Showing posts with label Rob Gee. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rob Gee. Show all posts

Tuesday, 3 November 2026

Writing Serious Things in a Humorous Way

By Rob Gee

Rob Gee, photo by Nick Rawle

As a nurse, I discovered that, when used properly, humour is enormously valuable: it can diffuse tension, create common ground and help put seemingly insurmountable problems into context. It allows us to enjoy our idiosyncrasies and relate to each other as equals. As someone I nursed once told me, "laughter stops us feeling alone and strokes a broken soul."

When we use humour to address serious or difficult subjects, people can be more receptive to our messaging: one of my shows is a whodunit set on a dementia ward. In the wake of the Francis report (which examined care failings in mid-Staffordshire NHS), it was used by several NHS trusts to train staff in ethics and reporting concerns. The laughter around this serious subject enabled people to learn whilst giving them the safety to share their own experiences.

Since then, I’ve written several comedy and health-based commissions, including a singalong about chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and a comedy quiz show about early symptoms of breast, lung and bowel cancer: ambitious subjects for comedy, but able to reach beyond conventional health education strategies. The comedy quiz show toured working men’s clubs, for example.

Some writing advice
  • When writing about a sad or dark situation, a small amount of levity can have a wonderful impact. At the same time, try and avoid being funny simply for funny’s sake: if we contrive unconvincing situations or have our characters behaving unlike themselves purely for the sake of humour, it won’t ring true and is therefore less likely to be funny.
  • Write what amuses you, not what you hope will amuse your audience: we all laugh at different things and many successful comedians are very marmite. 
  • It’s not the choice of subject that decides whether a joke’s offensive, but the intent. With this in mind, punch up, not down. Most comedic events combine surprise with misfortune and every joke has a target. Choose yours wisely. 
  • Self-deprecation can be lovely: it lets people know that you’re not afraid to laugh at yourself.
  • The brain loves being given images to enjoy; the more imaginative, the better. Similes can be particularly joyous when they combine elements that wouldn’t normally co-exist: "He entered the room with all the grace of a cow walking downstairs."
  • With a single line, you can create a story within the story: "He looked down at the scene with the forlorn expression of a man who’d just swallowed a winning lottery ticket."
  • A good way of adding levity to an otherwise serious work of fiction is to give your narrator a sense of humour: as they talk directly to us, we see the world as they do. 
  • Once you’ve created a strong character, you can do anything with them: someone like Alan Partridge, Larry David or Philomena Cunk could be in a waiting room, a lecture or a yoga session and we’ll still enjoy the experience.
  • The humour will often come to you in later drafts, once your infrastructure has been established. Don’t worry if it’s not hilarious straight away.
  • Seek feedback from people who share your humour; watch and read lots of comedy. It will help you avoid or subvert clichés.
  • No piece of writing has to be entirely funny any more than it had to be entirely serious. You can have varying amounts of light and dark, because, after all, life is like that.
Here is a poem about an ostensibly serious subject:

Dr Brice

Dr Brice put her name in the wrong part of the form
and inadvertently sectioned herself.
This amused us greatly,
because she was bad for people’s mental health.

She went on a trip to Venice,
paid for by the drug company
who were keen to invest in her impartiality.

She changed everyone’s meds when she came back.
Carnage ensued and people relapsed.
One man’s mental health fell so badly to bits
that he smashed up the ward and put two nurses off sick.

So don’t be like Dr Brice.
Just stick to the guidelines from NICE.


About the author
Rob Gee was a mental health nurse, then a comedian, and now a stand-up poet who dabbles in theatre. He’s performed at over a hundred fringe festivals worldwide and received over twenty awards for his solo shows. He leads comedy and poetry workshops in mental health settings and is sometimes sent into schools as a warning to children. You can read about his collection The Day My Head Exploded: Poems about Healthcare on Creative Writing at Leicester here. His website is here. 

Thursday, 15 October 2026

Creative Empathy: An Evening with Rob Gee and Jonathan Taylor


Photo by Trust "Tru" Katsande on Unsplash


Join the Centre for New Writing, the Empathic Healthcare Society, and the Stoneygate Centre for Empathic Healthcare for a special evening celebrating the power of creative writing to foster empathy, understanding and connection. Award-winning poet, performer and storyteller Rob Gee and author Jonathan Taylor will appear in conversation to explore the relationship between writing and empathy. The event is free and open to all. It takes place on Thursday 29 October, 6-pm, and you can register for tickets here. 

The event celebrates the Anthony Locke Empathic Healthcare Prizes for Creative Writing, recognising outstanding writing that engages with themes of compassion, understanding, care and human experience. Following a talk by Rob and Jonathan, there will be a reading of some of the brilliant entries to the competition.

Whether you are a creative writer, healthcare professional, student, or reader, you’re welcome to this celebration of the role of creativity in helping us understand one another.


About the Speakers
Rob Gee is a comic, poet, and ex- mental health nurse with over a decade of clinical experience. He has won over twenty awards for his solo shows and triumphed in major poetry slams, including the Edinburgh Slam and BBC Two's Why Poetry Matters Slam. He has performed over 3,000 shows globally, including at more than 100 international fringe festivals. He serves as patron for the Leicestershire Action for Mental Health Project (LAMP) and spent 12 years as the lead artist for Comedy Asylum, which runs comedy workshops and shows for individuals with severe mental illness. Shows include Forget Me Not: The Alzheimer's Whodunnit and AWOL: Two old men escape from a care home and go to a metal festival. He has published numerous books of poetry and edited anthologies celebrating the power of poetry for wellbeing.

Jonathan Taylor is an author, editor and critic. He is Associate Professor in Creative Writing at the University of Leicester, and author of prize-winning novels, short story collections, and memoirs, including the beautifully empathic works of life-writing Take Me Home: Parkinson’s, My Father, Myself (Granta Books, 2007) and A Physical Education: On Bullying, Discipline & Other Lessons (Goldsmiths, 2024).

About the Prizes
In summer 2026 we ran a creative writing competition open to all medical and healthcare students at the University of Leicester, with prizes kindly sponsored by Anthony Locke, and the Centre for New Writing. The prize was judged by a committee including students from the Empathic Healthcare Society, Dr Jonathan Taylor, Dr Andy Ward, Dr Felicity James and Dr Rachel Winter.

The range of entries – moving, tender and empathic – showed how talented and expressive our students are. The evening will include a presentation of prize certificates, but all the entries deserve to be celebrated: the talk will be followed by a reading of a sample of the great short prose pieces and poems entered.

The event forms part of our larger conversation around the literary arts and healthcare, funded by the AHRC as part of the Empathy, Difficulty, Difference: Creative Curiosity in Practice project.

We look forward to welcoming you.


Monday, 12 April 2021

Rob Gee, "The Day My Head Exploded: Poems About Healthcare"

 

Rob Gee, photo © Nick Rawle


Rob Gee qualified as a psychiatric nurse in 1994 and worked for twelve years in mental health units around the UK and Australia before becoming a stand-up poet. He’s performed at a hundred fringe festivals across the world and won numerous poetry slams, including the Edinburgh Slam, the Arts Council’s Lit Up Slam, BBC Two’s Why Poetry Matters Slam and the Orlando Poetry Smackdown. He’s received over twenty awards for his solo shows. Rob is patron of Leicestershire Action for Mental Health Project (LAMP) and lead artist for the Comedy Asylum: comedy shows written and performed by people receiving mental health treatment. He returned to nursing during the COVID-19 pandemic. His website is here.



About The Day My Head Exploded

By Rob Gee

The poems in this collection are drawn from my experiences as a nurse, inpatient and writer in healthcare settings. 

In the 1950s my great-aunt Ada and her sister Freda both immigrated to the UK from Ireland and commenced careers as mental health nurses. I didn’t start my training until 1991, by which time they had both retired. I’ll never forget the combination of mirth and pity in their eyes when I told them I was going into the profession. 

By the early 1990s, the institutions built in the Victorian era were starting to close. Long-stay patients were being moved out into 'the community,' while people with immediate mental health concerns were now treated in acute units. Nursing also started to become more academic in its efforts to be taken seriously as a profession. Whenever I discussed the job with my aunts it was apparent how much our role had changed. It's changed again since. 

Several poems here represent a snapshot of adult mental health nursing at the turn of the millennium. Since then, wards have become smaller and single-gender, smoking has been banned and uniforms have returned. The last of these would have pleased my aunts immensely, whereas I hardly ever wore a uniform in my career. 

Some poems here are from my days as a student nurse. Others are from a more critical perspective and they were written later, by an older me. Several are from my time working as a writer in healthcare settings and there are a couple from the COVID-19 crisis, when I returned to nursing. There’s also the title piece, loosely based on my experience of being hospitalised with meningitis ... 

Below, you can read four poems from the collection.


From The Day My Head Exploded

A Hug 

A hug can make you feel at home. 
It can soothe a broken soul 
and help you feel less alone.
 
A hug can let the warmth in 
when you’re chilly or reclusive. 
Hugs are often better than drugs, 
but they’re not mutually exclusive. 


Dr Brice 

Dr Brice put her name in the wrong part of the form 
and inadvertently sectioned herself. 
This amused us greatly, 
because she was bad for people’s mental health. 

She went on a trip to Venice, 
paid for by the drug company 
who were keen to invest in her impartiality. 

She changed everyone’s meds when she came back. 
Carnage ensued and people relapsed. 
One man’s mental health went so badly to shit 
that he smashed up the ward 
and put two nurses off sick. 

So don’t be like Dr Brice. 
Just stick to the guidelines from NICE. 


Whisky in Your Tea 

Breakfast isn’t what it used to be. 
We used to start the day with a pork pie 
and a drop of whisky in our tea. 
It would give your soul a glow 
and set you up for the day. 
Now it’s just a bowl of cornflakes, 
‘cause they took the whisky away. 
 
          Writer in residence, Elderly ward, summer 2019 


Human Carpentry 

If you are in your sixties or seventies, 
they give you a stainless steel hip, 
which is guaranteed for thirty years. 
If you’re in your eighties or above, 
you get a plastic hip, 
guaranteed for ten years. 

Rubber ants clad in green 
crawl in and out of the gap. 
She’s oblivious to their labours 
as she lies on her back, 
exhausted, after two long years 
crawling up from the bottom of a waiting list, 
and, looking at her gaping leg, 
my own begins to twitch. 

I spoke with her yesterday. 
She said it sounded ridiculous, 
but she was fond of the old hip 
that chased the wind with her 
on drunken nights of youth 
and had danced in endless circles 
around lusty amber halls, 
blissfully caressing the hips of others. 

Now it cripples her with pain 
in its knackered demise; 
they’re going to replace it 
with a virgin piece of plastic. 

Human carpentry replaces the parts 
that Mother Nature cannot reach, 
but two years is a long time 
to spend hobbling on your memories. 

          Student nurse, orthopaedics, 1993