We hear so much about the “tragic” comics – Tony Hancock, for instance – that the tragedy tends to overshadow the body of work that they leave behind.

Of course it makes a good story for the media to talk about lonely comics, holed up in hotel rooms, away from their families and friends, topping themselves.

Dwelling on these actions, however, enforces the tragedy, and increases the legend, which always results in us being unable to forget these characters.

Personally speaking I’m not a big fan of Tony Hancock’s; but there are others, such as Kenneth Williams, who might well have committed suicide, whose loss was a sad one for many British comedy fans.

Yet these types of figures don’t (I hope I’m not tempting fate here) seem to be with us anymore in the world of comedy, at least.  There are obviously the mental health problems that Paul Merton suffered, and other comics have terrible times on the road, from the club circuit all the way to the top.

Is it that these days comedians are made of sterner stuff?

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