This isn’t funny. Five hours now. My fellow comics will surely do a benefit. Free the Manchurian One! There will be a rally in Trafalgar Square and a promoter will stand in front of a tank waving a good review of mine. Either that or they’ll just divide up my material. (Mickey Spinola to the front of the queue.)
But will other comics stand up for me? Are they really my friends? How many times have I stood in the wings hoping the guy before me does well, but not that well? And how, when I’ve struggled, I’ve often willed the next act to do even worse so I don’t look quite so bad? I’m not sure such jungle instincts make for loyalty.
Come on, it should be like the police – where ‘officer down’ means everyone swings into action to get justice for one of their own. Or will it be more a case of ‘Officer down? – can I have his gigs please?’ (Somewhere there must be a policeman who’s actually called ‘Officer Down’, who causes all sorts of confusion.)
Danny will do something. He’ll drag Spaz in. Vince Matthews, he’d definitely help out. Vince is black! One of my friends is black and I didn’t even notice – that means I’m definitely not racist doesn’t it? Perhaps I should have noticed. No, I think I’m off the hook. I wish I was off the hook here.
When my boys find out I’m in prison will they tell everyone at school I’m a criminal? Will Marita be upset or will she just appreciate the break? Shouldn’t there be a spider in here trying to spin a web or something who never gives up – and that teaches me a lesson about how to get through all this? I’d probably get the only spider who ever managed to hang himself in a web-making accident.
Suppose as a result of all this Britain goes to war with China? Then suppose a journalist unearths my old gag about being bullied at school and then rushed to hospital with 80 per cent Chinese burns? No, that’s not going to help at all.