The weirdest gig I ever did in Edinburgh was an ‘Eco-Friendly, Black-Tie Dinner’ for the Princes’ Trust. I know. It was in a posh hotel, and most of the guests were business leaders fishing for ethically-farmed, Fair Trade Knighthoods. I’d been asked to perform a condensed version of my solo show, ‘Eco-Friendly Jihad’. The premise was that we can radically reduce carbon emissions by joining Al Qaeda. Who else can save the planet from airlines, oil companies and overpopulation? It wasn’t the most obvious choice. I was brought on during desert. I opened by reassuring the diners that - despite being Irish - I’m the proud owner of a Prince Charles teapot. It never reigns, but it pours. The gig went downhill from there. A third of the audience were half-listening. The rest were chatting amongst themselves. As I was plodding through, I noticed a bald head making a slightly tipsy journey through the assembled diners. Next thing I knew, Gail Porter had marched on stage, seized my microphone and started swearing at her fellow guests. The general gist, minus expletives, was “this guy’s really funny and he’s saying something important. So shut up and stop being so bloody ignorant.” The room was shocked into silence. Gail smiled. She handed me back the mike. Cautiously, I re-started my set from the beginning. This time, I had everyone’s full attention. After a minute or two the crowd really got behind me, and by the time I finished with a musical number they were clapping and singing along. I walked off and gave Gail a huge hug. For the rest of the evening, everyone I spoke to said exactly the same thing. “You were funny, mate. But that Gail Porter... who does she think she is?” I have no idea who Gail Porter thinks she is. But since that night, she’s been my personal hero.