Circuit Training 32: Blue-Sky Thinking with Andrew Collins

Usually in this column we talk to stand-ups who are dabbling with the broadcast business, but for number 32 we turn to a designer turned journalist turned broadcaster turned Eastenders scriptwriter turned author turned script editor turned radio DJ turned sitcom-writer who last year had a crack at stand-up too (and apologies if we've omitted any major career moves there).

British Comedy Guide regulars will know all about Collins' various ups and downs via his hugely popular podcast with Richard Herring, and recent months have brought exciting new developments. Like season four of Seinfeld where Jerry and George's 'show about nothing' went from pitch to pilot - with Collins as a sort of Bizarro-World Costanza - Andrew's own semi-autobiographical sitcom has finally been made, umpteen years after he came up with it.

Mr Blue Sky features a stellar cast - Mark Benson, Rebecca Front - and is on Radio 4 as we speak, albeit in the not-entirely listener-friendly Monday lunchtime slot (thank heavens for iPlayer, eh?). We meet Collins in the nervy period shortly after that first episode aired...

The first episode of Mr Blue Sky has just gone out: were you listening, lurking on Twitter and the like?

By chance, I was up in Northampton, staying with my parents, so I actually sat in their living room with them while it went out. This was weird. They're not Radio 4 listeners, as a rule, but they have always been very supportive of, and interested in, whatever job I've decided I want to do that week. They seemed to enjoy it.

But I have been nervous about it ever since we finished editing it a month ago. There's nothing you can do about it, but it's going out into the world, for people to judge. Not just critics - although I was relieved to have got a couple of fair previews in the weekend papers - and one horrible one in the Mail ("unfunny and unconvincing" - see how a writer can only ever quote the bad reviews!) - but the real people. The people who matter. And, of course, with the internet, everyone is a critic anyway.

I'm pretty thin-skinned. I'm in the wrong job. Why do I put myself through this?

But yet I lurked on Twitter, and the people who listened were extremely kind. I do actually care what they think. It's a weird and antisocial time of day to have a show on, 11.30am, so I'm expecting more response as the iPlayer listeners get home.

I always listen or watch a transmission live, as it doesn't feel real until that golden moment, when the announcer announces it. A particular thrill on Radio 4, naturally.

It's about a chap with serious problems who refuses to dwell on them. Where did the idea come from?

I am the eternal optimist. I always have been. It helped me through the '80s when we all thought there was going to be a nuclear war. I convinced myself that there wouldn't be, through sheer force of optimism that the human race would not destroy itself. Hard to explain that to people who don't remember the '80s. It was a scary time, the Cold War. Anyway, Harvey Easter, Mr Blue Sky himself, is a version of me, except one with everyday things to worry about - bringing up a family, mostly, which is where he and I part ways. He has two troublesome teenagers and I don't, so I think that would require a pretty big dose of optimistic spirit to cope with.

I came up with him in 1997. Yes, 1997. That's 14 years ago. The show was aimed at that point at telly, as a TV exec had encouraged me to come up with something of my own. But it never went very far. I've dug it out a couple of times since - once when I was among a whole group of writers asked to pitch one-off dramas, which Mr Blue Sky was never intended to be anyway; and once when I was in a drama meeting with a BBC commissioning editor and the old question, "Have you got any other ideas?" came up; Mr Blue Sky was received with no enthusiasm on that occasion.

Avalon, the production company with whom I've worked on Banter, TV Burp and Not Going Out, wanted to pitch something of mine to TV in 2009, so I dusted Mr Blue Sky down and got instant enthusiasm. So I developed it further, and we managed to get some development money out of BBC Comedy, which resulted in a pilot script that was then passed on. Back into the box it went. But Avalon are a tenacious bunch and reasoned that Radio 4 might be a much better place to bring Harvey to life. Radio 4 were immediately keen, and hugely supportive about the potentially dark subject matter. They gave brilliant notes during the writing of the four episodes, which helped enormously.

It's grittier than many would expect from a lunchtime Radio 4 sitcom, and there's a bit of a cliffhanger already. Is a bit of that old Eastenders spirit still strong in you?

Well, the (SPOILER ALERT IF YOU HAVEN'T HEARD EPISODE ONE YET) aneurysm that Harvey discovers he has in his brain is as close as we have to a story arc across the series, but it's best not to resolve anything if you want a second series, which we do. I have made that mistake before: plotting in a sort of resolution, which you don't want in a sitcom. Simon Day and I, through sheer force of will and determination, wrote Grass as a serial. We even had to put "previously on..." montages at the beginning.

This is not sitcom in the traditional sense. You should be able to drop in at any point and pick up the story. Not with Grass! I'm glad we did, and were allowed to do by the BBC, as I think, as a stand-alone series, it's more powerful with its ending. We failed to get a second series as we'd effectively written ourselves out of that possibility. We wanted to have a major character killed, but our producer cautioned against it. We may as well have killed them all off, thinking back.

On the podcast you and Richard Herring often discuss the difficulties of the broadcast business: was this one development hell or development heaven?

Well, as I've said, it was hell up to a point, then turned into heaven. But remember this: Mr Blue Sky is the first solo project I've ever had commissioned. I've been involved in piloting projects that have been commissioned - Grass, Not Going Out, The Persuasionists, Banter, The Day The Music Died - but none have been mine. One day I will actually log every single idea for a sitcom I've had rejected in the 15 years I've been pitching. It would be an enormous list of lost opportunities.

Around the time of thinking up Mr Blue Sky, I followed my exec at Channel 5's Family Affairs to the BBC - Mal Young - and with his encouragement I worked on two pilots, a comedy drama and a drama, for BBC2, both of which were passed on after a lot of work on pilot scripts. Part of the game is putting up with rejection. It can be cruel and sometimes seemingly arbitrary, but you have to get back up again. If you don't, you're in the wrong job.

You learn to sit in as many meetings as your agent can get you, in the hope that one of these amorphous, ill-defined projects solidifies into something that might earn you money for food.

MBS has an interesting cast, from heavy-hitters to well-known Collins associates: how big a say did you have in the casting?

I'm glad to say I had a big say in casting. The final say, in fact.

Because it's radio, actors of a very high calibre seem to fall over themselves to be in it, as it's quick work with no wigs and costume fittings or sitting around in caravans. The cast were booked for five days, and that was it. Because of this, we were able to cast reasonably close to the record dates, and juggle people, and we pretty much got the cast we were after. Mark Benton was always on my wish list. (Simon and I had wanted him for Grass, but couldn't get him.) Anna, my producer at Avalon, made a lot of really good suggestions - I think she suggested Rebecca Front, who I've always loved and I was so flattered when she said yes, I think on the strength of one completed script?

Anna has more experience with actors than I have, and kept the ideas coming while I was writing the thing. She found Javone Prince, who was so good as the DJ boyfriend Kill-R - I watched PhoneShop once she'd put him forward and I knew we'd found our Kill-R. If not for Gutted - Martin White and Danielle Ward's amazing musical from Edinburgh last year - and his performance in it, I might never have considered Michael Legge, who is my friend, but Anna went to see him live and agreed that we could make the English shop assistant Rory into an Irish shop assistant called Sean. I couldn't imagine him any other way now.

If you've worked with people before, you want to gather them around you. And when you're casting a new comedy, you have a certain amount of power. So you don't want to abuse it either. I would never have pushed for Michael if I didn't think he'd be brilliant, and I was right. He was. At least one person who's heard all four episodes said Sean is her favourite character.

Interesting distinction: when you pitch to TV, they're desperate to hear casting suggestions before you've typed word one. There's a lot more money riding on it, and they're always trying to place desirable names in new projects. I remember Nicholas Lyndhurst's name coming up at an early stage with the BBC - totally wrong for the part but... a big name! Thankfully, when you get to the radio, it's more about how good the actor will be. As it happens, although Mark isn't a household name he has a household voice and a household face - everybody knows him. So he perfectly straddles mainstream recognition and indie credibility. I've liked him ever since Career Girls.

Do you get more fulfilment from writing a script than from, say, music journalism: actually creating stuff rather than commenting on the creations of others?

I find that my critical teeth have fallen out since I started writing for TV. I find it very difficult to pull something apart, as I think there but for the grace of God etc. (Hey, I script edited The Persuasionists - I know what it's like to be eaten by wolves and I didn't even write it.) I'm sure I used to write a lot of horrible things at the NME, but that was part of the gig, and I was in my twenties and trying to make a name for myself. These days, I'm so utterly fair-minded about stuff I probably shouldn't be a critic at all.

And I'm not one. I only review books and records for Word magazine that I fancy. And I pick stuff to review for my new Guardian TV review video thing Telly Addict that are of interest. Because I write for TV, I feel the pain of anybody else who does. It's easy to say, "Lazy writing" or "bad writing," but is it the fault of the writer, or is the fault of the Producer, or the Script Editor, or the Commissioning Editor?

What was the highpoint of your rock 'n' roll writing career? Any particularly memorable on-the-road experiences?

Getting stuck in a broken down tour bus with Soundgarden somewhere on the border between Germany and Holland, if I remember correctly. Hiding in a wardrobe with Rod Stewart. Having Joe Strummer threaten to firebomb ITV when he discovered that Collins & Maconie's Movie Club had been cancelled. Dancing onstage with Carter USM in Prague just after the Velvet revolution in a basement club where rumour had it that Vaclav Havel and Allen Ginsberg had previously been seen. Being onstage with Bon Jovi at Wembley Stadium, sat at a barstool at a bar which was part of their stage set. Having shit sent to me by the Levellers. Giving Toni Halliday a book of poetry, from which she drew lyrical inspiration for a song on Curve's second album. Being thanked by Catherine Wheel, The Wedding Present and Carter on album sleeves, which remains a thrill. Kissing Damon Albarn. That sort of caper. Having Noel Gallagher tell myself and Stuart Maconie in the mid-90s that we had "the worst fuckin' hair cuts I have ever seen."

How did you end up doing stand-up? Had you always wanted to try it?

I've always been a show-off, and I've always loved comedy, not least stand-up, which I was lucky enough to see in its infant form - when it used to be called cabaret - in the '80s in London. I saw Paul Merton and Mark Lamarr and Mark Thomas and Mark Steel and so many other future stars in rooms above pubs. I feel an affinity with these people, but never considered that I could ever be their equal. Without the experience of Lloyd Cole Knew My Father at Edinburgh 2001 behind me (where Stuart Maconie and I weren't stand-ups, we were music journalists reading out a script we'd written), and of course the patronage of Richard Herring, I would never have dared to do a one-man show in 2010.

But it's out of my system now. I found other stand-ups to be very supportive and not threatened or bitter or resentful of me skipping out the dues-paying part. But my shows in Edinburgh were free, and that was the most honest way of doing it. I enjoyed it, and it drained me emotionally, and I opted to retire straight afterwards, not to draw attention to myself, but to draw a line under it.

Putting out a DVD of Secret Dancing is an ambition fulfilled. Good old Go Faster Stripe! And good old Peter Buckley-Hill and the Free Fringe, without whom it would literally never have happened. But no more. I am too old to start working nights. I already admired Richard, but I admire him twice as much now.

Edinburgh can be harrowing for even hardened stand-ups: what were the biggest ups and downs for you last year? Was it helpful living with other comics?

I couldn't have asked for nicer comedy flatmates: Richard was off the booze and barely left the flat except at night, when he was doing his show, and in the afternoon when we were doing our podcast shows, while Tom Wrigglesworth and Justin Moorhouse were less likely to be home at night, and were good for a pint.

As I've said, other comics gave me lots of advice. Gary Delaney and Sarah Millican actually gave me some notes, which I immediately acted upon. This is not the behaviour of bitter, resentful, jaundiced comics, is it? The biggest down of Edinburgh was finishing and going home. I only did two and a half weeks, most of them do four; again, I was a lightweight, and it still damn near wasted me. But I have a lot of friends in comedy, and most of them were in Edinburgh, so it was super sociable. I missed home nonetheless. As I say, I am too old to start this now.

You've just started a new Guardian, er, vlog (?): is this the future? Have you looked at the comments underneath yet? Can the Guardian really afford such things?

I confess I have looked at the comments, but only because partisan folk who follow me on Twitter assured me there were no horrible ones. Which is pretty miraculous. I wish they wouldn't ask for comments under EVERYTHING! Because it's just my face, the one I was born with, talking in a little box, I expected far more abuse about something I can't rectify without surgery. I have had nasty comments about my face on comedy forums, and on the Word magazine forum, and even in a book review in the Telegraph, of all places. What good does that do? I mean, it's a free country where comment is free, but that does not mean that abuse about faces is allowed, does it?

I still occasionally get nasty comments left on my blog, even though I moderate comments myself and am unlikely to publish a nasty dig. What sort of pointless power trip is that? It's like scrawling a swear word on a wall and running away. So, the Guardian thing, as I call it, might be the immediate future, and I'm enjoying doing it, harvesting the clips and coming up with some jokes to be delivered in a style that is not Charlie Brooker's. Also, I've never really cracked the Guardian as a employer, so it feels like a back door victory.

Guide to 'Mr Blue Sky'   Listen to 'Mr Blue Sky' on iPlayer