Ross Noble: “I considered living in the wild. I researched eating snails”

When I was younger I was a bit all over the place. I had a real problem with school. I hated it so much. I had such a great life at home, always doing things, building stuff, very happy. But then on Sunday nights I had this crushing sense of foreboding about the school week coming, and it was so horrible it made me feel sick. I found it intensely boring, frustrating and so restrictive. I was so bad at writing things down [he was diagnosed as dyslexic at 11], I started overcompensating by putting my hand up to answer every question. And I became a good talker, a bit of a performer.

I used to think a lot about what I’d do when I grew up because I clearly wasn’t going to be a doctor or a lawyer. I got interested in survival skills. I was quite practical in my stupidity. My thinking was, if I can’t get a job I can go and live in the wild. I researched eating snails. Then I thought I’d join the army, and I could learn how to trap animals and survive in difficult terrain. I was bang up for the SAS. My dad pointed out I’d last five minutes in the army because – one, they’d expect you to kill people, and two, they’d expect you to do what you’re told. So I thought, well that’s not going to work. Then I wanted to be a stuntman because you just jump off things and set fire to things and I could do that. But it seemed a hard thing to get in to. I used to jump off walls into piles of boxes – I think I was expecting a Hollywood producer to walk past with a cigar and say: “Hey kid, I’m gonna put you in the movies.” But it never happened.

For a while my plan was to join the circus. I taught myself to juggle and unicycle, and a mate and I started busking in Newcastle. We would come home with a couple of hundred quid in our pockets! Then when I was 15 I went to see a comedy show, discovered stand-up and immediately decided it was for me. I got gigs straight away, and I started writing sketches. At 15 I was on Tyne Tees television, mixing with adults, hanging around in comedy clubs. I moved to London when I was 18 and got on the comedy circuit. The world opened up to me very quickly. It was like, bang! My friends were at school being told, Oh, you have to be practical, you have to make your way, you can’t just be a dreamer. And at the same time a lightbulb was going on over my head telling me, actually, that’s all bullshit. You just need to crack on with life.

My dad pointed out I’d last five minutes in the army because – one, they’d expect you to kill people, and two, they’d expect you to do what you’re told

At school I was deemed a bit of a geek. At that time there wasn’t a big push to celebrate people being different. So when I went to school on my unicycle and talked all day about comedy, people would say – but you’re not funny. It was white-hot negativity. So the kind of heckling I got at gigs felt like nothing. It didn’t bother me. I think that’s stood me in good stead ever since. When I get Twitter abuse I just think, do I really care what that person thinks of me? Someone who’s had a few drinks and gone on their computer? No.

If I went back and told my 16-year-old self what’s happened in his life – not to sound big-headed – he’d just say, yeah, so it’s all panned out then, I just kept doing it. I think he’d be surprised that I’d managed to have a stable, balanced home life. I’ve got my wife and kids and a really nice house. If you’d gone back and told me, even at 20, that would be the case I’d have laughed in your face. I grew up in a new town, very safe, everyone washed their cars on a Sunday – I used to look at that and say, that’ll never be me. I saw myself as a rambling gypsy, going off having adventures, a chaotic life. And until I met my wife, my life was a bit like that. But it’s turned out that I can have a bit of both. I can go off on tour and I can still have adventures. Last week my mate and I packed a load of rice pudding and went off around Devon, travelling on dirt roads, on our bikes, just camping. It was amazing.

Having kids certainly made me more focused. It’s made me manage my time better. Before I had kids I wouldn’t just have gone round Devon for a week, I’d have disappeared for ages. But people often say, especially after a big change like a life-threatening illness, oh, it’s made me realise how amazing life is. And I always think, really – you didn’t realise that before? I’ve always felt that. And my life has just got better and better.

So many things, the absence of things, trigger memories of what happened

Losing all our things was a massively traumatic thing [his house was burned down in a bush fire in Australia in 2009]. And it is difficult just returning to having no more than the clothes you’re wearing. But you can always put it into perspective – we weren’t refugees. We went to my in-laws and sat down and talked about it. We weren’t running down the road with men chasing us, shooting at us. A lot of people died or were horribly injured by those fires. But every single thing I’d ever owned, in my whole life, went up in that fire. Stuff my dad had given me before he died. The only copy of our wedding video. And so many things, the absence of things, trigger memories of what happened. Afterwards you’re going about your day and you think, I need a bit of string. I better buy some string. I need to peel these potatoes; I have to buy a potato peeler.

If I could go back and live a moment again, it would probably be before my dad got ill. I’d like to go back and just spend more time with him when he was up and about. But I’d also happily go back to last weekend. It was unbelievable. We had loads of family around, the kids were running about having their faces painted, we were all sitting outside in the sunshine. It doesn’t get much better than that. But I appreciate every single moment. I stop and smell the roses every day. Even if you’re having a shitty day in the rain in this country, you’re still winning life’s lottery. At least everything’s not on fire.