Eleven thirty, Betsy pinned a note on the door of the Two Buttocks to inform the staff of the change of venue. The three-sum set off towards the crematorium. They soon arrived to join the other mourners filing in at the back; they watched the show.
“This is spooky,” whispered Betsy. “Can we smoke?”
“Just like going to the dentist,” remarked Doc, “it will be over soon.” It was and they joined the others for the silent walk onto the Prince of Wales.
“What a fucking gig,” whispered Doc, “there’s comedy material here, it’s free, so tuck in.”
Charles was doing a great job hosting Maureen’s send-off. Ernest and Katie arrived with some others from the brewery in search of the free booze. When the Two Buttocks staff arrived to earn their double pay offered by Doc, there was standing room only. Mr.Patel entered last, with his wife and close family. The women in his group were beautiful in full Indian dress adding something desperately needed at this event, “ Classy man aye, ” Doc spoke in awe “ Norman just look at these fucking horny women.”
“I’d liked to die in the bath with all of them,” replied Norman. “And me,” insisted Doc.
“No not you Doc, just the women,” replied Norman.
Betsy re-joined the two, interrupting their fantasies, “Indian sausage rolls, boys,” she offered, they laughed. It was Mr. Patel who led the tributes to Maureen, his by far the most eloquent; he excused Paddy’s absence on medical grounds.
“Medical grounds,” muttered Betsy to Doc, “Maureen turned up and she’s dead.”
Pleased to leave the mess and the profits for Charles to put away, the Two Buttocks crowd retreated to their World. They totalled twelve Doc noticed and he made a Biblical reference. Patrick took up position behind the bar, “Sherry anyone,” he offered.
“Don’t open that,” shouted Norman, “I’m gono take that back to the shop.”
“You’re sick,” replied Patrick, “so who wants what and who’s paying?” “Mine’s a large fruit juice and I’m paying,” said Norman as he tossed some money on the bar. It was a quiet gathering, a first Funeral for most. After some clock watching, the staff started to drift off.
“Fuck man,” moaned Norman, “they were getting double time, dog, I don’t get it.” Just Patrick and B.A. stayed on for the afternoon session with, Doc, Norman and Betsy.
“So that’s it then,” summed up Doc, “life’s a bitch then you die. Let’s get really drunk, blind drunk. Fuck that’s a terrible expression, reminds me of drunks in the park with meths and cider. I wrote to one of the big cider companies once, I was pissed off and suggested they use drunks in the park to advertise their cider. Never got a reply.”
“I am surprised Doc,” responded Betsy, “don’t give up your day job.” “Boys and girls, lighten up, you English need to chill, let’s just have a nice drink,” suggested Patrick, “death’s a great leveller, it’s the only thing that makes life fair, everyone has to die.”
“Here, here,” said Norman, adding a large Southern Comfort to his fruit juice as Betsy put a Laurel and Hardy video on the big screen.
“Not much of a choice though in death, is there,” Doc asked the question. “Just two options, burnt or buried. In these times of great consumer choice, could be a market for offering new alternatives. I do think stuffing, like they do with animals, birds, even fish could be popular and then mounted on the wall. Hey Betsy that would suit you, from what Norman tells me. That would be like life after death for you girl.” He roared with laughter, causing all but Betsy to join him.
“Bollocks,” she replied.
Doc resumed, “At sea, should be made available for all those that can afford it and not just for the Navy. How about in space, the executive option, that’s pretty close to heaven. Recycling!”
“You already got the donors option Doc,” answered Betsy in a hostile manner.
“True, but, not a great take up rate. If it was re-marketed, you know re- branded even as recycling. The greens would all endorse it and it would be a free service of course, like glass, newspapers, shoes etc.”
“So would we have body banks? I guess it’s no more bizarre than sperm banks,” added B.A.
“Very good, want a job, come up and see me sometime young lady,” suggested Doc.
“You know,” replied B.A. “After a bombing in my home town a fireman shouts out, he’s found the head of the bomber. How do you know he’s asked; still got his fingers in his ears, came the reply.” An embarrassing silence was broken by Doc, “A toast; lunchtime drinking.” They all raised their glasses; Betsy drew the curtains as the daylight was hitting the screen. The old film kept them well entertained; as soon as it finished Patrick and B.A. went off for some fresh air. Doc decided to leave with them, Betsy having locked the door turned to face Norman.
“I’ve locked the door: drawn the curtains; you own my clothes; what’s next?”
Norman stood up, “Not here, you’ve only had one drink, drive me to your apartment now.”
“Sure if that’s what you want.” Their dress attracted passing glances as they left the pub, looking like they’d been out all night and then some. It was late afternoon as Norman pulled Betsy by the hand into the apartment. Her new funeral outfit was stunning in a sexual form and Norman was in no hurry to undress her. He walked on into the living area and poured them drinks, he lit himself a cigarette then sat at the dining table. She joined him now wearing her hat and veil, sharing his cigarette as she dropped her
shoulder straps to reveal her breasts. She then dipped her fingers into his red wine and onto her nipples. Norman still wanted to be entertained and sat back watching her. She pulled her chair back from the table; her legs were now wide apart showing her stocking tops as she stroked her thighs. Norman breathed deeply as he noticed she was not wearing knickers, Betsy swigged her wine and lit her own cigarette with her other hand.
“In your own time,” ordered Norman, “on the bed Betsy.” She finished her cigarette, topped up her wine then carried it over to the bed. There she lay in wait for her next order. Norman dimmed the lights, removed his
jacket and unzipped his trousers before fucking her, face up, then face down. After their sensational climaxes, Norman walked off to the shower leaving Betsy sobbing in her mixed mental state of satisfaction and a sense of having been abused. She joined Norman and in silence they showered; then returned to the bed. This time they got under the duvet, they slept, her head on his chest, they were as one breathing life. An open window provided the perfect background sound. The day had exhausted the pair and they slept uninterrupted till daylight.
Thursday they were on autopilot, reality not kicking in till darkness fell. Thursday night was to be the first of Doc’s latest brainstorms. He and Betsy had worked long and hard on planning this format. The evening would start
with the audience getting up to do Comedy karaoke. Doc used this to save paying out for stand-ups, ‘Let the silly fuckers laugh at themselves and pay us for the privilege,’ he had said. “ Beckham bless those punters. ” Next would be a sketch, Doc and some of his crew including Betsy would read their very crude scripts in the old radio style, stood in a row, they had old fashioned microphones and sound effects. Following Doc’s announcement of an intermission to boost bar sales the night would continue with a spoof of a T.V. game show with members of the audience again be un-paid stooges. Doc would always play the game show host. ‘The audience even play the part of the audience,’ Doc boasted to his crew.
The final part of these evening would be Rasta Man. “ If the night needs anything more, one of us can always jump up and do a stand-up job on them first, ” Doc told Norman and Betsy. “But I think Rasta can wind the night up and he’s got a few friends and family coming down, they’ll spend a few pounds and dance for free.”
There was a good size crowd in quite early for this first of the new Thursdays. As Norman returned to the bar area from the office, he noticed Mr. Patel seated at the back flanked by two huge younger men. Opposite him sat an older man. They looked completely out of place and Doc had dimmed the lights in their corner thinking they could scare people
off. Norman went over shaking hands with Mr. Patel then the other three after their introductions. He called over a waitress and instructed her to, “Keep this table happy all night at no charge.”
The evening’s entertainment was kicked off with Doc welcoming all. He advised them that to save making this journey in future especially on cold nights like tonight they could, “Pay by Direct Debit, or even Internet
Banking, details from behind the bar.” He then spent a few minutes insulting all manner of things and personnel before handing over to his pals to run the Karaoke.
Norman watched Mr. Patel look on with interested disbelief. His eyes however wandered over to the tills and the newcomers as they arrived. Maybe Doc was right thought Norman perhaps Mr. Patel will be thinking of opening a Two Buttocks on every available street corner.
The night ran like a dream, Mr. Patel was clearly impressed with the money being spent in the pub. Norman was kept busy managing the event and Doc’s entertainment was a great success. Rasta was able to close down the show. Mr. Patel was whisked away by his minders at the close; Norman knew he would return the following night.
Betsy was on a real high on the way home that night. Norman was seeing another side of his lady. She was so excited at the success of the Thursday night. “I had a lot of input on this night, you know,” she said proudly, “not
that I will get any credit. Doc will write up the critique, staple two fifty pound notes to it and send it off to his mate.” Once inside the apartment she slipped into a deep depression. Norman kept his distance as he only liked the simple things in life. The king-size bed provided them with their own spaces that night. Norman read his book, getting up to meditate for a while Zazen style.
Doc was to continue his old Friday format into this year, ‘We only have to open the fucking doors on Friday nights,’ being his philosophy. It was a hecklers paradise, audition night, with Doc pulling them off with a long hooked stick as and when it was funniest. A pro. would finish off the night. Norman prepared from mid-morning having left Betsy in bed. Doc sat in the office, a coffee maker bubbled away in the background. On the desk sat a huge sixties table cigarette lighter. Beside his leather swivel chair a floor standing cylinder ashtray. Massive posters of Doc’s favourite comedians were stapled onto the walls; Groucho Marx, Woody Allen and Charlie
Chaplin. He received a call for Paddy which he switched through to Norman in the bar.
“Is Paddy there or not,” croaked the caller.
“He’s on holiday, I’m Norman his barman can I help you.” “Yeah, how much booze you want this weekend.”
“We have had our delivery yesterday.”
“That’s the Brewery one, Paddy gets a top up from me, on Saturday mornings.”
“Does he, O.K. I don’t know how much to order though.”
“Don’t worry son, I’ll just bring the usual. See you 6 a.m. on the dot, its C.O.D. mind.”
“Sure, see you mate.” Norman phoned Mr. Patel straight after to relay the whole story.
“That’s fine,” Mr.Patel assured him, “this helps to complete our accounts jigsaw puzzle my boy. You say stocks were looking low from the brewery. Paddy was getting a top up on Saturdays; cash on delivery of course. Tell the guy this will be his last delivery, give him my number if it helps, I’ll deal with it and you order the extra from the Brewery next week.”
Betsy had joined Doc in the office and was soon busy on the computer. Norman gave her a hug as he poured the coffee. “Once I have sorted out my stuff here I’m back to the apartment for a lazy afternoon,” he announced. Soon after, he was doing just that. Having travelled home on a bus. Once in the apartment after a long shower he played his only C.D. Astral Weeks. He
loved the double bass sound. He had owned various guitars as a teenager, even playing bass in a local band, ‘False-Start.’
Betsy returned by car in time to cook them an early evening snack. “Jacket potatoes O.K. with you Norman,” she shouted over the top of his continuous playing C.D. “And who’s strangling that cat.” He nodded.
They taxied back to the Two Buttocks just after seven. Doc was still there eating fish and chips with some of his helpers. Norman’s return signalled it was nearly opening time. The phone was ringing, “I’ll get it, you guys just sit there,” he said.
“Doc it’s your wife.” Doc strolled over to take the call. He hung-up and walked towards Norman. In a loud voice for all to hear he addressed him, “One of my children has been admitted to hospital, I must go now. Please cover for me Norman, see you.”
Norman nodded as he watched Doc leave. Then followed him outside, “If I can help just call me on the mobile.” Doc hailed a passing black cab.
Norman returned to join the others. Betsy pulled him away and into the office. “You O.K. Norman, you look as white as a ghost.”
“Funny you should ask me that, in the last two minutes I have discovered Doc is off tonight. Am I O.K.? No not really, still the show must go on.” He kissed her on the lips then carried on as if nothing had happened. Back in the bar he addressed Doc’s crew. “ Oh yeah, oh yeah, you all know Doc has a trauma to attend to, let’s all jump in and plug the gaps, thanks and be careful out there.”
The doors were opened by Lottery Lenny, keen to be back on Friday night duty. Mr. Patel and Co. were first in. Norman spotted them, he introduced them to Lenny, “No charge,” he explained. They headed for the same table as the previous night. Norman signalled their waitress; he then changed up a gear, the night was to be a real challenge for him.
When the audience were looking ready for some action Norman strolled out onto the stage. He made eye contact with Mr. Patel. “Are you ready to rumble,” he yelled. The crowd screamed their delight. Norman had great stage presence and his cabaret style black suit, frilled shirt, bow tie and highly polished patent leather shoes added to the send up. “Welcome back to our new season of Friday nights, we will continue to drag the barrel to bring you the very best of the very worst. Here at comedy direct we guarantee you more laughs for your money, how do we do it? It’s easy, our highly trained staff bring you jokes direct, why pay comedians, no, we cut out the middle man, so you the public can take advantage of huge savings on all our jokes, this offer is subject to status. Lola dear, bring on our first contestant.” A very attractive helper of Doc’s brought on the first act. Doc’s crew would
run the show now; Norman would only return to introduce Mickey Finn, to finish off the night.
Mr. Patel looked bemused his eyes blinked with each admission and ring of the tills. “He looks like a human calculator,” Norman remarked to
Betsy. She nodded then responded to a barmaid calling her. Norman went off to chat to Lenny at the front door.
The evening was yet another great success with Lenny having to turn away dozens. Mr. Patel was aware of this and seemed to find it extremely painful his face revealed. He did seem amused however as Doc’s extras dressed in white coats yanked the auditions off the stage when their time was up.
As the prop clock struck midnight, Norman took control again. Stood centre stage a cigarette in one hand, bottle of Newcastle brown in the other. He addressed the now intoxicated crowd, “It is the time, we are to be visited, we have waited long, toiled hard and now we are to be rewarded, he will make us happy again, we shall be free to laugh. Bow your heads to Mickey Finn. ”
Mickey walked out on his hands, fell upright, and straightened his suit up. He was similar in many ways to Norman Wisdom. He gazed out at the crowd, “If my poor Gran could see you lot. This used to be a decent old boozer. Not the sort of pub where you would swear in the presence of a lady, no change there then. ” He studied the ladies in the crowd. “Did you all have a nice Xmas, cause I aint seen you since then ‘ave I, tele was right poxy again. Now Only Fools And Orses, I know, I know it’s more serious to knock that than the Royals, but what a load of bollocks. Shame on you B.B.C. still that documentary on Boxing Day wasn’t bad, about an office in Slough. Strange putting a documentary on prime time viewing though, that geezer David Brent, some childhood he must have had. Thought I was fucking screwed up, reality TV. it’s taking over. I sent in an idea, Bone Idle. Do you notice now how all these soapsuds I mean stars that are killed off suddenly pop up in another one; soap opera that is. I guess there’s fuck all else they can do with them really. I’d like to see Jack and Vera turn up as long lost relatives of the Dingles in Emerdale, no need for a costume change, classic or what!”
Norman and Betsy were busy cashing up, they could both hear Mickey