Humour is an essential element in any culture, and the Celts enjoy their fair share of funny. And – with the myriad troubles facing the world today – there’s never been a better time for a belly laugh.

So, what makes the Celtic peoples so warm to wit? So grateful for a gag? So thirsty for tomfoolery? Recently, Celtic Life International spoke to three Celtic comedians to talk shop and uncover an answer.

Tadhg Hickey (Ireland)

Tadhg Hickey is, by his own admission, a late bloomer when it comes to comedy.

“I basically plucked up the courage in my early 30s – I was definitely late getting into the game.”

Hickey, who hails from Cork City, Ireland, says he took the academic route at first – having a great interest in world history – but knew that his heart was never really in it. As he puts it, he was too into shenanigans for a straight life.

“I always wanted to do comedy. For a while, I thought I was going to be an actor, then I realized I wasn’t very good. I went down a more commercial route with our national broadcaster here in Ireland, although it wasn’t controversial or thought-provoking comedy at all.

“We had some success with some sitcoms and whatnot. However, I felt dissatisfied as I wasn’t doing the type of comedy that I wanted to do, which was much more provocative, political comedy. I played the game and did the things I was supposed to do – gone to the meetings and conformed to the system – and it still didn’t work out. So, I thought, ‘I’ll just do my own thing’.

Sometimes fate has a wicked sense of humour too, as Hickey would finally get the chance to do the kind of comedy he wanted to do, but only after the whole world came to a screeching halt.

“It was a ‘necessity being the mother of invention’ kind of scenario, because I started doing that type of material and had a stand-up comedy tour booked, and then Covid-19 happened. And then I realized that I didn’t really enjoy touring that much. It wasn’t my favourite thing. Some comics just can’t wait to get on stage because it moves them in some way – I’m not like that at all. But being cooped up at home and having to make something happen myself, when the whole world was shut down? That appealed to my character.”

Hickey took to performing from his home – skits where he put his history nerd skills to work by portraying personified world superpowers as roommates, treating matters of global diplomacy as petty interpersonal squabbles.

“I became the geopolitical allegory guy, making all these countries work with these wigs and stuff. The beauty of it was – and this wasn’t deliberate – I’m terrible at accents, so everyone in the skits speaks with a Cork City accent. It had this weird democratizing effect – nobody could say you were being racist because all the African countries were me, Israel was me, Palestine was me, Britain was me, and Ireland was me.”

If any of this sounds familiar, there’s good reason – you might have encountered one or more of his skits on social media.

“One of the first sketches I did went completely viral and had millions of views, and it was on the BBC that night. I never realized that there was an interest in this type of comedy; I was literally just doing it because nothing else was working…”

Then, in October of 2023, Hickey stumbled upon another purpose his puns could serve.

“I already had a lot of Palestinian friends, and I was nervous about doing comedy at all because people were being murdered every day. But my Palestinian friends were like, ‘you need to get in here, because satire is going to play an absolutely crucial role in what’s ahead.’”

Hickey notes that he is now working with another comedienne, Nicole Jenes, to develop and produce a satirical news program called Not On Our Watch, with a planned 2026 release. Rather than approach big broadcasters like Netflix or Disney, however, they are looking to produce everything themselves.

Bennett Arron (Wales)

Called the “Welsh Seinfeld” by The Guardian, we caught up with Bennett Arron while he was a jokester-in-residence of sorts at the 2025 Edinburgh Festival Fringe.

“I have been here two weeks, and I have one more week to go,” he recounts. “This is my eighth time here – my sixth solo show. My show is an hour a day and most of them have been full houses, which is great. I do something called the Free Fringe, whereby you don’t pay for the venue, and the audience doesn’t pay to come in – instead, they give a contribution at the end.

Arron’s climb up the comedy ladder wasn’t without it’s challenges, however.

“I’m from a small place in South Wales called Port Talbot. I left to study drama in London when I was in my late teens. Drama school was a three-year course; I was kicked out after a year and a half. I did little bits of acting, then I started writing for TV, sending in sketches and ideas, and they got picked up, which went well. Then I was commissioned to write other stuff for several programs. One of the sketches I wrote, a producer said wasn’t ‘particularly funny’ and I thought, ‘that was the best thing I have ever written. How can I prove him wrong?’

“So, I thought maybe I could try it as a bit of stand-up, and if the audience laughs, I was right. I intended to do one gig, and I did it; the audience laughed, and I thought, ‘I’ll carry on a bit more.’”

That perseverance paid off, as Aaron was picked up by a BBC Comedy Awards talent scout who happened to be in the audience of his seventh or eighth stand-up gig.

“From there, I had an agent and started my career as a stand-up.”

Interestingly, parallel to his rise in the comedy circuit, another meteoric fall was about to make landfall.

“At the same time as I started my stand-up career, I also – unbeknownst to me – became the first major victim of identity theft in the UK,” Arron says matter-of-factly. “Somebody had used my name to open accounts and run up thousands of pounds worth of debt. My wife and I became penniless and homeless; we had to move in with my parents, and my wife was pregnant at the time.”

Amazingly, he was able to turn this stroke of bad luck into another career move.

“Years later, I wrote an Edinburgh show about it, my first ever show, which didn’t do well at the beginning,” he admits, recalling that his first two performances had to be cancelled for lack of attendance. After his fourth show, however, one member of the media gave him a rave review. “Then it picked up and did really well. On the back of that, I still go around the world talking about fraud and identity theft and cyber security.

“I was approached by Channel Four to make a documentary on the subject, in which I stole the identity of the Home Secretary and got arrested in a dawn raid by Scotland Yard and put into a cell! So that was fun. But that brought about a huge change, as I had found a loophole in the UK driving license application form, which had to be completely thrown away and rewritten because of what I had done. Instead of thanking me for the loophole, however, they arrested me instead, which was bizarre. I was expecting a thank you. Or at least an OBE!”

Over time, Aaron became more self-assured with both his comedy and his ability to handle just about any calamity that might befall him. In fact, he has written a new act that he was trying out at Edinburgh Fringe this year, which touches directly on vulnerable parts of his life in a frank and funny discourse.

“When I started, because I was worried about being heckled, I just

did gag, gag, gag – one after the other – and it seemed to work. For example, I’d say something like, ‘Where I grew up, we had a village idiot. Well, I say that, but actually, I never met him.’ It’s a lot of self-deprecating humour.

“In the last few years, that really developed as I gained confidence and refined my style. Now I am more into storytelling, which fits my personality a little better, especially with the show I am currently doing, which is called I Regret This Already. It doesn’t sound like a laugh-a-minute, but it is a comedy. I talk about my dad having dementia, and about me having depression, which I’ve never had in my life, and the reviews have been the best I’ve ever had.

“I’m delighted about that because people have said it’s a really moving show, but it’s really funny as well, so they don’t have a moment to get too upset before something humorous comes along. I wasn’t going to do it as a show, but my wife said to me, ‘You have to make something good from this,’ in the same way as the identity theft thing, I made a dark experience lighter. Since then, a lot of people have been in contact, sharing that they have suffered the same thing and that it was inspiring to hear that I came out the other side of it.”

Justine Williamson (Cape Breton, Nova Scotia)

When it comes to Justine Williamson’s brand of comedy, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

“I started on YouTube in the early, early days – like 2006 – in high school,” she recollects. “People would always refer to me as the YouTube girl, because at that time, social media wasn’t what it is today. Now it is normal for people to have a presence online, but when I started, it was pretty fresh and new.”

Williamson felt that a career in media was unquestionably in her future, especially after representing her hometown of Glace Bay for a television station’s VJ Search.

“That lit a fire under me to keep chasing after this dream,” she beams, recalling that around the same time, “I met Greg (Vardy), my comedic partner. We actually worked together selling cell phones and we got to know each other and became really close friends.”

Williamson had also developed a character in one of her YouTube videos named Tracy, which she also embodied in a Cape Breton-tuned parody of The Chainsmokers’ song #SELFIE to great effect.

“My local radio station was looking for someone who could do a strong Cape Breton accent to voice the parody song, so they called me in. I said to Greg, ‘Why don’t we make a video to go along with this song?’ That’s how ‘Martina’ got dragged into the mix, because I wanted another woman, but I had no female friends who were willing to be in this ridiculous video.”

Thus, the vivacious Cape Breton party girl comedy duo Tracy & Martina was born. Clad in leopard print clothes, every colour of the rainbow, cigarettes in hand, they took off in a big way, soon spreading the gag gospel via podcasts, touring dates, and television.

“It went viral, and people really took to the characters. Character comedy is strong in Cape Breton, and we just kept developing them further.”

Williamson believes that, even as stereotypes, the characters appeal to people at home (and abroad – they have a hearty UK fanbase) because everyone can see a part of themselves in Tracy and Martina, foibles and all.

“Tracy is unfiltered, rough around the edges, but she also loves her friends, and family really means a lot to her. The characters are a blend of people that we knew growing up – family, friends, enemies. At first it was like we’re two different people, but the longer I perform as Tracy, the more connected we become. Certain things bleed over…”

Much like how she took inspiration from the people around her, Williamson hopes to inspire other young women to explore careers in comedy.

“I would love to speak at schools – any way that I might encourage young girls to express themselves, especially in junior high, high school, because they tend to hold back. You have to have a backbone and just not care what people think.”

Conclusion

If there is one unifying element of Celtic comedy, it is authenticity.

“It really boils down to authenticity,” notes Williamson.

“Some version of authenticity is the main point,” Hickey agrees. “Be authentic with your stance and your morality because it is all connected.”

“Be true to who you are,” adds Arron, “and take the audience on the journey with you, even if you’re doing one-liners. Whatever you’re doing to share yourself on stage, to be that open is quite a challenge; if you want to do it, you need to be prepared to bring the audience into your world. When you succeed, it’s a fantastic feeling.”

www.tadhghickey.com
www.bennettarron.com
www.tracyandmartina.com