by Harry Hill
‘Listen, Matt, I’ll tell you what Bruce Forsyth once told me—’
‘You worked with Bruce …?’ exclaimed Matt. He was a big fan of one of the few men who could claim to be an all-round entertainer.
‘I did, in 1986, lovely bloke. Summer season. One night after the show we both went on to the pier for a pie and chips. Well, Bruce had to wear a hat and a scarf pulled up right under his nose – he couldn’t go anywhere back then without being mobbed, and that chin of his was a dead giveaway,’ chuckled Bobby. ‘Anyway, we were sat on the pier, looking out over the beautiful waters of Eastbourne – not exactly Barbados, but it has its own charm! Anyway, Bruce wolfs down his dinner but I’m struggling to finish my pie. Then Bruce turns to me and says, “What’s up?” I told him I couldn’t finish the pie and I hate to waste good food. And he says – and I’ll never forget this – he says, “That pie is for you, you’re not for that pie!” Wise words.’
As Bobby finished his story, he nodded and sat back in the armchair with a self-satisfied look on his face.
‘Eh?’ said Matt. He’d been hoping for a bit of advice on how to deal with his old set list and all he’d got from Bobby was advice on pies! ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Oh! Yeah, sorry …’ said Bobby. ‘What I meant was, your agent is like that pie …’
‘Wha—?’ said Matt shaking his head, still none the wiser. ‘Let me get this straight, you’re saying Dickie Hart is like a pie?’
‘Exactly,’ said Bobby, sitting forward. ‘Your agent is supposed to be there for you – you’re not supposed to be there for your agent. You employ him, he doesn’t employ you. Get it?’
Finally the penny dropped.
‘Yeah, you’re right,’ said Matt nodding his head, ‘but I don’t see how that’s going to help me right now. Dickie’s booked me on to this show so I’ll just have to do it.’ Suddenly the awful realisation of what was about to happen to him came back in a massive wave and he lost it completely.
‘Oh god, Bobby, I’m just so scared! I mean I always get nervous but it’s usually a sort of excitement nerves, not like proper fear! My mind’s a jumble, I can’t think straight, what am I going to do? I just don’t feel funny!’
‘Then you mustn’t go on, Matt, simple as that …’ said Bobby calmly, a look of quiet determination settling in his eyes.
‘But you didn’t hear Dickie Hart – I’ve got no choice!’
‘That’s where he’s wrong – you do have a choice. This is show business, son. There are no emergencies, the stakes aren’t life and death – it’s just silly stuff, fluff, here one minute, gone the next. Believe me, if you go on that stage tonight you’ll regret it for as long as you live.’
‘But how can I get out of it?’ asked Matt.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Bobby, tapping the side of his nose with his index finger.
‘An idea …?
‘Now listen very closely …’
24
One Good Turn
‘So you see, there’s no way he can go on …’ said Bobby to the producer and virtually the entire production team of Stand-up at the Apollo who were crowded into Matt’s dressing room ten minutes later.
‘I see …’ said the producer, soberly looking at Matt who was lying, panting in the armchair. ‘I had no idea he had asthma.’
‘Yes well, it’s not normally a problem,’ said Bobby, ‘but there’s a lot of dust in these old theatres you see, which must have set it off and as you can see he’s in no fit state so—’
‘But that leaves us an act short!’ interjected the stage manager. ‘And he’s due on in …’ she looked at her watch, ‘… exactly seven minutes.’
‘Well, you’ll have to get someone else or get Eddie to fill or pick that bit up next week and edit it in or something …’ said Bobby knowledgeably.
‘I’m afraid that’s out of the question,’ said the producer. ‘This is the last show in the series. We can’t afford to reconvene the whole thing – it would cost the production a fortune and we’re already over budget having had to fork out for Russel Perkins! Besides it’s being broadcast later tonight!’ The production team all nodded in agreement.
‘What about your warm-up man?’ said Bobby. ‘Couldn’t you promote him to one of the acts?’
‘Hmm, that’s an idea!’ said the producer, brightening.
‘I sent him home,’ said the stage manager. ‘Ray’s wife had a baby last week and with just one act to go I didn’t think we’d need him.’
‘Well, that’s that then,’ said the producer. ‘With one act short the whole show is unusable. Dickie Hart’s going to kill me when I tell him that!’
Matt forced out a cough and all eyes turned to him. He’d been silent through the exchange so far, but now he sat up and, feigning a hoarse, wheezy voice he said, ‘Bobby!’ and pointed at Bobby.
‘What’s that?’ said the producer, starting to get irritated now.
‘Bobby’s a comic, he could do it,’ wheezed Matt.
‘What is the boy talking about?’ said the producer.
‘We really need to go and tell the audience that there won’t be a third act, Jenny,’ said the stage manager tapping her watch.
‘What’s he talking about, Bobby?’ said the producer.
Bobby looked at Matt and rolled his eyes as if to say, ‘This wasn’t part of the plan.’ Matt smiled back at him and gave him an encouraging nod.
‘Well, I mean, yes, technically I suppose I am but …’
‘Technically?’ said the producer, raising an eyebrow. ‘Either you’re a comedian or you’re not …?’
‘Yes well, I am – I was … no … well, that’s to say … I am … but …’
‘You are what?’ snapped the producer. ‘Spit it out! I’ve got three and a half thousand people sat out there who think Matt here is going to be entertaining them!’
Suddenly, as if to remind them all, there was a distant roar and the corridor echoed with applause.
‘That means Russel’s just come off,’ said the stage manager. ‘What shall I tell Eddie, Jen?’
‘Tell him to fill,’ said the producer.
‘Right,’ said the stage manager pushing through the crowd of people to the dressing-room door and hurrying down the corridor towards the stage.
‘Now we haven’t got all day! Are you a comedian or not!?’ barked the producer.
‘YES! Yes! OK! I am a comedian! A stand-up. I’m Bobby Bath.’
The producer took a step back, narrowed her eyes and looked Bobby up and down. Suddenly her face changed from one of concern to that of complete surprise.
‘Bobby … Bobby Bath! Yes! It is you! But you were …’
‘Opportunity Knocks winner 1974, headlined the Royal Variety Show in front of Her Majesty the Queen, star of Bobby Bath’s Bath Time 1975 to 1976, host of Bobby Bath’s Swing Time 1977 to … well, 1977, and I haven’t been on TV for over forty years!’ said Bobby with a weary sigh.
There was a brief silence as this information sunk in to the assembled group. Then the producer’s face lit up like Blackpool illuminations.
‘How quickly can you be ready?’ she said.
‘Eh?’ said Bobby with a frown.
‘How quickly can you be ready to go on and take Matt’s place as closing act on Stand-up at the Apollo?’
‘Now hang on a minute,’ said Bobby. ‘I’ll never be ready. I mean this isn’t my crowd. They’ve never heard of me. Most of that audience weren’t even born when I was a somebody!’
‘Well, now’s your chance to show them that you still are! You’re our only hope!’ said the producer. ‘Miriam, get Dan to write a fresh intro for Bobby here – mention all his past glories, but don’t overdo it, we don’t want to build up any false expectations. Then get it loaded into the autocue for Eddie. Bobby, you’ve got four minutes to get your act together! Congratulations, you’re closing the last in the series of Stand-up at the Apollo!’
‘But …!’ spluttered Bobby.
‘You said it, Bobby, there’re no emergencies in show business!’
25
Bath Time Again
For Bobby Bath, four minutes had never gone so fast. No sooner had he been told that he was the new closing act than he was being marched towards the stage by Miriam the runner.
‘You’re booked for ten minutes, Bobby …’ she said.
‘No, luv, you’re wrong there …’ said Bobby. ‘I’m not booked at all.’
‘We’ll give you a red light at nine minutes, so that’s when you should start wrapping it up.’
They’d reached the back of the stage now – Bobby, Miriam and Matt – who was struggling to keep up his wheezing, although no one seemed particularly interested in him any more.
Matt could see the warm glow of the stage as they entered the wings, and could hear Eddie chatting to the audience. He could sense the excitement of a full house who have had a great night and who are just waiting for the icing on the cake – their closing act.
‘What do I do?’ said Bobby turning to Matt. It was the first time Matt had ever seen Bobby flustered.
‘I’m used to doing a whole show. I haven’t practised a tight ten!’
Eddie Odillo had started Bobby’s intro. Matt shrugged helplessly. He hadn’t thought of that when he’d put Bobby forward.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, there’s been a change of plan,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid that due to illness, Matt Millz will not be appearing tonight …’
There was loud groan from the audience. ‘I’d offer to give you your money back,’ joked Eddie, quick as lightning, ‘but since you all got in for nothing …’ There was a big laugh. ‘I’m sure you’ll join me in wishing Matt a very speedy recovery.’
Matt felt a bit guilty at the ensuing polite but apparently heartfelt round of applause.
‘Hopefully we’ll get him on the show another time. But we have a little surprise for you …’ A murmur spread through the crowd as if they were trying to guess who their surprise might be.
‘Jack Whitehall,’ someone shouted out from the back of the stalls.
‘It’s not Jack, no …’ said Eddie.
‘Jimmy Carr,’ shouted another.
‘We haven’t got that sort of money!’ Eddie flashed straight back. ‘No, we have for you a stand-up comedy star who once entertained none other than Her Majesty the Queen …’
Matt looked over at Bobby who looked absolutely terrified, and suddenly had an idea.
‘Bobby? How long was your Royal Variety set?’
‘Eh?’ said Bobby. He was staring from the wings at Eddie, transfixed.
‘Your Royal Variety set, back in the day! How long was it?’
‘Well … er, they were very strict. We were told no longer than ten minutes,’ said Bobby snapping back to the here and now.
‘Well, do that then,’ said Matt.
‘Eh? Do my …?’ said Bobby with a look of surprise.
‘Do your Royal Variety set!’
‘My Royal …?’
‘Yes! You’re always telling me how it was the best gig of your life! Now prove it!’
‘But that’s forty-odd years old!’
‘What is it you keep telling me?’ said Matt. ‘Oh yes, I remember – funny’s funny!’
‘Yeah but …!’ protested Bobby, but the time for thinking was over. Eddie was announcing him on.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Bobby Bath!’ A huge round of applause shook the building, a sound that immediately took Matt back to the last time he’d stood in that very spot as he waited to go on for The T Factor.
A look of determination settled on Bobby’s face. ‘No, Matt,’ he said through gritted teeth, staring firmly at the mic stand. ‘I’m not doing a forty-year-old set. I’m a comedian, I’m going to give them the new stuff!’
With that he fixed a big smile on his face and set off towards the centre of the stage. As he emerged into the spotlight the applause stopped almost as quickly as it had started and was replaced by a murmur that rippled from the front of the auditorium up to the back of the stalls then up into the dress circle and beyond – as if the audience were all asking the same question: ‘Who is this old bloke, and what is he doing on our favourite show?’
Eddie shook Bobby’s hand as he passed him and moved his hand up and down to the audience, trying to encourage them to keep the applause going. By the time Bobby reached the microphone even the murmuring had died down – you could have heard a pin drop.
Eddie joined Matt at the side of the stage and whispered. ‘Wow! I loved that guy when I was a kid! I just hope he’s still got it.’
Matt nodded. ‘So do I.’
There was a click and a clunk as Bobby unhooked the microphone from the stand. Then he stood for what seemed like an age, squinting at the audience. Under the harsh spotlight he looked even older than his eighty-two years, the huge stage making him look smaller and kind of shrivelled.
‘Come on, Bobby, you can do it …’ said Matt under his breath – he was now feeling more nervous for Bobby than he had for himself. ‘If you don’t say something funny soon, I’m going to have a real asthma attack!’
Bobby cleared his throat to speak. The audience sat forward in anticipation.
‘I know what you’re thinking …’ he said, looking first at the people in the stalls, then at those in the dress circle, then at those right up at the top in the gallery.
‘You’re thinking, who’s this old git and what’s he doing ruining our favourite show!’
The tension that Bobby had created was suddenly exploded and there was a laugh. Not a massive laugh, not even a big laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. ‘Well, what you have to remember is this skin was originally made for a much bigger bloke!’
Another laugh.
‘This is what a mouse would look like if it had as much skin as a cat.’
Another laugh, bigger than the two before.
‘Basically I need to have my body circumcised!’
A really big laugh now. They were building with each gag.
‘Fortunately I’m so old I’ve forgotten what I used to look like. My face is so wrinkled my phone thinks it’s a fingerprint.’
Another laugh. The audience were beginning to relax and enjoy what Bobby had to offer. Then the spell was broken by a lone voice from high up in the gods.
‘Go home, old man!’
‘Ouch!’ thought Matt. Eddie looked down at him and winced.
‘I would go home …’ shot back Bobby, ‘but I can’t remember where I live!’
Bang! There was the massive laugh that Matt knew Bobby had been waiting for. ‘Besides,’ he continued, not allowing any gap for the heckler to reply, ‘my daughter sold it to pay for my facelift!’
Pow! Another huge laugh. He was really starting to hit his stride now. ‘Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, how come I haven’t been on TV for over forty years? Well, my agent died! Cause of death, depression – yeah, he was watching one of my shows at the time!’
Suddenly something strange happened to Bobby. He seemed to grow, his back straightened, he was moving more nimbly, it was if he was getting younger before Matt’s eyes!
‘I’m so ill, the other day the Grim Reaper knocked on my door, took one look at me and said, “Sorry, I didn’t realise I’d already been round!” It’s like someone took a photo of my face and faxed it back to me! Let me explain that last gag for anyone still in nappies – a fax was a piece of paper that came through your phone. You’re thinking, “Now the old guy’s really lost it!”. But listen, I’ve worked with some of the comedy greats – Morecambe and Wise, Tommy Cooper, Les Dawson, Franki
e Howerd … Yeah, get the message, people, if you work with Bobby Bath, you die! A little tip – before you work with me, Eddie …’ He looked over at Eddie standing in the wings. ‘Make a will, put your affairs in order! I’m so deaf now it makes no difference to me if you’re laughing or booing! My eyesight’s so bad, the other day I did my whole act to an old school photograph. I’ve got a cataract – it’s not a big deal, I just keep thinking I’m being handed a doughnut!’
And the laughs kept coming, and coming and coming. Wave after wave of that special sound and none were laughing harder than Matt and Eddie.
Just when Matt thought it couldn’t get any better, Bobby took it to another level when he launched into a sort of rap.
‘Put your hands together and start to clap
As I lay down my Pensioner’s Rap!’ sang Bobby to a huge cheer.
Sure enough the audience started to clap out a regular beat.
‘I can’t work a phone, I don’t use a computer
But I’ve got sat nav on my mobility scooter!
I still play football but it’s not the same
I scored a goal when it bounced off me zimmer frame!’
It was getting huge laughs – and was made even funnier by Bobby’s attempts at body-popping.
‘Body-popping?’ he ad libbed. ‘I think I just popped me back out!’
Suddenly Matt remembered a conversation at the Frittledean gig when Bobby had asked Neil to help him come up with a rap. This was it!
‘This is magic,’ whispered Eddie turning to Matt, his eyes wide in wonder. Matt nodded. Bobby was jumping around like a man half his age.
*
‘I may be falling apart but I won’t ever stop
Though the pain in my hip really makes me hop
I said a hip-a-hop a hippety hop
I may be falling apart but I won’t ever stop!
Put your hands in the air like you’re losing your hair
I need a chair lift to get up the stairs
I got false teeth and a hearing aid