“Before it was a punchline, it was a dream.” That was how journalist Tim Burrows described Essex in The Guardian in 2019, in an article titled ‘The Invention of Essex: how a county became a caricature’. His argument was simple: before Essex became shorthand for bad taste and easy laughs, it represented hope — a fresh start for Londoners rebuilding their lives after the Second World War.
Over time, that optimism was flattened into parody. Essex became a cultural punchline, its people reduced to stereotypes and its identity distilled into a handful of familiar gags. Yet, like most clichés, the joke only works because there’s something real beneath it.
That quote could just as easily describe the path my comedy career has taken. From a young age, I felt compelled to bring this strange little county to life on stage because Essex always felt unmistakably different: the dodgy private number plates, the year-round suntans, the enduring fascination with Ronnie and Reggie Kray. Most of all, it was the unfiltered sense of humour which fascinated me most — an instinctive ability to make the serious stuff funny.
And so it was, at the age of five, that my performing career was accidentally set in motion at Potters Holiday Resort – a place traditionally favoured by families seeking a change from their annual pilgrimage to Spain. During the evening entertainment, compère Mark Brewer invited children onto the stage to showcase a “talent”.
Much to my parents horror the audience was then introduced to five-year-old Josh James delivering an earnest impression of Bill Clinton denying a sexual relationship with Monica Lewinsky. Standing under the stage lights, I solemnly declared: “I did not have sexual relations with that woman.” I’d heard it on the news the night before and, for reasons I still can’t fully explain, it had absolutely cracked me up.
It was, in hindsight, a fairly early indication of where things were heading.
WATCHING RICKY GROVER
My first comedy hero will always be Ricky Grover. When I was 13, my parents took me to see him at Jongleurs in Chelmsford, and I was hooked. I’ve always needed an edge in comedy for me to find it funny, and Ricky’s mix of taboo subjects, likeable charm, and just a hint of menace stuck with me. I’ve met most of my comedy heroes — but never him. Hopefully, one day I will.
BOMBING IN BILLERICAY
My first “professional” gig came six months into my comedy career. I’d been doing London open mics, where audiences are so supportive they’ll laugh at anything, so I assumed a crowd 20 minutes from home in Billericay would love me. I was wrong. It was painful — a stark lesson that being a “jack the lad” wasn’t enough. If I wanted any substance, I needed to master the art of joke writing.
TOUR SUPPORT
I wouldn’t be where I am without other comedians giving me opportunities. Seann Walsh, Babatunde Aleshe, and Mo Gilligan took me on the road and taught me how to move from comedy clubs to theatres. I even opened for Mo at Cardiff Arena in front of 5,000 people — a good story to tell the grandkids.
WRITING & PERFORMING SKETCHES
I started gaining a bit more notoriety when I began producing my own comedy sketches online. Often alongside comedian Louie McClean (Chadwell Heath’s answer to Jack Dee), we try to bring our world to life — whether it’s two lads in a kitchen debating conspiracy theories at 4am or a charity Christmas appeal for geezers forced by their Mrs to wear matching PJs. We’re influenced by the likes of Paul Whitehouse and Catherine Tate and try to steer clear of the usual TikTok stuff.
SELLING OUT HACKNEY EMPIRE
In November 2025, I sold out the Hackney Empire for my debut tour show, Doin’ Alright. The show is in part about my Grandparents leaving East London for new housing estates in Essex after WWII, so selling out an iconic East London venue felt fitting. A far cry from performing at Potters Holiday Resort in Norfolk.
The stand-up special of my debut show ‘Doin’ Alright’ will be available soon, head over to @joshjamesy on YouTube and subscribe to not miss out!
