“So, cards on the table,” said Doc, “what routines are we all doing in Brighton then?”
“My usual I guess my dearie,” answered Betsy. “Pass,” said Norman.
Doc with a head in hands gesture spoke, “O.K. then I’ll go first; the Spin Doctor is going to slag off the commuters who live in Brighton. I suggest you two follow my lead, hence why we are here at this un-godly hour of a Sunday. Zen, Norman, think a little Zen. We are going to get a-tuned to Brighton. So when we get up on stage tonight we are as one with our environment and can really take the piss out of the audience. So whatever road you go down tonight, make sure it’s in Brighton. This gig, right: an old friend of mine; a retired basket ball player; Gay would you believe; a born again; the worst sort. Anyway he has bought a pub with B&B upstairs and we are here to give him an opening night. The local press will be propped up at the bar, which is good for us. We get free board and as much as we can drink. You two get sex, sea and more sex. Now look out of the window because soon coming up, the Sussex Downs.” From the train they saw a mangled wreck of a car by the roadside, “A monument to Lady Di!” exclaimed Betsy. They all went silent as the train carried them on and into Brighton. At the station Doc was like a cross between a child and a B.B.C. historian, dragging the others outside the station to point to where the sea was; then he dragged them back inside to admire the Victorian architecture.
They strolled off towards the seafront. Doc now excited by the seagulls overhead, Betsy only impressed by all the drinking holes they were passing and Norman just pleased to be there. The nearer to the sea front they got the louder and more animated Doc became, “ Now that’s what I call a water feature, they filmed, ‘Oh what a lovely war,’ here you know,” he shouted and then loosing control pointing to the ground. “Right fucking here,” then he burst into full song and dance. “ Oh, oh, oh what a lovely war,” he sang much to the embarrassment of Betsy. She went off to hide in a Victorian promenade shelter. Norman stood and watched Doc, then applauded his brave performance.
“Bravo, bravo,” Norman now shouted. As this was Brighton on a Sunday Doc drew a small crowd. Norman had surprised Doc entering into a bit of theatre with him.
Betsy emerged from the shelter not really wanting to miss out on an audience. “Oh, oh, oh what a lovely war,” she sang. Doc joined in as
Norman mimed filming them. The three now getting strange glances from new passers by burst into laughter and danced off. Doc pointed to a Regency square on the opposite side of the road. He led them up through the square and off into a narrow street to find his friend’s pub. Still in an excited animated state he announced, “One day I’m going to put on an Opera. Yes, in English and modern. About security guards working through the night in a factory. I will call it And Even The Kitchen Sink.” He started to sing and gesture at his companions, “What have you got in that bag. And that bag. I; must; search; them; now. ” Betsy and Norman looked at each other in disbelief of the moment
“For fucks sake Doc, I think it’s time the men in white coats came to collect you,” responded Betsy just as they arrived at the closed door of a pub.
Having failed to get any response there, Doc suggested a drink on the sea front and they went off in search of one. A restaurant with tables outside lured Betsy even in the February weather. They shared a bottle of
Champagne and Norman’s cigarettes. A passing family seemed outraged by this sight, stepping into the road to distance themselves from such
decadence.
“A toast,” demanded Doc, “Sex in trees.”
“Sex in trees Doc! Where did that come from? ” asked Betsy.
“I was watching these two pigeons in a tree, from my bedroom window.” “Thank you Doc,” she cut him short.
At Norman’s request they moved on to explore the whole of the area. Doc acted as tour guide. Betsy remained un-interested, she held onto Norman’s arm. They wandered round till hunger steered them into an old style pizza restaurant. “Best stick with the Champagne,” advised Doc, “it’s good for the figure. If I could afford it I would only drink this stuff.” His request for extra toppings to include tuna and dolphin had not gone down well with the young waitress; so straight after their blow out, Doc guided them back to the pub. This time it was open and Doc’s friend Moses a six foot tall Black American was delighted to greet them. He showed them to a room on the first floor, with two double bunks; they thanked Moses and dived onto separate beds.
It was totally dark when Doc stirred, he woke the other two. Having found the light switch and blinding everyone with it, he announced, “Good
morning Brighton,” then confirming in fact it was six p.m. One after another they freshened up in the bathroom along the hallway.
By six thirty they were sat round a table in the bar, with Moses. “We don’t open till eight,” he said, “I don’t serve till then, usually, but as you three look like shit.”
“Cheers,” responded Doc, “Just a bottle of Champers and three glasses will be fine.”
“I’ll go and put the kettle on,” said Moses, chuckling to himself as he walked off.
With strong coffee now on the table, cigarettes were passed around. The group were hardly visible through the haze of smoke to staff and helpers as they turned up for the opening night. It dawned on Norman that perhaps they were the only stand-ups that night and the coffee was a good idea after all. Doc and Moses ran through the night’s format. Doc would host the whole event. Norman and Betsy would be introduced as main attractions on the London comedy scene and therefore would only be expected to do short routines.
After coffee, Norman and Betsy went out for a walk down to the seafront. It was a clear night, the tourist lights were on. They gazed and listened to the waves crashing. Norman phoned Doc to check what time they were needed back. “Not till ten,” said Doc, “but don’t get too pissed my lovelies.” They wandered arm in arm the length of the sea front and back in silence. Near to the gig they took warm shelter in a hotel bar.
“This is very posh Norman,” said Betsy, “are you trying to impress me?” “No.”
“Why not.”
“Need to impress that lot in the pub, not you, right now.” “Fair point Norman.”
“Zen!” “What!”
“Zen, tonight Betsy I’m going to be Zen Warwickshire.” “So, what are you going to do tonight Zen?”
“Pass.” “Really.”
“Yeah, I’ll bluff it out.” “So is that Zen.”
“Not really, but I am. Did Doc really make it big? ” “Maybe.”
“Will you really make it big?” “Let’s go and find out.”
They ambled back to the pub. It was so cold on the sea front they hurried up through the square and off into the side streets. There it was, shelter, as they opened the door the heat burnt their faces up.
The pub was packed with people generating warmth. It was another World. It was still early, Norman led Betsy through the crowded bar. He tapped Doc on the shoulder and shouted into his ear, “Call us when you need us, we need a power- nap.” The pair continued on upstairs.
Doc gave them a shout at ten. He met them on the stairs. “There is no backstage area here,” he explained, “if you don’t mind just being in the pub, I will introduce you and call you up. You will be on first Norman. ” They followed him down and through into the pub, which was now full to capacity and people still arriving. Moses was behind the bar serving, he offered them priority, which they took.
Doc stood up on a small round platform in the far corner of the bar. He pulled the microphone from its stand, “Order, order, order please, order, order, oh come on order please. Order in this public house please,” he said, “as the speaker in this public house, I must ask for, order, order please. Thank you.” Silence fell. “Thank you, welcome, welcome, welcome.
Tonight is a grand re-opening of the pub known to many of you as the Hope Tavern. However it shall, now be known forever as, ‘The Pub,’ I ask you, raise your glasses, ‘The Pub.’ Onto other matters, Moses has spared every expense tonight. We have buy two, pay for three deal at the bar, two guest speakers from London and the grand-ma-draw.
The draw will take place at mid-night. Your invitation cards tonight once handed in have all been placed in a large black bin-bag. Oh sorry, Moses, what’s that, oh sorry folks a large grey bin-liner. Is that cause they’re cheaper Moses or some political correctness issue. Oh I see, they are more environmentally friendly, grey bin-liners, oh really, glad you told me that and of course it matches the colour of you hair. O.k. your invitations will all be placed in a large grey bin-liner. Then at mid-night, still O.K. with mid- night are we Moses? Good.” Moses nodded from behind the bar. Doc continued, “So, midnight our two glamour girls, well when I say glamour girls, two local students with huge tits will make the draw. They will after handling in a sensual fashion the grey bin-liner, remove all but the bottom one in the grey bag and that one will be our winner. Normally in a draw the first to be drawn would be the winner, however tonight, the last out will be
our winner, therefore someone who would usually be a loser in life, will tonight be a winner. The one and only prize is a night out with Moses Grandma, she has just flown in from Long Island in the U.S.A. and has still got her own teeth and if she asks, Moses isn’t actually a homosexual. He just helps out when their busy. ” Norman laughed loudly and applauded along with the crowd; he admired Doc’s skill this night.
“Let’s move on then,” shouted Doc over the fading laughter he had created. “On such an evening I will ask no other than Zen Warwickshire to say a few words to you all, Zen if you would be so kind; thank you.” Norman made his way over to take the microphone off Doc they swapped places on the rostrum.
“Oh, I got a huge hard on,” announced Norman, “Must be the sea air.” He grabbed his crotch. “I must come down here more often, Brighton, I mean. Talking of which, it’s fucking February again. Having had to go into deep debt to prove our love over Xmas and New Year, we men have to do it all over again. Valentine’s Night, what a load of bollocks and you know, it’s the thing that scares me most about getting old, true, cause it’s worse for the oldies. Buying the card, you see them in the shop and it doesn’t matter how they play it they’re only going to get fucked at the check out. The envelope can’t be found or the price stickers fallen off and the poor old fucker’s stood there with the female assistants who must be thinking, who the fuck’s this balding old fart buying this card for anyway. They treat you worse than if you’re buying porn, at least then they’re scared of you. Then it’s, ‘Kylie, how much is this tonight’s the night Valentine’s card.’ ‘I don’t know Cher, asont it got a bah code.’ People in the shop are looking now, trying to draw a mental picture of this poor fucker making it tonight’s the night for anyone. If he is then there will be many more embarrassing moments for him before the 14th. Feb. is over.
Then there’s the present and no, a new vacuum will not do unless perhaps it has a vibrator attachment. Probably not though as the 14th is national erection day, no cheating gentlemen please. We are now talking, the task to end all tasks. They didn’t even have to do this in the Lord Of The Rings for Christ’s sake. Oh yes it’s the visit to the Sexy under-wear shop. How the fuck baldies deal with that one is beyond me. It’s bad enough when you’re young. James Bond, only he could get away this. The rest of us forget it. For most of these couples it’s lights off sex anyway, why throw money at it. I’ll leave you all, with one Valentine’s thought.
This is a true story. I’m in a large newsagents shop just last year, going through the cards. I notice this one, cause on the front it says. ‘We all know that diamonds are a girls best friend, but,’ I just have to know what the but is. I open up the card and it says, ‘A big stiff cock comes a very close
As you have been a wonderful audience tonight I will reward you by saying enough’s enough. So it’s Good night from me Zen Warwickshire.”
Norman handed back the microphone to Doc before going off to join Betsy in with the crowd. Doc reminded the audience that, “An Englishman’s Cock is his Castle,” by way of continuing the Valentine’s theme. “Talking about traditions, Hunting, I said Hunting dear heart, well I would hardly mention the other in a bar in Brighton would I? No, what is a private
members bill? I’ve heard of a Private Bill’s member. So why the hell do you lot in the great no-where want to hunt any way? Can’t you go to the
Supermarket like the rest of us? And you got the fucking ocean down the road. Horses and dogs can swim you know. Fox, fish, what’s the big deal? And the chance of encountering a hungry shark would liven the hunt up. Even Vegetarians could join in. Look, if you really want to piss off T.B. why not wait till his next party con down here. Then give it some, Oh, oh, oh what a lovely war. Right outside; the press would love it. You’d be on the TV. live. Probably upset the Actors Unions though. Well enough of politics, now here’s something that really should have been made illegal, Abba-music. If any of you suffer from good musical taste, please cover your ears.
Doc joined Norman and Betsy in the crowd, Moses was excited with the way his evening was going and provided the three with another round of free drinks. Doc shouted in Norman’s ear, “Not bad mate for first up, you’ll do.”
Betsy slipped away back upstairs to compose herself for her turn. Doc and Norman drank together as they were joined by a succession of locals. Moses kept the free drinks coming, so Norman guessed there would be no wages. “Only the wages of sin for you today Zen,” shouted Doc, “free booze, fags and Nancy in a bunk up stairs, what more could you want.”
Just after 11 o’clock, Doc sent Norman up to call Betsy as he jumped up on the rostrum. He would introduce Betsy after he ran out of material. Norman propped himself up at the bar to watch the master at work.
“Evening all, sorry I’m a bit late, a bit of a rush today, spent ages doing my hair and forgot to put it on. I see you still got Ben Hur on at the Regal. Heard a couple of Gays talking as they came out, of the cinema I mean. One says, did you like the film? The other replied, loved Him, hated Hur.”
Doc moved on, “What the fuck do you lot find to do in Brighton anyway?” Next a comment about the tradesmen’s’ entrance and Oral B toothbrushes into watching reality T.V. and his ideas for some new ones. Having got a few boos with, ‘Blind Date Rape,’ he nearly brought the
ceiling down with, ‘Who’s Turd Is It Anyway,’ ‘Celebrity Gang Bang,’ ‘Jail Bait,’ ‘Fart Wars,’ ‘Hunt the Hard On’ and ‘Back To The Gutter,’ all
delivered with some fine graphic examples that only his sick mind was capable of. “American Idol that’s the pits, I keep thinking that Randy
Jackson is going to jump- up and say,” ‘Yo’ll I dig it dog, yeah man I mean you gave me a big hard on.’
“The tele is getting bad though, worse than us lot really. This’ll be the next thing, good evening, here is the news. Tonight’s news contains swearing and scenes of extreme graphic violence, sex and sport. Mark my words; The End Is Nigh.”
Norman was concerned that Betsy would not be able to follow this; he need not of worried Doc slowed it all down. Next he made up a story of bringing his dog Foreskin down with him from London. Having lost his Foreskin and wandered the streets calling it, he goes to the Brighton police station to report his loss. The kind desk sergeant allows him to go for tea in the police canteen, whilst there he over-hears two policemen chatting.
“Are you still going out with that Mary?” “No, she packed me in.”
“Why? You two seemed so suited.” “Something I said about Catholics.” “Didn’t you know she was a Catholic?” “Yes, but I didn’t know the Pope was.”
“Yeah really, that’s what you pay your fucking taxes for.” Screamed Doc, “here we go, here we go, here we go,” sang Doc in football style. “When I first discovered Betsy Norfolk she was a third rate porn star. She offered me sex. I said, sorry I’ve only got a tenner, she said that’s all right I’ve got change. Now she’s a third rate comedienne, please give a warm Brighton welcome to Betsy Norfolk.”
Betsy jumped up on the rostrum; she took the microphone off Doc.
“I see you lot will laugh at anything,” said Betsy to the crowd in mocking tone, “So I should be a big friggin great hit. I’m not funny either. She rubbed