After more than 40 years of creating some of British comedy’s most memorable characters, Harry Enfield is heading back on tour. He speaks to Antonia LeVay about Kevin The Teenager, political correctness, Paul Whitehouse, troublesome technology and being a professional “arser-abouter”.
When Harry Enfield appears on screen for our interview, he isn’t sitting in a hotel room or surrounded by promotional posters. He’s calling from Hampstead Ponds, having just finished a morning swim, while various semi-dressed men wander unknowingly through the background. It feels appropriate.
All of which is also leavened by modern irritations: downloading yet another app, denying repeated requests to upload contacts, other such faffery. (The British comedy great also inadvertently watched me clearing my throat in the meeting room.) “The joy of technology!” Enfield sighs. For someone who, since the 1980s, has consistently observed the strange rituals and changing habits of British life, well that feels appropriate too.
Enfield has been part of the comedy landscape for more than 40 years, creating characters his special power: Loadsamoney, Tim Nice-But-Dim, Kevin The Teenager. Now 65, he has spent much of 2026 (and will continue to do so into next spring) looking back at his life, career and cast of comic creations in the form of a live show, Harry Enfield And No Chums. Swansea Arena is to be paid a visit in mid-October.
“Soon I’ll be dead,” he announces cheerfully. “So I thought, before I snuff it, I’d better go out on the road and talk about how great my life’s been.”
Does he regard those famous characters as irritating relatives or old friends? “Old pals! It’s quite fun. It’s very difficult doing Kevin now, what with me actually being 65, but I do a bit of him.”
Other characters have proved unexpectedly timeless. Loadsamoney, the plasterer who became an emblem of 1980s greed and excess, still fits neatly into modern Britain: “The country has got richer and richer, and the poor have got poorer and poorer. And he thinks it’s fucking brilliant.”
As for Kevin, you’d think this era was made for him: TikTok, smartphones, shattered screens. On that last item, Enfield recalls appearing, in character, with Michael McIntyre and being handed a mobile phone, which he attacked with a hammer.
“I said, ‘I’m smashing the screen. I’m a teenager. You’ve got to have a smashed screen. It’s the law.’”
Enfield believes the boundaries of adolescence have shifted: people are living longer, is his rationale, so their irresponsible years have moved with them. “People say 60 is the new 40; I think your twenties are the new teens. People in their twenties are really naughty!” His own children, who are now in their mid-twenties, were largely discouraged from watching his comedy while growing up.
“I didn’t want them to have to live with that shadow. They still get weirdos coming up to me saying, ‘I grew up watching you.’ They’ve had it all their lives, really.”
The No Chums tour combines stories, characters and interaction with the audience. Earlier dates, Enfield says, have been great fun, allowing him to discover how older characters can operate in the modern world. And, having played King Charles in Channel 4’s The Windsors, he opens the show in regal mode. “I start the whole show by being the King for a bit, so I’ve got to think of some new stuff for him. There’s plenty at the moment, isn’t there?”
The conversation inevitably turns to whether comedy has become more difficult in an age of social media outrage and accusations that certain sketches “wouldn’t be allowed today”. Enfield doesn’t entirely accept the argument.
“I’ve never done anything that I thought was particularly offensive. If people want to get offended, it’s up to them – I don’t get offended by them being offended. My humour isn’t nasty. It’s mischief, not malice. It’s naughty. It’s mucking about.”
A book may eventually happen, although Enfield claims he has encountered one rather significant obstacle. “I’m trying to write one, but I can’t remember how to write! It’s been a long time since I was at school.”
Much of his career has been shaped by his friendship and creative partnership with Paul Whitehouse, whom he first met as a teenager through a school friend. “When we were working together, there was nothing better. The trouble is, we never got anything done – whenever we were writing together, we were too busy arsing about.” Could they work together again? “We’ll do it again at some point.”
That prospect will delight anyone who grew up watching the pair. Enfield remains fascinated by changing generations, but he is equally amused by everyday life: swimming, dogs, people wandering around changing rooms and general peculiar behaviour of those around him. He’s swam at Hampstead Ponds during the warmer months for some 35 years: he brings his dogs, crosses the heath and enjoys the illusion of being far away from London (“It’s like being in the country all the time”).
He will soon be swapping that tranquility for a Welsh audience in Swansea, a city he hasn’t visited for some time. An Arsenal supporter, he fondly remembers the days when matches against Swansea City were regular fixtures.
“I hope lots of people come and see me in Swansea! The tour has gone really well. It’s been really fun. And as far as I know no-one hasn’t enjoyed it.”
It is hard to imagine Enfield doing anything other than making people laugh. As he puts it himself: “I’ve been very lucky. I’m a professional arser-abouter. Aren’t I lucky?”
Harry Enfield And No Chums, Swansea Arena, Mon 12 Oct
Tickets: from £35.45. Info: here
words ANTONIA LEVAY
