Funny English chap Simon Kingsley-Holmes made the move from Dunedin to Christchurch this year, in pursuit of fresh opportunities in the abundant Garden City. His deadpan, observational humour and quick-wittedness will have you laughing for days.

How did you stumble into comedy? I was doing very poorly in film and television and had screwed my life up on quite a big scale. I was stuck on the other side of the world – poor, fat and lonely, and emotionally and creatively unfulfilled. I was creating short films that were inching towards some sort of personal artistic goal and picking up any filming jobs I could whilst working at some godforsaken social club full of old bigots. After three years of doing the same one-day live filming gig for a yacht race, I said I wanted to be paid and this very well-off man begrudgingly gave me £40 for a 17-hour day. That was the nail in the coffin, but I needed something to fill that creative void and I’d stumbled upon alternative comedy in the UK. Left-wing cult acts like Simon Munnery and Wil Hodgson, who did weird or difficult comedy to few people, made me think, ‘I can do that!’ So I came back to NZ and was very briefly in a double act called Teflon Jacksie with my brilliant mate Alex Wolken before I struck out on my own.

What’s your day job and how does that fit with your comedy? I’m a shelf-stacker at JB Hi-Fi three days a week where I just chose the days I’d be least likely to gig, or to have to go far to gig. I have the occasional day off – if we’ve gone to Dunedin, Akaroa or such-like. Otherwise it’s finish work, go to the gig, perform, wish you had money for beer and go home.

What words of advice do you have for aspiring comics out there? Just do what you think is funny. That’s all. To do so requires a degree of honesty with yourself but otherwise, start with that and don’t worry about audiences because you literally don’t know who they are. If you can’t make yourself laugh then how do you expect anyone else to follow suit?

Do you have a pre- or post-show ritual? Mostly drinking, although that may be as a result of being in a bar where I have to do comedy. Otherwise, worrying helps. If I’m not worried, that’s a problem. That would seem to contradict my previous answer but I worry for me, not them. I won’t pretend comedy is a selfless impulse.

What or who do you find funny? I like anything if it’s good. Slapstick, satire, puns, surrealism, observational, controversial, deadpan, witty, broad, whatever. In fact, my two favourite comedy films of the last few years have been The Death of Stalin and Minions. My great inspiration is a guy called Richard Herring, whose podcasts I got obsessed by and then I moved onto his stand-up and I didn’t really get it at first, but I liked him and I liked the challenge of getting it – I liked that he was thinking two steps ahead of me. However my favourite sitcom Bottom I got straight away. Rik Mayall cutting his own finger off is still one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. My favourite podcasts are Do the Right Thing, which is a fantastic panel show, and We Hope It’s Chips, which is about obscure pop culture from the 80s and 90s presented by two grumpy, ultra-PC, West Country blokes. Brendon Burns is a searingly smart Aussie stand-up I love as well. I get irritated with myself that I don’t watch more American comedy but then so much of it looks depressingly mainstream, which isn’t particularly appealing to me.

What’s the most common misconception about comedians? That we’re all out to offend everybody or that we’re all super nice. There’s usually a reversal of personality off-stage is all I’m saying.

Highlight of your time as a comedian so far? Dunedin Fringe! Meeting and hanging out with circuit comics, annoying students at McDonald’s at three in the morning, terrible diet leading to heart palpitations, flyering, doing whatever type of comedy you want (knowing that squares don’t like it and cool people do) and failing to get off with girls. Great days!

Funniest moment onstage? Not funny necessarily but one time I accidentally shoulder-barged a hole into a wall. I was doing a routine about the MGM lion and I used to throw myself onto stage (for no reason at all). This one time, at Zanzibar in Dunedin, it was a full house and quite a small stage and I figured so as not to brain myself on an amp, it’d be safer to bounce off the back wall onto the floor but I hadn’t considered the idea that the wall might have less substance than myself, and there was this terrible crashing noise as my arm went right through it. Amazingly the owner of Zanzibar, Jonas, walked past as it happened. Any other owner in any other bar in the world would’ve been apoplectic, but not him! I went to apologise after the gig and he goes "Oh, I heard the crash and I looked round and saw you on the floor and the hole in the wall and I thought to myself, Hah! That’s comedy!" He was a great guy! Unlike the audience – they lost interest 30 seconds later, miserable f***ers!

What’s something only your mother knows about you? That I once spoke to her over the phone whilst I was having a shit. She really was not impressed and in retrospect, rightly so.

How do you relax and unwind? I’m English and middle class. I don’t.

If you could invite any three people living or dead to a dinner party, who would they be and why? If it’s a dinner party then one of them would have to be a world-renowned cook. Or Albie, who used to run the Castle View Cafe in Carisbrooke, Isle of Wight. He and his wife Jean used to make these enormous, full English breakfasts but I was too little – never had one. So, I’d use this fantasy situation to rectify that. Secondly, I’d invite Jack the Ripper or some other famously unidentified serial killer and see if I could catch them out by inviting them to a well-catered dinner. Thirdly, having invited the serial killer, I’d invite Ed Sheeran and keep my fingers crossed.