The Last of the Gentle Clowns: Why Jimmy Cricket’s Wealth Was in Laughter

In an era when comedy often sharpens its edges to cut, the passing of Jimmy Cricket at 80 reminds us that the rarest luxury of all is a laugh that leaves no scar. For the ultra-wealthy, who can buy almost anything, the one commodity that remains elusive is genuine, uncomplicated delight. Cricket had it in spades. His floppy bowler hat, tattered evening dress, and mismatched wellies were not just a costume—they were the uniform of a man who understood that true status isn’t about how you look, but how you make others feel. And there’s more: he made millions feel pure joy, and that, my friends, is a legacy no portfolio can match.

Cricket, born James Mulgrew in Cookstown, County Tyrone, was the last of six children in a family that knew struggle intimately. His father, a man of many trades—undertaker, publican, taxi driver—died when Jimmy was just a boy, leaving his mother to work at a Lucozade factory to keep the lights on. Young Jimmy left school at 15 with no qualifications but a priceless asset: the ability to make people laugh. He honed that gift in the trenches of working-class entertainment—supermarket delivery boy, betting shop cashier, and eventually a redcoat at Butlin’s holiday camp. That was his finishing school, where he learned that a warm smile and a daft joke could disarm anyone, from a tired mother to a grumpy tycoon. By the 1980s, he was a household name, headlining his own ITV show, And There’s More, for four series, and performing at the Royal Variety Performance in 1984—a guest list that would make any billionaire’s dinner party look like a warm-up act.

What set Cricket apart in a trade often defined by cynicism was his commitment to cleanliness. His material was as pure as a Swiss vault—no victims, no agenda, just the sheer joy of silliness. He juggled, he did prop gags, he threw his body into the act with a physicality that would exhaust a professional athlete. But the real craft was in his persona: the cherubic face, the innocent wonder, the stooped posture as if searching for life’s answers in the wings. He was a clown in the old sense—a court jester for the common man, but with the discipline of a concert pianist. He constantly updated his routines, weaving in modern references, proving that true artisans evolve. In a world where luxury is often about rarity, Cricket’s brand of humor was the rarest of gems: it was timeless, yet always fresh.

For the discerning collector of experiences, Cricket’s legacy offers a masterclass in value. He understood that the most exclusive thing you can own is a moment of shared laughter. His catchphrase, “And there’s more!” was an invitation to stay in the moment, to savor the absurdity. In an age where wealth often isolates, Cricket’s comedy was a bridge—he gestured to the audience with a conspiratorial “C’me ’ere,” drawing them into a private joke that felt like a secret handshake. His success in the 1980s, a decade of excess and materialism, was a quiet rebellion: he proved that you didn’t need swearing or shock to fill theaters. He was an abstemious, deeply faithful family man who navigated a coarse industry without compromising his soul. That integrity, more than any gold watch or private jet, is the ultimate status symbol.

As we look ahead, the luxury market is shifting from things to feelings. The ultra-wealthy are increasingly investing in experiences that money can’t easily buy—authenticity, connection, and joy. Jimmy Cricket’s life is a testament to that truth. He didn’t leave behind a fortune in the traditional sense, but he left a fortune in smiles, in memories, in the echo of a silly joke told with open-eyed wonder. For those who crave a taste of that old-fashioned charm, the lesson is simple: the next time you’re at a gala, skip the caviar and try a well-timed pun. Or better yet, seek out the modern-day Crickets—the comedians, the clowns, the artists who make you feel something real. Because in a world that’s increasingly curated and filtered, the ability to laugh without restraint is the last great luxury. And there’s more: it’s free for the taking, if you only know where to look.