*A special bonus episode of Taskmaster The Podcast*

Hello, Taskmaster fans.

Now, you may have noticed this is not a regular episode of the Taskmaster podcast, but a special bonus episode.

Unless you take your headphones out, you're going to hear an extract from an absolute casserole: The Taskmaster Compendium, the new book I've written with Jack Bernhard.

It was great fun to write, and we hope you enjoy reliving a decade of comedic chaos.

Ready?

Here we go.

Quercus Editions Limited presents

An Absolute Casserole, The Taskmaster Compendium.

Written and read by Jack Bernhardt and Alex Horne.

Chapter 1.

Join Our Cult.

How it started.

At present, there have been 160 episodes, 789 tasks, 17 champions, 3 champions of champions, 12,409 points given out, 325 disqualifications, approximately 495 rubber ducks, and around a metric ton of watermelon juice spilled.

But, like escalators, age, and eggs, if you fill them with enough helium, these numbers will only keep going up.

There's only one taskmaster, and it keeps marching on.

But how did this cultural behemoth, this chaotic combination of creativity, cruelty, and caravans, come to be?

Let's make like Greg Davis and dig down into the narrative.

This is the story of how Taskmaster was born.

A Messy Birth.

In May 2009, Alex Horne became a father for the first time.

He'd spent every August for the previous 10 years telling jokes at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.

But this summer, he was supposed to stay at home, joyfully cuddling his newborn.

In May 2009, Tim Key became a godfather for the third time.

That August, as he had done for the previous 10 years, he told jokes, well, poems, at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival and enjoyed himself.

While his son slept and gurgled and cried, Alex read his friend's reviews.

They were exceptional.

But instead of being overwhelmed with both paternal and fraternal pride, Alex was bored and jealous.

This was made worse when, towards the end of the month, Tim was nominated for the Edinburgh Comedy Award, the pinnacle of a comedian's career.

The following morning, Alex woke up with a fully formed idea in his head.

He would return to Edinburgh the following year, and he would bring with him not only his son, but also his own comedy award, a brand new pinnacle for comedians, and one that he would be in charge of.

Before the month was over, Alex had sent an email to 20 comedians, including Tim.

It read as follows.

Hello.

I know we're in the middle of Edinburgh, but I'm not there this year, so I'm busily and enviously planning for next year.

Apologies if I'm adding to your current festival gubbins.

I'm writing to you because I like what you do.

In particular, I like the fact that you sometimes do interesting things, then tell people about them in a funny way.

Next year, I'm planning to do a show in Edinburgh celebrating people like you.

I don't know what it'll be called yet, but here's the basic idea.

In August 2009, now, I write to a small number of the people I admire the most and challenge them to join in the Ultimate Comics Challenge.

Over the next year, I write to them twelve more times, on each occasion setting them a new and daunting slash amusing slash pointless slash tiny slash divvy task.

At one grand climax, perhaps a couple, in Edinburgh 2010, I reveal the results in a show that will feature as many of the competitors as are able to attend, probably sitting on chairs in a line, ready to explain slash defend their actions and query their opponents' technique slash honesty.

And also, to reassure you, the tasks that you will be asked to perform won't be too wacky, expensive or time consuming.

On paper, they'll be fairly straightforward.

Things like take a picture of yourself with a famous animal or write an essay on Dickensian women and you're encouraged to think laterally.

I won't say cheat, but as long as you're not caught cheating, who would know?

You will be asked to submit corroborating evidence to prove you've done what you've said you've done, but it's up to you how you come come about this evidence.

It could take as little or as much of your time as you fancy.

That's it really.

What I'd like you to do now is let me know A, if you're at all interested, B, if you think you'll be at Edinburgh next year.

Not crucial.

Right then, I won't let you know who else I've contacted just yet, as it might be nice to have an air of secrecy about the whole competition.

It might also be nice to have a league table somewhere, so you can see how you're scoring and who's in the lead, so it's all a bit more dynamic.

I'll make decisions like that soon.

For now, goodbye.

And before I go, don't worry at all if you're not interested.

Just let me know as soon as you know.

And of course, if you say you are, you can always say you're not later on.

Okay, then.

Bye.

Alex Horn.

24 hours later, the following 20 comedians had signed up: Al Peter, Dan Atkinson, Guy Morgan, Henning Vane, Jared Christmas, Joe Wilkinson, James Dowdswell, Josie Long, Lloyd Langford, Lloyd Wolfe, Mark Ulver, Mark Watson, Mike Wozniak, Rick Edwards, Steve Hall, Stuart Goldsmith, Tim Fitzhayam, Tim Key, Tom Basden, and Tom Wrigglesworth.

Looking at this list now, it is strikingly male and undiverse, a reflection of my view of the stand-up circuit at the time, perhaps, but more realistically, a demonstration of my own embarrassingly small circle of comedy friends.

It goes without saying that Taskmaster specifically, but also pretty much everything in life, is better with a broader range of people, with mixed outlooks on life, with variety.

Another 24 hours after that, Tim Key won the Edinburgh Comedy Award.

One month shy of six years later, the first episode of Taskmaster was broadcast on television.

Alex Horne was not in charge.

From stage to screen, part 1 Hello, I'm Alex Horne.

I'm 6 foot 2 inches tall and little, and you're probably reading this because at some point you've stumbled upon the unlikely story of Taskmaster, a tale still being told today.

As explained, the idea was born soon after my first son, who is now nearly as tall as me.

I can't stress enough how above average my height is.

But the path from birth to sprawling television concept is so unpredictable and precarious that any sort of metaphors become instantly redundant.

Let's just say it's been surprising.

The Edinburgh show happened.

It was both memorable and swiftly forgotten.

We all moved on with our lives.

Except I couldn't quite move on with mine because it was so much fun, and I still had this small child to occasionally escape from.

So, the following year, I did the show again, twelve more tasks, this time for just ten comedians, a more wieldy number.

It was so much fun again.

And this time Avalon, a television production company, agreed that it was so much fun.

They suggested we pitch it to TV stations to see if we could make it for more people.

We persuaded Andy Devonshire to join our team.

He made The Apprentice and the Great British Bake-Off, and more importantly,

So I asked Greg.

We knew each other from the circuit, although not well enough for me to ask him to be involved in the Edinburgh show.

I'm pretty sure he has since told me that irked him because he felt left outside of my cozy comedy clique.

Fair enough, although it was simply because I was, back then, slightly scared of him.

Greg said

maybe.

He wanted to know who the comedians were going to be.

I said I'd get back to him.

Meanwhile, I'd started asking comedians.

We needed a big name attached to this project, so we started with one of my heroes, a father figure to British stand-up comedy, perhaps the most naturally funny person I've ever encountered, alongside Greg, obviously, and begrudgingly, Tim Key.

Mr Frank Skinner.

Frank said,

maybe.

He wanted to know who the taskmaster was going to be.

I said I'd get back to him.

I got back to Greg first.

Frank Skinner is up for it, I said.

Fine, I'll do it, said Greg.

I got back to Frank next.

Greg Davis is doing it, I said.

Fine, I'm up for it, said Frank.

We were off

STATIONARY ARCHERY,

or How Andy Devonshire and I First Met, by Alex.

Andy and I might have lived together for six weeks in LA back in twenty seventeen, making an American version of Taskmaster for Comedy Central, while also hiking the Californian mountains, watching whales from the Pacific Coast Highway, and drinking tequila with Mexicans on Chinko de Mayo.

But this story starts in a soulless office in Ladbroke Grove, eight years previously.

It was essentially a blind date.

I needed a director.

He needed a project.

The matchmakers thought we'd click.

They were so right.

We were supposed to be making a documentary based on one paragraph hidden in a dusty compendium of forgotten British sports that fleetingly mentioned a game of cricket on horseback.

A few months later, and we had indeed recreated the event, playing and filming a full-blooded limited overs match with commentary by Blowers himself.

Also, Andy and I had become firm friends.

There's barely been a day in the nine years since on which we haven't spoken.

But it was those hours in that windowless office that I'll always remember.

That was the start.

How do you begin?

Well, instead of picking up a pen or opening a browser, Andy crumpled up a piece of paper.

We were sat on a mezzanine level.

Below us were several desks, a photocopier, and, most important of all, a bin.

I bet I can get it in, said Andy, with confidence, and a smile.

I bet I can get it in, I replied, making my own paper ball.

We both threw.

We both missed.

We both laughed.

We both spent the rest of the day throwing paper balls into that bin.

We invented our own sport, our own cricket on horseback.

Instead of earnestly making plans and endlessly trawling the Internet, Andy taught me that having fun is the best way to do good work.

While mucking about, we got to know each other.

We talked while chucking things into things, and we got excited about our little film.

And we still haven't stopped playing our silly games with our own friends, families, and the UK's top comedians.

I'm a very lucky person.

It's a beautiful world, Andy said every day in LA.

It is.

That office was drab, but it will always be beautiful in my mind because I got to share it with Andy D.

Taskmaster Hall of Glory.

Youngest contestant.

On the main show, the youngest ever contestant is the booze-swilling cigarette-smoking Lenny Rush, who was 14 years old at the time of his performance on New Year's Treat 2024.

Name Lolly Adafope.

Age at episode transmission: a scarcely believable 26 years old.

Series 4.

Points: 125, 2.78 points per task.

Position in series.

Fifth.

Because, as Greg has said, he hates the youth more with every year that passes.

Fun fact, Lolly Adafope has the highest points per task score in prize tasks, winning for an adorable baby photo of herself and a picture of herself as Princess Diana.

These were two separate pictures.

Greatest achievement.

In a task where she had to move an egg into an egg cup, She did it the quickest, using the young person's hip new gadget, Blue Tack.

Lowest moment.

Trying to strike a coconut with a giant pencil and failing horribly.

Relevant quotes.

I'm sitting on two grand in cash.

Lolly as she produces an envelope of money during the most cash prize task.

Friendship is truth.

Truth is friendship.

Lolly attempting to explain the narrative behind her choreography to a ringtone.

From stage to screen, part two

With our massive host, brilliant contestants and a magical director on board, we had what we thought was a solid team.

But, four years later, we were still being told that wasn't enough by the T V bigwigs.

All the channels said it sounded fun, but surely comedians needed a script.

Surely it'd be better if they knew the tasks they were being set in advance.

And surely it'd be more fun if there were different comedians taking part each week.

Like honey covered cowboys, we stuck to our guns.

No, we said.

Comedians are funny people.

They don't always need scripts.

No, we said.

The surprise when you open a task is the fundamental point of the idea.

And no, we said.

The rivalry of a returning cast is also a fundamental point of the idea, but arguably not quite as fundamental as the point about it being a surprise.

surprise.

They listened.

Channel 4 gave us some money to develop the idea.

We developed the idea.

They said they still weren't sure.

Then another channel, Dave, saw something in us.

Whether it was the vibrant shoots of a new special telly flower, the undoubted appeal of Greg Davis, or just the realization that the only way to stop us pitching this idea was to give us a show, they greenlit our first six episodes.

Over a year later, the first episode went out to a definitely mixed reaction.

But people soon got used to the cocktail of unplanned madness, freewheeling comedians, and a sitcom style cast that developed its own storylines as the series progressed.

We made it to the end.

Josh Whitticomb won a karate trophy because we weren't sure if we'd be back.

Dave had faith.

They commissioned two more series, and then two more.

Eventually, we would make nine series for the brilliantly supportive channel before moving to our first investors, the mighty Channel 4, and, we hoped, a slightly larger terrestrial audience.

This was the channel where I'd watched my comedy as a teenager, and it felt like a dream home for us.

We have managed to make another nine series for Channel 4, the first three during the pandemic, and we're still going today.

I now have three children, and have had the undoubted honour of working closely and becoming friends with 90 comedians comedians and 20 unlikely celebrities for our New Year's treat editions.

The production team, led by Andy Cartwright and Vicki Winter, has swelled and stayed close, got married and had babies.

It really has been an absolute casserole of a decade.

Edinburgh Task 1

14th of September 2009

Many thanks and congratulations.

You have agreed to take part in the 2010 Edinburgh Challenge.

An excellent decision.

A total of twenty eminent competitors are taking part this year.

I haven't quite decided when to let you know who you all are, but I'm almost certain I will at some point before the year is up.

Business time

There shall be twelve tasks set over the course of the next twelve months.

The first is this

Money fun.

Please deposit a sum of money into my Barclays bank account.

Number and sort code redacted.

Whoever sends me the most money will receive 10 points, the second most eight points, the third six, fourth, four, and the fifth, two.

The person or people who sends me the least money will be docked ten points.

The total amount I receive will make up the prize pot for the 2010 Edinburgh Challenge.

You have until the end of the month to make the transfer.

That is the first task.

Good luck and goodbye.

Alex.

An absolute casserole, the Taskmaster Compendium, is out now in hardback, e-book, and audiobook.