tips of two fingers. You know, you go, starving at Gordon Ramsay's.

I appreciate that might not work for the radio. Sorry at the end, what's your name? Ron. Ron, can you confirm that the radio listeners are missing the tips? He is indeed missing the tips. Thank you. What do you do for a job? I'm a teacher. Oh good, so you can be trusted. I was good at maths, even better at fractions.

So as a banker I was like Facebook before there was Facebook. I knew all your business, that's probably why they're closing all the branches. They don't need staff in a desk to gather your information. You're making it easier for us now by putting all this crap in line. Remember years ago you would be worried about a pervert stealing your knickers off a washing line. Putting all your stuff online is like skipping around to the perverts house and posting your pants phrase letter box. At your one to one review I didn't care where you went recently on holiday, I'd just be mad I missed out on selling you travel insurance.

That reminds me, it's all about kickbacks and how much commission we can make, and all you are to us is a great big cash register. Ka-ching! And I was only ever interested in what car you drove so I could sell you a PCP agreement. How ridiculous is that? Bankers flogging cars. That's as stupid as tyre companies. Reviewing restaurants. I would switch your pension, refinance your mortgage and this is how it worked. split your pension, refinance your mortgage and this is how it worked. I'd take over your business and all your private banking and now my boss is happy and the establishment

is happy as should anything go wrong with your business, the bank had hold of everything. And during this process you've paid enough fees so that I get my commission. These safaris don't pay for themselves. They're at least £500 a day minimum. And for me, that doesn't even cover lunch. Although my boss was happy, my dad wouldn't have been. It went against everything he taught me. There will be people listening to this thinking, but Stuart, you're just doing your job. and those people are a bunch of bankers.

And see where this is all going on. I would offer you and your business free use of our meeting rooms as a massed perk, so you can have meetings with your clients. You'd think this was nice, but it wasn't't nice because if it was nice we wouldn't do it. I would take a note of the time of your meeting so that I could pounce on all your clients and screw them as well. It's like saying to a little gazelle if you introduce me to all your gazelle friends you can have free use of that watering hole and the gazelles are like what a lovely kind considerate crocodile

obviously we don't call it robbing our customers we call it networking and stakeholder relationships only I was the one holding the stake. It's all false. It's all a performance. Basically networking is when I pretend to be your pal in order to get something from you. And see if your business does fail and you lose your company and your home while you're sitting on a park bench crying into your cider, thinking it was all your fault. As bankersers we let you think that you never had enough belief. We told you you just weren't committed enough when in fact you never stood a chance. On the plus side there's loads of

pigeons in the party catch a dinner. The truth is the table was rigged from the start and banks are like casinos, the house always wins. As bankers we know what cards you're holding, as we've dealt you them. And see if you manage to hang on in there when you no longer generate enough fees through loans, overdrafts or finance deals. I'd downgrade you to a banking call centre where you have to hold for 15 minutes, which is just a ploy to hope that you hang

up and piss off. And see, as a staff member in the bank, if you don't go along with this, you're out. You get demoted for kindness. In fact, it goes a little something like this. Time for your annual review. Mr Mitchell, we're not fully satisfied with your work. You've been showing a worrying degree of humanity and goodwill towards your fellow man. Some people have even spotted you being kind during business hours. I'm sorry, but that's gross misconduct.

As soon as my dad turned the needle around in that old lady's sewing machine for free, he would have been shipped out, he would have been binned. You see, at the bank, I totally understood my actions and motivations. I know what I did, and I know why I did it. I loved money. I loved money, I loved money. In cars, sex, in booze. Oh, in safaris.

LAUGHTER I was mad for stuff. But I didn't realise at the time I just wasn't happy. But it's hard to know you're miserable when you're having sex holding a glass of champagne. LAUGHTER But it's hard to know you're miserable when you're having sex holding a glass of champagne. Looking at a rhino through binoculars. All the money I earned at the time bought a relationship.

Never brought one, it bought one. Where my partner at the time was only after one thing and it wasn't me. An empty, superficial relationship based on lust and non-stop sex. Which is fine for a while. And then you wake up surrounded by empty champagne bottles covered in love bites and you think there must be more to life than this. And then something happened that made me throw in the towel as it was only one person I would never hurt, my dad. When my actions started affecting my own dad I started to question what I was doing. I honestly would look at myself in the mirror and

I would ask Stuart what are you doing? And just as I was ready to tell myself what I was doing was wrong, the financial crash hit and everything changed and I left the banking sector. Well, I waited until year end so I didn't miss out on my bonnet. Once a banker, always a banker. Yes, I left banking. But how did I get to that point and what did I do next? Well, listen up. I'm about to tell you. I thought a high-flying salary in banking and loads of stuff would make me happy. Whereas all it taught me was banks,

employed, people like me to get as much money out people like you as possible. Well, not people like this audience, slightly richer. You know the kind that will pay for a ticket. the kind that will pay for a ticket. For bankers there was only one rule, do not lose money. And then came the 2008 financial crash. I sat there in the bank when the financial crash hit and I felt really sorry, admittedly for myself, but it was a start. All I cared about was how it would impact me and then karma struck. During that period my dad lost over a hundred thousand pounds and his pension gone and his financial advisor still took his 2% commission. Disgusting. I used to charge at least 4% and since Dad was family. It was my Dad's fault of course. he picked the wrong investment, he should have been

more prepared, he should have seen the crash coming. Do you know how they say investments can go up as well as down? Well they can also go down as well as down, and down again. Even though sometimes we suggested they would go up and up again. Dad was made to feel as if it was all his fault. And banking, I did this to people every single day, everything that went against how my dad brought me up. So after avoiding mass redundancies, I started to question if being really good at my job at the bank was a good or bad thing. I decided it was time to quit and I sat and wrote my resignation letter. Well, I had to wait as the letter took four days to clear.

I handed my resignation letter to my boss back in the day when you had these things called offices. When I resigned, my boss did something that I'll never forget. She went to the bathroom, came out looking chalk white, and then she did something that all banks do when a competent member of staff who's sticking to their ways of working resigned. They offered me more money. And finally, for the first time, I did something that today would make my dad proud having listened to this story, but at that moment in time horrified him.

I said no. I mean if they'd upped it by another 15 year old. But the bank wanted to dangle that one final carrot in front of me in order to stay. A promotion, working at the Sister Bank in New Zealand. Although they forgot to tell their sister bank or indeed any members of the organisation I was travelling over 11,000 miles for the interview. I arrived and they'd already filled the position the previous day. I'd literally moved heaven and the other side of the earth for them and this was my wake-up call. I mean financially I was going to be screwed

but I said no to more cash, more stuff and more everything. You know now I say that out loud, no Stuart you did the right thing, you did the right thing. And I said yes to starting that journey to be my true self, the unfiltered Stuart Mitchell. So I left the backstabbing, egotistical, sleazy world of banking for a complete change in the world of stand-up comedy. Why comedy? No, I'm asking you. Before I resigned from the bank, they paid for me to do a sales course at a local college and I changed the paperwork on the submission documents to a comedy writing module. I'm just thinking of someone in the bank HR department getting the invoice after I left

and saying, is this guy having a laugh? Ah, he refers to between seven and nine. I always thought if it raised suspicions and my line manager asked if something funny was going on, I could say yes with a clear conscience. Do you know what made that comedy course amazing? It was being subsidised by the tax pay... No, I'm joking. The bank was paying for it.

Finally someone was screwing them over. So, I did a comedy showcase at the end of the course and the teacher said, Stuart, you have to stick with it. Not with the comedy, with the course, because I was terrible. I'd finally found my purpose and I was going to conquer the world and then I realised in comedy when you first start there's

literally no wage. But comedy gave me something the government and certainly banking didn't, the freedom just to do something I loved. And unlike the treasury and mostly in banking, the irony is to become who I wanted to be, I didn't have to pretend to be someone I wasn't. My comedy act was not putting on an act. But some things weren't so funny. I realised I had to sell everything, I had to get rid of all my stuff and I wasn't donating it for free. You ever tried taking a BMW to a charity shop? I paid £38,000 for a brand new BMW. Well I say paid, I took out an HP agreement. But a car I only bought six months previous was now worth £29,000. So I owed them £9,000.

worth 29,000. So I owed them £9,000. How does that work? Well as a former banker I know fine well how it works. I just did that for dramatic effect. The difference between the loan I'd taken out and what the car was now worth was £9,000. In the financial world when an asset loses a portion of its value, we call this taking a haircut. And on that note, another situation I was in was I'd signed to have a hair transplant. I paid £5,000 and then I had to pay another £5,000 six weeks later when the surgery was over. I started panicking. I was pulling my hair out. was over. I started panicking, I was pulling my hair out. Which only added to the ghost. I'll ask the Scottish audience, very good. Imagine someone said that after every joke, very good. I love that.

The bank I previously worked for had frozen my credit card, so I had to make a decision. Do I lose my £5,000 deposit and lose my hair, or do I find £5,000 and lose my mind? Skint was bad enough, but Skint and Baldi would have killed me See when you lose your job or you leave a job you don't just go from 80,000 pounds a year to zero you go into debt very quickly as not only do you have nothing coming in, everything is still going out it's like constipation in reverse Next to sell was a Louis Vuitton bag that cost me a

thousand pound. I know some people in this audience won't even pay five p for a bag. I once paid a grand as everyone else at the bank had one so I needed one. It's a man bag. It's not even unisex. Mind you, if you took this to uni I don't think you'd get any sex. Again, I wanted to be in par with everyone else, part of a higher social status. This bag was worth more than all the crap that was inside it. It was like carrying my steak bake around in a Ming Vaz. Now, everyone who buys these designer goods, I believe, as Americans would say, drunk the Kool-Aid. Or swallowed the propaganda.

It's art verbs featuring top celebrities. Buy a Louis Vuitton bag. Step out in style. It's the name you pay for. Louis Vuitton, a thousand pounds. Gordon Ramsay, six hundred and forty. Stuart Mitchell, three. I noticed when walking to a comedy gig

this magnificent thousand pound man bag awesome thingy beauty. When we're in the front what's your name? Laura. See this, don't touch it. See this designer bag? After six months it had a hole in it. I only noticed when my mini cheddareddars started falling But it's fine, I had my receipt for the bag, not the mini cheddars They were lost to me So you've got a bag for a thousand pound and you've got your receipt and it's got a hole in it. What do you do? You take it back to the shop. So this is what I did. I walked into the shop and this is what I wanted to happen. Hi there, I bought this bag six months ago, it's got a hole in it,

I paid a thousand pounds. Well that shouldn't happen, it's a quality product, we'll exchange it straight away. The goods are clearly not of the quality expected. That's what I thought would happen. That never happened. This happened. Hi there, I bought this bag six months ago and it's got a hole in it, I paid a thousand pounds for it. The woman in the shop looked at me, she looked at the bag and she looked back at me and she

went, you've been using that bag excessively she said this bags for occasional use not everyday use and I thought well it never came with a label, saying I could only use it in bank holidays. And considering I used to work for a bank, bank holidays are the only days I'll not be using it. If I pay £1,000 for a bag, I expect to be able to use it every day. I expect if I'm caught in gunfire, bullets will bounce off that bag. I expect if I'm caught in gunfire bullets will bounce off that bag. I expect if in the event of a nuclear war I get inside this bag and when I get back out there's nothing left on the planet except me, cockroaches and that bag.

She says, have you been putting it in the dust bag every day provided? Who puts a bag within a bag? You don't buy a sports car and drive it about with the garage still attached. She says, you've been putting that over your shoulder and rubbing it every day. And I went, I'm sorry. Maybe you're right. It's me. It's my fault.

I've been abusing my man bag. They made me feel that I was actually in the wrong. I'd walked right into a trap. If I wanted a bag for life, I should have gone to Tesco. Instead of thinking these people have robbed me blind, I did exactly what I'd always done. Nothing. It was my fault. Louis Vuitton obviously make great bags, so it must be my fault. In the same way, the banker knows everything about money, so it's my dad's fault he lost

his pension. This is how compliant we've become in society. You see, it's a vested interest in the system staying the way it is. At the bank, any doubts we all had about our working practices were instantly and suddenly washed away by our annual bonus. Cleansed in a bath of cash, the coins exfoliated and the notes rubbed off the dead cells. But none of it made me happy. Money can't buy you love.

It can't buy you morals. It can't buy you doing the right things and it certainly doesn't buy you happiness. Except now, not only was I not happy, but I didn't have my annual bonus. I was down and out. I mean, I ended up having to pay the £10,000 for the the hair transplant but after a while that's got a hole in it too. It's not perfect if you look really closely you can see my pubic hair. Everything was financed through loans and credit cards, as what I've learned from being a banker is use other people's money as much as possible.

I had no car, I was £50,000 in negative equity, plus in loans and credit cards I owed over £37,000. So I did what any reasonable person would do, would push to the edge. I became a serial killer. But to find out the body count you'll have to wait until the next episode. Stuart Mitchell's Cost of Living was written and performed by me, Stuart Mitchell. It was produced by Lauren McKay and was a BBC Scotland production for Radio 4.

My name's Joe Wilkinson and I've managed to force Patrick Bamford to come on a podcast with me. So basically, we're going to flip it a little bit. We're going to find out what it's actually like to be you. I've asked Ricky Gervais. The best thing about being a comedian is getting paid to say what you want. That's still pretty wild to me. Your job is to make people laugh. There's just not many downsides.

Your job sounds pretty good, doesn't it? Yeah, maybe he should have done this set. Search for My Mate's Football on BBC Sounds.