You know that sense when you’re at a comedy club and one of the acts properly has your number? That is what happens when you see Liam Withnail. He’s not doing that standard stand-up routine you’ve seen a hundred times before. This lad from Dagenham has transformed his life experiences, the messy, confusing, and often cruel moments, into something that makes you laugh until your sides ache, and then suddenly, you find yourself wiping away tears for a completely different reason.
I got wind of Liam from a mate who’d caught him at the Edinburgh Fringe. “You’ve got to see this bloke,” they said. “He’s different.” They weren’t wrong.
Proper Runner at 18
Liam, 18, was living with his parents in Dagenham. He had this idea that he wanted to try something different that involves drama and comedy. The normal route would be to tell about his ideas to his parents. But he did not. Liam’s route? Packed a bag and moved to Edinburgh. Didn’t tell his mum and dad. Just went.
I mean, imagine coming home to find your kid’s bedroom empty and getting a call from Scotland. “Yeah, hi, Mum. Edinburgh’s nice this time of year.”
This idea developed when he was eight, and he watched Jim Carrey in Liar Liar. That was it for him. It took him another decade to actually shift himself and do something about it, but once he decided, he was off. Heard about the Edinburgh Fringe, thought, “That’s where I need to be,” and moved up there hoping something would happen.
First Time on Stage
Mostly, it happens that people bomb their first gig. But not Liam.
The first time Liam performed in 2013 at The Stand Comedy Club in Edinburgh, people were laughing straightaway. They weren’t laughing out of sympathy either. Actual laughs.
There’s this thing he does where it feels like he’s just chatting. He does not give the impression that he is trying too hard or that he is performing. He is just being him, talking about stuff, and suddenly you’re crying laughing, and you don’t even know why.
The Illness Show
2023 rolls around. Liam puts on “Chronic Boom“.
Now, I don’t know about you, but if someone told me they were doing a comedy show about inflammatory bowel disease, then my first response would be, “Cheers, but no thanks.” Sounds grim, doesn’t it?
But Liam’s got ulcerative colitis. He was in hospital, his head full of this chronic illness, which is essentially the body attacking itself, and he figured, “Right-o, let’s make a show about it.”
His show sold out every night, and he got great reviews from The Independent, The Times, and all. For a show about his bowels playing up.
My friend Sarah’s got Crohn’s disease. She saw the show and messaged me after: “Finally, someone gets it. And makes it funny.” That’s what Liam does. Takes the stuff we don’t talk about and makes you feel less mental about it.
Edinburgh 2025 Was Mental
This year’s Liam Withnail Edinburgh Fringe run was something else. New show called “Big Strong Boy.” On the child’s leaving home for real (not the eye-rolling, dramatic teenage kind; I mean for actual adults). It’s about realising that your parents are just ordinary individuals who have been improvising all along about some personal trainer sliding into his DMs.
Sold out. Completely. Won a Skinny Award too.
Someone wrote that he “connects with audiences” in some rare way. And that’s right. Yeah, no kidding. I watched him in a room with maybe 180 people, and it felt like he was talking only to me. It’s a bit unnerving, actually, how good he is at that.
A Decade Without Booze
This summer, Liam hit ten years sober.
Ten years is massive. Especially when you’re working in comedy, where every single night ends in a pub. Everyone’s having a pint, the green room’s full of beer, and you’re standing there with your soft drink, trying to look normal.
He quit in his twenties. That’s when most of us are getting hammered every Friday. But he’d got to that place where drinking wasn’t fun anymore. It was an escape. And not the good kind.
Now he talks about it. In his shows, online, wherever. Helps other people feel less alone about their own stuff. Which matters more than most people realise.
Private Life Stays Private
People ask about Liam Withnail wife or who he’s dating. He doesn’t really talk about that stuff publicly. Fair play to him.
He’ll tell you about his Irish dad and also about his mum from Essex. Growing up with his brother and blaming everything on the cat. But the relationship stuff? That’s his own business.
From Dagenham to Everywhere
After “Chronic Boom” took off, Liam began to tour in earnest. Australia. Japan. Canada. Proper world tour stuff.
He has racked up more than 10 million views on TikTok and Instagram. Which is madness; everything in his comedy is geared for a live room, but it still works brilliantly on my tiny phone screen.
You can never sleep on Liam Withnail tour tickets these days. He is a Scottish Comedy Award winner for Best MC. Supported Nick Mohammed (Nate from Ted Lasso) on a big UK tour. That’s a suitable acknowledgement from someone who knows their stuff.
How Old Is He Then?
The Liam Withnail age question comes up a lot. He moved to Edinburgh at 18 in 2013. You can work it out if you want. But does it matter? Good comedy’s good comedy.
Why Bother?
There are about a zillion comics out there. Some are fine. A handful are pretty good. And a tiny minority are really great. Liam’s one of those few.
He’s not just making jokes about airports or phones or whatever people talk about. He’s talking about actual life. The messy bits. The ones you think only you have to deal with, then he comes along and is like, “Hey, everyone’s dealing with their own version of muck.”
I took three mates to his show last month. None of them had ever heard of him. By the end, they’d all booked tickets for his next show. My mate Rob said, “Best twenty quid I’ve spent in years.” He’s right, actually.
Liam’s not the type of comic to stand on stage and just offload all his trauma on you and then expect you to clap. He makes you laugh at how insane being human is. How we all put on this front, pretending like we have everything under control. While really, we’re all just winging it.
There was one bit in Big Strong Boy that made everyone stop chuckling for a few seconds. Not because it wasn’t funny. Because he’d said something so truthful that the whole room needed a second to let it sink in.
Then the laughter came back; only it was different now. Like everyone was thinking, “Yeah, same.” That’s what outstanding comedy does. Makes you feel less alone.
Just Go See Him
If Liam Withnail is coming to your town, you’ve got to get tickets. Drag your mates along. Take your partner. Your mum, if she can handle some proper honesty.
There isn’t much of this kind of comedy. The real kind. The kind where you laugh so much your face hurts and then think about your own life on the way home.
From a lad who ran away to Scotland without even telling anybody, he’s absolutely doing what he should be doing. Making strangers in dark rooms laugh about chronic illness and sobriety, and moving away from home. Lightening all of it up.
That’s worth something, I reckon.
In fact, it’s worth much more than that something. You should spend your time and your money, and possibly tell your mates about it afterwards.
One last thing: the first thing I did after I saw him was go home and call my mom. Don’t know why exactly. Something about the show made me want to. She was shocked when I called out of the blue on a random Tuesday night. We had a good chat.
That’s what Liam’s comedy does. Makes you think. Makes you feel. Makes you want to connect with people.
Not bad for a bloke from Dagenham who legged it to Edinburgh without telling his parents.
