by Harry Hill
‘It’s really cool stuff,’ came a girl’s voice from behind him. The voice belonged to a very pretty girl with dark hair. She put her arm through Neil’s and beamed up at him. Neil blushed a deep purple colour.
‘Who’s this then, Neil? Aren’t you going to introduce us …?’ said Matt taking a closer look at the girl – she was really very pretty indeed.
‘Oh, this is my girlfriend, Aiesha,’ said Neil. Matt was stunned.
‘Girlfriend?’ he thought. ‘Girlfriend?!’ First Rob and now here was Neil, a good two years younger than him.
‘Where’s my girlfriend?’ he thought to himself. ‘I’m the one who’s been on TV!’
Actually, he’d had quite a lot of interest from girls since The T Factor – but he hadn’t encouraged anything to develop because he was so wrapped up in his so-called comedy career.
‘Great,’ said Matt, limply shaking the girl’s hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Aiesha.’
‘Is this it?’ asked Aiesha grumpily. ‘I mean is this everyone that’s coming along?’
‘Not quite …’ said Kitty. ‘Unfortunately Alex couldn’t make it but there is one more person I’d like you all to meet. I don’t know where he’s got to – he should be here by now …’
Just then the door burst open and in came a man wearing a leather biker jacket and a motorcycle helmet that completely obscured his face.
‘Sorry I’m late, Kit,’ came a voice with a thick northern accent from inside the helmet. ‘But I won the lottery this morning and had to spend the money before the wife found it. It’s surprising how much ten quid will buy you in Marks and Spencer’s isn’t it? I got two whole sandwiches and a packet of crisps!’
The man put his hands up to the helmet and tried to take it off his head but it wouldn’t budge. ‘Give us a hand getting this off will you, luv?’
He bent his head down and Kitty pulled at the motorcycle helmet but it appeared to be stuck fast.
‘It’s no use, it’s stuck again,’ she said
‘You’d better see if you can get some butter,’ said the man, his arms flailing about as if he was about to lose his balance.
‘Here, let me try,’ said Matt nudging Kitty out of the way. He gave the helmet an almighty wrench. Suddenly it released its grip on the man’s head, causing Matt to stagger back with the helmet in his hands while the man went the other way, crashing into the desks laden with food and drink, knocking cups, snacks and paper plates flying and ending up sitting on the floor.
‘For my next trick!’ joked Rob.
‘Sorry about that,’ said the man straightening himself up. ‘I wouldn’t mind – but I haven’t even got a motorbike! My bobble hat’s in the wash!’
It was only now that Matt was able to get a good look at the new arrival. He was an older man – old enough to be Matt’s grandad – tall, skinny, with wispy grey hair framing big wet, slightly bloodshot eyes, and uncommonly big eyelashes, so he almost had the appearance of a doll. It struck Matt that there was something kind and well … funny about him.
‘Matt?’ said Kitty. ‘I’d like you to meet The Kitty Hope Comedy Agency’s latest signing – Bobby Bath!’
‘Hello, son! Love your work!’ said Bobby, dusting himself off and shaking Matt by the hand.
‘Bobby …?’
‘Bath! Bath’s the name, comedy’s the game – or it was. What’s the phrase all you kids use? “Back in the day?” Yes, that’s it. Back in the day, although to be honest it was mainly nights. Back in the nights – no, doesn’t quite work that, does it?’ chortled Bobby.
Matt laughed. There was something really funny about this guy.
Matt wanted to say, ‘What the heck is an old guy like you doing at a comedy agency being run by an eleven-year-old girl?’ but he didn’t want to sound rude. However his face must have said it for him.
‘Now, I know what you’re thinking …’ grinned Bobby, helping himself to a slice of pizza. ‘What’s an old guy like me doing being looked after by a schoolgirl?’
‘Ha! You’re a mind reader as well as being a comic then?’ said Matt.
‘Ha ha! No, not quite. Believe me if I was able to see into the future I’d probably never have become a comedian in the first place. No, well, I’m here because – ha! If I’m honest this little wonder was the only one who was interested! Ha ha!’ Bobby rolled those big eyes of his and laughed and Matt, Rob, Magda, Neil, Aiesha and Kitty couldn’t help but laugh along with him. Kitty cut in to explain.
‘Bobby’s being modest, as usual. He was a huge star back in the seventies …’
‘And now it’s fizzled out!’ laughed Bobby.
‘What have I told you about being positive?’ said Kitty with a frown.
‘Ooops! pardon me!’ said Bobby, putting on a mock serious face. ‘No, my star hasn’t fizzled out, it’s crashed into my house and burnt it down!’
‘Bobby, please!’ snapped Kitty, before trying to continue filling Matt and the others in on the real facts.
‘Bobby had a lot of success early on in his career but that sort of success is always very difficult to maintain …’
‘Particularly if your act stinks!’ joked Bobby again, derailing Kitty’s little speech. Unperturbed she pressed on.
‘… so in recent years – how shall I put it …’
‘No one would touch me with a bargepole?’ interjected Bobby. ‘I’m about as popular as Jimmy Carr’s tax bill. I’m as welcome as a cold sore at a singles night, as a fart in a lift. For me to get booked on a show all the other comedians in the world would have to die from a mystery virus that only killed funny comedians!’
They were all laughing helplessly again. ‘This guy was really funny,’ thought Matt.
‘As I was trying to say …’ said Kitty, regaining her composure, ‘Bobby’s style of humour went out of fashion a bit …’
‘Yes, along with tuberculosis and smallpox!’ joked Bobby.
‘But I happen to think that you’re either funny or you’re not and as you can see Bobby Bath is still very funny!’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Matt, taking a swig from his tumbler of Coke.
‘Oh well, thanks, luv,’ said Bobby dropping the gags for a moment. ‘I try, you know, and you’re right, it’s been a chequered career at best – and it’s not been easy, particularly since my Sarah died – but the fact is I do think I’m pretty good at what I do, and I love to make people laff so …’ His voice tailed off. There was a moment of silence, not uncomfortable but sweet and affecting. Matt could feel a lump in his throat.
‘Besides …’ Bobby continued, ‘I’m too old to try anything else now. What other job could I do with this face?’ he said with a big grin. ‘If you saw these eyes at the window at the drive-through McDonalds, you might think twice about having the Filet-O-Fish!’
They all laughed again.
‘You should keep that in,’ said Matt. ‘That’s really funny.’
‘Thank you – I will! Cheers!’
‘So how come you found out about Kitty?’ said Rob.
‘Oh! Well, my granddaughter’s in her class. I’d seen Matt on the talent thingy and she told me about her, so I thought what have I got to lose? I’ll try anything once, well twice if it’s got chocolate on – sorry, I can’t help it, I have to make a joke about everything. Annoys the hell out of my wife … Sorry … it did …’ He tailed off again and looked at the floor. ‘Eee, it’s taking some getting used to …’
‘When did your wife pass away, Bobby?’ asked Magda taking his hand to comfort him.
‘1974! Ha ha!’ said Bobby with a grin. ‘Ha! Yes, the same year as my tailor! I can’t help myself, sorry! Everything’s up for grabs! Eighty-two years old and still playing! Right, is there any more of that pizza? I’m starving!’
For the next hour or so the gang stood around chatting, drinking and eating and catching up on the gossip as Kitty darted about refilling glasses and plates. Matt made a beeline straight for Bobby. He couldn’t wait to hear his story.
‘I was on Op Knocks!’
‘Op what?’ said Matt.
‘Opportunity Knocks – it was a talent show back in the seventies. It was massive at the time, upwards of twenty million viewers – the equivalent of your T Factor, and I won. Yeah, on that show if you won you came back the following week. Well, I kept winning and went back thirteen weeks in a row, which was great for my profile. I couldn’t go anywhere without someone shouting my name or bugging me for an autograph, but after thirteen weeks I’d pretty much used up all me material. Suddenly everybody wanted me. Clubs that in years past had not even returned my calls were phoning me up to book me. I had more work than I knew what to do with. In those days there were a lot of variety shows on TV where you could do five minutes and get a big cheque at the end of it. Well, I couldn’t keep up with the demand – you know how difficult it is to come up with new jokes.’
Matt nodded.
‘What I needed to do was work on new material but there just wasn’t time. My agent was telling me I should make the most of my moment in the sun. Anyway, ITV offered me a twelve-week TV series and, well, I had two young kids and a wife to support so I agreed, of course I did – I signed straight on the dotted – but I had no idea what I were going to do, like.’
‘So what happened?’ said Matt.
‘Well, they got writers in didn’t they?’
‘They?’ queried Matt.
‘The TV company, they got writers in but it was all stock gags …’
‘Stock gags?’
‘Yeah, you know, gags that any bloomin’ comic could tell – you know “Man walks into a pub”, that sorta thing. They were funny, but they didn’t sound like ME! And it were me that the audience watching Opportunity Knocks had voted for every week for thirteen weeks. So the show was mainly stock gags, and a few that I’d got round to writing, padded out with guest acts – you know, singers, dancers, a magician and sketches. Unfunny sketches! Then at the end I’d finish on a song. A song! Me! Ha! I mean I can hold a tune but it’s not a pretty voice by any means – I’m no Val Doonican …’
‘Who?’
‘Val D … never mind! The show was cancelled after one series.’
‘What did you do then?’ asked Matt.
‘What any comic does when he’s run out of jokes – I did a game show! Bobby Bath’s Swing Time,’ said Bobby, shaking his head. ‘Well, my heart just wasn’t in it. It was a stupid idea – to start with no one played golf in those days. It was just posh people in fancy clubs. The ratings were terrible from the start and never picked up. The show was cancelled half way through the first series. As we both know, you’re only as good as your last show. Pretty quickly after that the phone stopped ringing and it hasn’t rung much since to be honest, ha ha! To add insult to injury, when I went back to the clubs, they’d all heard it before. It was a relief really, it meant I could go back to stand-up. I developed the act and it was going great guns – then the world changed. All you alternatives came in …’
‘Alternatives?’ said Matt.
‘The alternative comics came in – lads like that Ben Elton and Rik Mayall, Dawn French and Jennifer Saunders. They came in and us lot looked like dinosaurs, ha ha!’ He gave a wry chuckle. ‘So now I do the odd club, an after-dinner speech here and there, benefit nights … Oh yes, I do my share of charity work – any excuse to get back on stage – because I still feel funny! I’m still that bloke who won Opportunity Knocks – well, inside anyway.’
‘That’s very honest, Bobby, I appreciate it,’ said Matt.
‘A warning from the past! Remember, it’s a marathon not a sprint!’ said Bobby.
‘Well, it’s really good to meet you,’ said Matt.
‘Likewise!’ said Bobby. ‘Can’t wait to work with you.’
‘You’re funny – for a grandad!’ said Ahmed, gatecrashing their chat.
‘I’ll take that as a compliment, my young friend.’ said Bobby, forcing a laugh.
‘No sign of Janine then?’ said Matt returning the smug smile he’d got off Ahmed earlier.
‘Nah. Just my luck. No sign of Amelia Wong either!’
*
That night after Kit’s party, Matt sat squinting at his smartphone, watching a grainy image on YouTube. There was a brief title sequence – some cheesy music and then an equally cheesy voice.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, it’s Bath Time!’ and suddenly there he was – it was Bobby! Oh sure, he looked different, younger – he must only have been in his forties but you couldn’t mistake that face.
‘All right everyone?’ said Bobby to the audience with a grin.
‘Bath?’ they all shouted back.
‘No thanks, I had one this morning!’ said Bobby, and he was away, reeling off gags and pulling faces, falling over – it was hilarious and although it was over forty years ago, it still seemed really fresh to Matt. Matt clicked on another link – Bobby Bath’s Swing Time! This time Bobby – a bit older now, some of his hair was going and he’d filled out in the face and round the middle – was hosting a weird quiz about golf, and it wasn’t at all funny. In fact it was kind of cringey. Bobby’s body language had changed – he was no longer bouncing about like a puppy. He looked, well, scared, and fear is never funny.
‘It’s a sprint, not a marathon,’ he muttered to himself.
14
The Road to Sossinghusrt
‘Blimey, some of these lanes are tiny,’ said Ian, swerving to avoid a sheep that was crossing the road. ‘You couldn’t have booked a venue more off the beaten track, Kitty!’ He looked in his rear-view mirror at Kitty sat on the back seat of the Astra next to Neil.
‘The Apollo it ain’t!’ he added, nudging Matt to try and get a laugh out of him, but Matt was lost in his own world. In his mind he was already at the gig and having the night of his life, rolling out gags, making stuff up on the spot and doing twice as long as he was booked for because the laughs were lasting twice as long. Then there was the encore, then the second encore …
It had been over two weeks since he’d last been on stage and he’d spent that time jotting down ideas for gags and running them in front of Kitty in the DMC. He’d worked up a set list that consisted of some of this new stuff, but if he was honest he planned to rely a fair bit on the tried-and-tested bits he’d done on The T Factor to get the audience on his side.
‘BRAKE!’ screamed Kitty from the back seat of the Astra. Ian slammed his foot down hard, the car swerved to the left slightly, then there was a high-pitched squeal as the wheels locked and the back end swung round, coming to a halt at right angles to the hedge, blocking the road, and five centimetres away from a policeman.
‘You seem to be in a hurry, sir!’ said the policeman ‘Oh, it’s you, Matt!’
‘Is there some problem, officer?’ said Ian. ‘It’s just that Matt here needs to get to the Rose and Crown for a gig!’
‘I’m fully aware of Matt’s engagement – that’s what I’m doing here …’ said the policeman.
‘Glad to hear you’re still a fan,’ said Matt with a cheeky grin.
‘If you take a look a little further down the road,’ continued the policeman, ignoring Matt’s interjection, ‘you’ll see that you are not the only ones heading for the venue.’
Matt, Ian and Kitty stuck their heads out of the windows and, sure enough, there was a huge queue of cars snaking ahead and disappearing round a bend in the road.
‘That queue goes on for three miles,’ said the copper. ‘And it’s presenting something of a hazard!’
‘I thought this was supposed to be low-profile gig?’ said Matt looking back at Kitty.
‘I saw it in the Daily Star this morning!’ piped up Neil.
‘Indeed, and I saw it on the breakfast news with that new bloke who’s taken over from Quentin Tubbs, whose name escapes me …’
‘Ahem!’ coughed Ian. ‘So what’s the plan, officer?’ he said.
‘Well, I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait in line like everybody else. Unfortun
ately there’s only one route to the pub and that happens to be the same route back. Their car park takes only fifteen cars, so we do have what could be described as a bit of a build-up!’
‘It’s gridlock!’ said Matt, stepping out of the car and walking a couple of yards up the line. Just then there was another screech of tyres and an almighty bump as a car came flying round the corner and right into the back of Ian’s precious Astra.
‘Oi! Watch where you’re going!’ he said jumping out of the car and running round the back to inspect the damage.
‘Sorry, mate, I didn’t see you! Not sure about your road positioning either! Do you normally park across a country lane?’ said the driver of the other car, a burly man in his mid fifties with a broken nose and hands like bunches of sausages.
‘You were going far too fast, mate!’ said Ian, taking out his mobile phone and photographing the damage. ‘That’s gonna cost a fortune,’ he said shaking his head.
‘It’s just a scratch!’ said the other driver. ‘A little bit of polish and it’ll be right as rain!’
‘No, mate,’ said Ian, ‘the Astra bumper comes as a single unit – they’ll have to replace the whole lot …’
‘Gentlemen, please, if you could just swap details, all this will be settled by your respective insurance companies. In the meantime we need to work out a way to get young Matt here to his engagement …’ said the police officer.
‘Eh? Hang on!’ said the bloke squinting past Ian and clocking Matt for the first time. ‘You mean … that’s Matt Millz’s car?’
Ian nodded.
‘You mean, the actual car that Matt Millz is travelling in?’
‘Yeah,’ said Ian. ‘I’m his stepdad.’
‘I knew it! I’ve seen you in the paper!’ the bloke exclaimed.
Ian nodded again – by now he was all too familiar with this routine.
Unfortunately the bloke had also clocked Matt. ‘I don’t believe it!’
‘Uh-oh!’ said Ian and gestured to Matt to get back in the car.