

Title: The Curious Survival of **Wee Bobby Blunder**

Published by Ian Peter Nelson at SMASHWORDS and Distributed by them

Copyright 2015 by Ian Peter Nelson

The moral right of Ian Peter Nelson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988. (UK)

Smashwords Edition : License Notes

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Chapter 1

at the seashore

Chapter 2

having decided to try Stand-up, he meanderingly muses

Chapter 3

first proper night at the Ha'penny Bar

Chapter 4

on the phone to possible comedy venues in Glasgow and Ayrshire, phoning from home

Chapter 5

the breakthrough, the revelation of the Republic of Albanik

Chapter 6

leaving the hotel to go to the Strand after a fleeting meeting with GAWD's representative on earth, Edinburgh division, who advises Wee Bobby on how to proceed

Chapter 7

from the hotel to the Ulster Hall

Chapter 8

from the Ulster Hall to lying in state at Bogend Bar

Chapter 9

not quite the Pearly Gates ... the side entrance

Chapter 10

conclusions and explanations and the future

Part 2

Bio of the Author

The Curious Survival of

### Wee Bobby Blunder

**Chapter 1**

_at the seas_ hore

Wee Bobby Harris stood in his stockinged feet and reached only 5 feet and 3 inches small.

He squeezed his size 5 feet into his running shoes without undoing the laces even though it crumpled his socks and was bound to give him a blister or two.

He had only recently moved westwards from _Very Near Glasgow_ to the North Ayrshire coast, often referred to as the _Barbary Coast_ , which includes Saltcoats to Largs.

Wee Bobby's recently developed ambition was to run all the way from his new home in Ardrossan all the way to Largs, a distance of 12 Scots miles.

Target number one was just 3 miles up the coast road to Seamill where there was an excellent grand HydroPathic Hotel, where he could stop for a breather before jogging back along the seashore pathway to Ardrossan.

From the shores of the Firth of Clyde he had a wonderful view 12 miles to the west of the whole of the Island of Arran.

Wee Bobby was enjoying life on his new reservation and was counting his blessings as he gently jogged past _Jumbo Rock_ ( a massive 500 ton boulder on the beach with _'Jesus Saves'_ daubed in magnolia paint) heading for his house overlooking the North Shore and the Harbour and Breakwater at Ardrossan.

He veered from the footpath onto the grass verge to avoid an ugly barking brute of a strange breed of dog _( Erik, the Giant Great Dane_ ) which had jaws like a shark and a drooping tongue like a donkey's dong and which was supposedly under the control of its handler, a local worthy known as Rab the Tool and this caused Wee Bobby to have to sprint all the way up to 12 mph.

This was his undoing. A sharp pain travelled from his chest up the side of his neck and into his brainbox. He stopped running. He stopped breathing. He stopped standing. He collapsed to the ground. He stopped understanding. 'What the fuck ?' he asked himself, without moving his lips. He started shiting. He started pissing. He started crying. He opened his eyes. The big ugly bastard of a dog was licking his face with a slevery tongue.

He heard a remote and oddly Irish voice shouting, ' Jist send us a fuckin' ambulance - never mind that who is calling shite, jist get wan sent, right! this jakeys croakin' it ! '.

Wee Bobby could see the dog sitting down and twisting its body sideways so it could lick its arse which it managed even though it was a Giant Great Dane.

'Erik, stop licking that, you'll get fed when we get home!', the guy barked at his dog.

Then Wee Bobby watched Erik come over to him again and as it licked his face with its shitey slevery tongue he tried to push it away but his arm wouldn't move. In fact, nothing would move. He was in a state of True Collapse.

_The ambulance arrived driven by Denise the Bagpiper who wishes to remain anonymous in this book so hereafter she'll just be referred to as Paramedic One_.

When they'd finished their teabreak the ambulance paramedics briefly checked for vital signs and decided there were virtually none so they lifted Wee Bobby onto a canvas stretcher and stumbled over the sea-grass verge and into the back of the ambulance and they rolled Wee Bobby's body onto the bed and strapped it in.

'Aw for fuck's sake! Look at that dogshit, man o' man. It's bloody honkin'! ' said Paramedic One.

Paramedic Two said, ' You cannot, I repeat cannot, go into the hospital with dods of keech stuck to your boots. Better get it off. I'll drive' so saying he jumped out the back of the ambulance and clambered into the driver's seat and fired up the engine and drove off towards Crosshouse Hospital.

Paramedic One gingerly avoided getting any faeces on her hands as she wiped her shitey boots on the blanket which was lying across Wee Bobby's limp and apparently lifeless body.

When she was satisfied they were clean enough she banged on the partition and shouted at the driver to stop the ambulance and allow her to transfer to the front cabin, just to get away from the horrendous stink.

at the hospital

Whilst on their way to Crosshouse Hospital they debated whether they should turn on the siren and the flashing blues. The First one said, ' It was last Tuesday, I think, yes, that was the last time we had a real emergency and could flash the blues and sound the siren.' The Second one thought about it for a while then agreed it could be done on the approach to roundabouts because it gave him a migraine if it was all gongs blazin' for too long.

' What about our cargo ? Do you think he's pan breid yet ?' asked Number Two.

'Naw! Not yet. but I think he's _corn beef_ so he'll not be bothered.' replied Number One.

They skidded to a halt at A & E because they were on security cameras and just in case there was a later review it would show they were hurrying, not dawdling.

They transferred Wee Bobby's seemingly lifeless body into the Emergency Admitting Theatre and kicked on the trolley's footbrake.

' Would you please sign my release form Sister Maggie ?' asked Number One.

' Surely, Shirley, but where's that helluva smell of dung coming from ?' she enquired sniffily.

' Can ye not see he's shat himsel'? ' said Number Two.

The Ambulance Operatives quickly left the zone and headed for their bothy for another well-earned teabreak.

Wee Bobby was lying face down, contrary to all known regulations, but it clearly showed his stained posterior. The nurse loosened the restraining straps and called for assistance to turn him over. She grabbed the blanket and began rolling it up. She felt, then smelt, the squishy goo lumped into a corner of the blanket. She screamed. She screamed bloody murder. She ran for the toilet to wash it from her healing hands.

She scrubbed them 3 times and dried them then dolloped the gel from the wall container over them and spent another 5 minutes wringing her hands over and over.

She was distraught.

Meanwhile Wee Bobby had regained a modicum of consciousness and self-movement.

He was alone.

He wriggled until he had turned onto his back and just managed to not fall off the trolley bed.

He closed his eyes again, exhausted by the effort.

The nurse returned, looked at the body and wondered who had turned him over.

Then Bobby opened his eyes. She screamed, ' You're no deid! Whit the fuck dae ye think yer playin' at ?'.

She was now doubly distraught.

She tried to steady herself by reaching out but grabbed onto the discarded blanket. She squeezed it tightly to avoid falling. Too tightly. The khaki keech oozed through the weave of the blanket and covered her hand like a kaolin poultice glove. She screamed in horror.

She was now distraught for the 3rd time. She dashed once again to the toilets.

After another 5 minutes had elapsed she returned once again to Wee Bobby. ' If you're like that ower a wee bitty dodie whit ur ye like with blood?' said Wee Bobby, except it didn't sound like that because of his condition.

It came out more like ' Ya whooor, lick that wee bit dodie ... witch that ye are ... lick wur blud ... dribble '.

Nurse Maggie was aghast. ' I'm taking nothing to do with you, ya wee scunner!' she said as she blazed off in a fury towards the hospital's ards muttering, ' Cat poo, horse dung, cow's pats and even vegetarian octagenarians' poops I can Strand without trouble but I bloody hate manky dogs and that smell is not of this world'.

The doctor eventually arrived and organised getting Wee Bobby undressed and washed and smocked up so he could examine him.

He sat Wee Bobby up and peered into his eyes with an eyescope. Dr. Ramaputra was in the habit of giving a running commentary during examinations as if he had a cluster of medical students listening in.

' Ah yes... signs of TIA, very definitely a CA ... dose of bisoprolol fumarate, losartan and warfarin and we'll get him up to the Jubilee for an MRI scan.' mumbled the good doctor, remembering the wee cash commission they paid backhand for NHS referrals.

Wee Bobby looked around and saw no one. He presumed the doctor was talking to him.

He asked, ' So doctor, what's a TIA when it's at home ?'.

The good doctor replied ' Transient Ischaemic Attack'

Wee Bobby nodded his agreement, ' Aye, yer so right there doc, attacked by a bad bastard ' of a dog. Whit's a CA ?'

The good doctor replied, ' Cerebral Accident'.

A suddenly angered wee Bobby retorted, ' It wisnae a fuckin' accident. He tried it, it wis deliberate'.

'Calm down, calm down, you'll do yourself no good getting excited!' said the good doctor.

' Who do you think you are ... Michael bloody Winner ... fucking calm down ... I am calm .. you should see me when I'm no calm. Barking bloody mad!' shouted Wee Bobby, adding, ' Sorry Doc. I'm just upset. I've had an ordeal. Say, where are you from anyway doctor ?'

'Patna ' replied the good doctor.

'Aw right.' said Wee Bobby, ' Patna, heading for Dalmellington, my uncle lives in Patna, just ower frae the pitheid '.

Dr. Ramaputra decided that further explanation would be wasted breath.

Wee Bobby recovered almost all his useful senses plus a new sensation. He had a new sense ... of foreboding. He wasn't sure what it meant but it made him feel uneasy for the future. He'd had a bad scare. He wondered if he had a future.

At the Jubilee Hospital between Clydebank and Dalmuir they inserted a stent into a collapsing artery in Wee Bobby's neck.

He was aware of something greatly different now. He seemed to think differently, as if every thought was now examined by his er being, scrutinised and internally debated over and his new alter ego made BIG decisions on his behalf and in his best interests. His best interests were now wrapped up in completing his unaccomplished ambitions before the, the last breath ...

He especially had always been ambitious to be a _Stand-up Comedian_.

He had played backing guitarist in pop & rock bands and later in wedding bands but always in the background, never the front man.

His whole life had been given over to jollity and quipping light-hearted inoffensive jokes - making people smile and hopefully laugh.

Now it was different.

Wee Bobby was about to transform himself from Bobby Harris into Wee Bobby Blunder.

From now onwards, he decided, .... Outright Offensiveness, Anything for a laugh. No more gentile smiles ... BIG belly laughs, guffaws and eye-watering, side-splitting, painful, pissing oneself HEE-HAWS.

This was serious stuff.

He told himself ' I am now a _True Comedian_ ... there's no going back now !'

In a confused state of mind contemplating his future

Released from the Jubilee Hospital and now back at home in Ardrossan he discovered he'd been burgled.

He phoned the police. A team of them quickly arrived.

'That was helluva quick !' said Wee Bobby.

'Aye, we were just plodding along the road anyway, there's been a spate of break-ins in the neighbourhood' said PC Plawdd.

' Anything missing ?' he asked, continuing without an answer, ' better to make a list anyway so that your insurance company will pay out if we can't locate it in Cash Converters.'

'Do you know who did it? asked Wee Bobby. ' .. and why did they smash the patio door double-glazing with a boulder ? The door was already open by 2 inches to allow a breeze in for cooling ... I was asleep in my chair at my computer in the room at the end of the lounge.'

Plawdd replied, ' Yes we know all the junkies, we just don't know which particular ones are active tonight. Probably just as well you slept through it, they don't need a reason to do anything, they just do whatever fantasy crosses their minds. Anything which can be Cashconverted is what they seek. Did you lose any cash sir ?'

' Yes,' said Wee Bobby, ' my holiday Euros, £600 worth, some jewellery, wedding ring and dress jewellery, all 9 carat gold, just small amounts, don't know the current value. My spare mobile phone with no SIM card, a Samsung Slider, about 2 years old, not worth much.'

' The joiners will be along as soon as they finish your neighbour's house'. said PC Plawdd, ' Can I just take some personal details for my report and I can give you an Official Incident Report Number which you'll need for your insurance claim.

When he had surrendered his name and date of birth and all that he was asked the question ... ' and what is your occupation, Sir ?' asked Police Constable Percy Plawdd.

Although officially retired early on the sick and therefore occupationless Wee Bobby proudly declared, ' I'm a _Stand-up Comedian_ !'

PC Plawdd laughed. 'Well you'd better stand up then ' he jested, as he drew himself up to his full height of 6' 4'.

Wee Bobby laughed out of politeness.

' Yes, When I was young I told my parents I was going to be a comedian and they laughed. Well, they're not laughing now !' joked Wee Bobby.

'Why not !' Plawdd said, in mock seriousness at first but then he laughed out loud. Too loud.

' Because they're dead !' said Wee Bobby, struggling to keep a straight and stern face.

'Oh! I'm sorry Sir ' said Plawdd.

'I'm not ' said Wee Bobby.

' Did you not say earlier you were an orphan ?' quizzed Plawdd. 'When did you first realise you were an orphan ?'

' Just after I killed them ' quipped Wee Bobby, quickly adding, ' Only kidding!' , when he saw Plawdd's eyebrows furrow seriously.

' Truth to tell Officer, I've just had a life-saving heart and brain operation and I decided what little time I might have left I'm going to achieve unrealised ambitions, hence the Stand-up Comedian stuff '. said Wee Bobby, by now wishing he hadn't gone down that road.

' Let's say no more about it then Sir.' said Plawdd, ' If you ever have another run-in with the junkies, don't stand to fight, run away because at close quarters these guys are very dangerous, but they're shite at running.'

Wee Bobby burst into tears at the recent traumatic memory of _shite and running_.

**Chapter 2**

having decided to try Stand-up, he meanderingly muses

Wee Bobby switched on his laptop computer and opened a blank worksheet in Windows Excel Spreadsheet. He had been shown how to make a control program by Big John who had recently started preparations to be a _Musical Comedian_.

Firstly, Wee Bobby typed a title in cell A1, saying _, Necessary Planning_ \- then he pressed _Enter_ , then _File_ , then _Save_ and created a _New Folder_ and called it _My Future_ and _Saved_ everything to do with his _Unrealised Ambitions_ neatly and orderly for easy future reference. He thought about the usefulness of _ITALICS_ **,** and determined to use them much more in the future to give the high degree of importance these magical new phrases meant to him.

He had to plan out ' _Sets_ ' of 10 minute sections and build them up to 1 hour and beyond to enable him to present himself on-stage as a performer, as a _Stand-up Comedian_.

But first he had to figure out how to turn off the _italic_ feature or the effects would be negated, so he sent Big John a text. He got the answer immediately.

'No stopping me now', Wee Bobby muttered to himself.

He typed up headers for each category of joke he could think of such as _One-Liners, Mother-in-Law, Doctor, Lawyer, Pat, Mick and Murphy, An Englishman, A Scotsman and an Irishman, Dead dogs, Masonic, Anti-masonic, Jewish, anti-Jewish._

He typed up headers for _Numbers of seconds_ and below put 30 secs, 50 secs, 1 minute and so on until he reached _the 4 minute joke_ , a highly prized target story with several punch lines throughout and only attempted by the Masters of Comedy Storytelling, such as _Stuart Lee, Bobby Connolly_ ..... and few others.

He logged onto the internet and _Bookmarked_ all the websites on _Google_ which had jokes which he considered good enough. He would edit them down to his final selection before creating his _Set Program of Favourite_ s. Every joke had to be _Really Funny_ , not _just Funny Laughable_ but _Funny Spectacular._

He was making brilliant progress when he remembered it was Sunday.

Sunday night was musical jam session night at Bogend Bar public house in Dalry, just 15 minutes over the hills to the North.

He selected 6 stories he considered would be a good test of his joke-telling ability.

Over and above his normal jokery he would wait for the perfect moment to interject one of his _Selection_ , probably immediately at the end of a well-played medley because the musicians and audience would still be showing their appreciation and as soon as the voice volume dropped he would jump in.

He filled his press-top plastic jogger's bottle with orange juice in readiness. It was a cheap night with only the cost of petrol to worry about because he never bought a drink. He hid his bottle in his guitar bag.

He rehearsed the _Selected 6_ in front of the wardrobe mirror and grew in confidence until .... time to go.

He switched off his laptop just by closing the lid. But then he re-opened it and powered up Excel again, then _clicked OFF_ _the Italics icon_ and re-closed the lid. 'Must look after the _italics_ from now on', he told himself.

Bogend Bar, Dalry, Sunday night jam session - he informs his cronies about his QUEST

Milo Webster was the landlord of the Bogend Bar public house in Arcadia Street in Dalry in 2012. The interior looked unchanged from the 1950s. Not grand but well worn plush and still functional. The spitoons had been removed on Health & Safety grounds as they were adjudged to be a _Tripping Hazard_.

Since their removal countless drunks had fallen over when they raised a foot and made to lean on the brass rail which in the past had protected the spitoons ( both had been removed, by order of the council ) and on _pawing the air_ left them falling sideways they were only saved by a chance collision with another adjacent drinker.

Quiet nights saw most complete fall-overs. Milo Webster had a huge white dog whose job it was to lick the faces of fallovers to revive them. He too licked his arse when he had nothing better to do.

Must be a doggy pastime. The Dalry yokels called the place _Bogging Bar_. Perhaps a corrupted form of _Dogging_. Who knows for sure?

Spitoonless pubs used to sprinkle sawdust on the floor to mop up spittle, blood and vomit but nowadays this practice was forbidden, as was smoking.

The music lounge was past the main bar and up a short flight of steps which also led to the Gents Toilet. The door into the lounge also allowed access to the Ladies Toilet. In the lounge was a small bar, which was rarely used, and on the long wall, two tiled fireplaces, one with an old-world 1930s gas fire and the other with a radiator. Nobody out in Eden Close could see in through the windows and no-one inside could see out.

There was a permanently locked exit door leading through an inner porch to the lane leading to the church car park. Here was located the only 13 amp plug point for the room. There were 2 circuits for lights, one switch for wall lights, one for ceiling lights.

All chairs and tables were movable except for the padded leatherette wall seating which ran along two of the walls.

The movable chairs were heavily padded with horsehair and leatherette coverings and some had loose arms and creaked excessively and were quite low to the floor which was uncomfortable for most musicians so the first to enter the room moved most of them to the audience's end and substituted creaking wooden wheelbacks from another wee cosy room.

The later-arriving musician's got the spare plastic seats from the end of the main bar or had to Strand until someone left.

Drinks were obtained from the main bar at public bar prices but you carried them through yourself. Smokers had to stand out in the Eden Close lane, exposed to the elements and the _Dalry Youth Team Freedom From Oppression gangnam dance troupe._

This was to be the venue for Wee Bobby's first night performance as a _Stand-up Comedian_.

When Wee Bobby entered just before eight o'clock he was warmly greeted by those musicians already assembled. He exchanged pleasantries, mostly mock insults but this was the norm, and took up his regular place on the wall seats next to the unused fireplace.

He unzipped his gig bag, removed his semi-acoustic guitar and checked it was in tune.

Wee Bobby never initiated any tunes. He didn't sing, he was a guitarist. He chose his seat position to be able to see what chords the others started in and he could ask the fiddle, banjo and mandolin players what key they were playing in, invariably G and D, otherwise he had the experience to listen and muff in whenever he had caught the tune and the key.

He took out his A4 paper with his neatly printed _Selected 6_ jokes - just in case he needed reminding.

Bilbo Birnie kicked off into ' She filled up my senses, like a knight in the forest ... (read from a handwritten-in-capitals page of a folder and written down from someone else's singing )

Simultaneously, (well almost, their timing being always sus), Big Charlie McGregor launched loudly into , ' Ye Jacobites by name, Lend an ear, Lend an ear, Ye jacobi ...... Oh sorry Bilbo, Ah didny ken ye'd sterted wan - Oan ye go! '

Whilst Bilbo was recomposing himself for a restart Arthur Shand blasted off on the Bellosi Accordion with his favourite starting-off medley.

Accompanying Arthur Shand was Edward Cathcart on the wet-rag-soaked bodhran goatskin drum who kept a steady and regular beat with no fancy triples to upset the rhythm. Edward Cathcart believed bodhran effects were to be felt rather than heard and consequently his immaculate time-keeping went unnoticed by the band. He chose not to play with every tune so if you wanted to know if he was playing you had to watch his left eyebrow because it twitched when he rolled his wrist to swish his bone off the goatskin, there was little chance of actually hearing his drumbeats. But then again, this was Scottish folk music, no-one really cared.

Arthur Shand on his accordion kept to a regularly accelerating beat but overall he had a regular pattern of irregularities of which he was aware of some but the rest of the cronies were aware of all his peculiarities. They had long ago accepted that Arthur would speed up from the start to the finish. Sometimes he missed 2 beats from the end of a bar and if he became aware of it would compensate by adding 2 beats at the end of another one. When he came to a very intricate part of a tune he would slow his right hand down to ensure he hit every note and then speed up through the subsequent simple part to catch up with his left hand's vamping. Arthur could never stand accused of finishing at the same time as the others because of his propensity to end with a flourish of notes then a long draw to a crescendo just like Jimmy Shand (now lang syne deid!).

Jasper Anderson, the high voiced harmonist, also joined Arthur Shand on medleys and beat a rhythm with muffled bodhran. He could play triples. He could play quartiples and quintiples. He was like a governmental left hand to Arthur Shand's right hand. Whenever Arthur executed an extra beat or three Jasper Anderson would stick in a triple or whatever he deemed to be sufficient to correct Arthur's out-of-timeness, except Jasper would compensate at the end of the next bar. Jasper's non-rythmic bodhran- tapping could be heard by all the other musicians, except Arthur , who is _corn beef deif._

During these medleys the other musicians would seize the opportunity to go to the bar or the toilet or for a smoke or to chat to the audience. Arthur Shand was unique for a self-taught accordionist and was revered and respected by the jam session players even if his talents were not appreciated by other accordionistas. One full size accordion weighs the same as one fiddle, one banjo, one mandolin and two guitars. It takes a big man with a big heart to play one of these beasts. Or Mairead Skye.

What's worse than two bodhranistas playing almost simultaneously. That would be when two bodhrans play plus Joe Sawer beating on a snare drum. Captain Joe doesn't so much coax a rhythmic beat from his instrument as attempt to beat it to an early death.

Thankfully for Wee Bobby, Big Joe would not be in 'til later on because he was playing indoor bools at Ardrossan.

After the medley Arthur would rest and recuperate for an hour .... then play his second medley of the night. If you were one of the early-arriving audience you might notice a similarity in these two medleys. The first was comprised of :- The Lights of Auchendoune, The wind that shakes the barley, The Rose of Allendale and back to The Lights of Auchendoune.

The second medley comprised :- The hen in the midden, The Gallowa' Hills, Just a wee doch 'n dorus finishing on The hen in the midden.

Wee Bobby was convinced that what Arthur Shand actually played was akin to :- The light hen of Auchenmidden, Gallowa's Windy Hills and Barley-o, and the Rosendoors Duck Alan-a-dale on both occasions. He mentioned this to Arthur one night during a recess. Arthur explained thus. You only really need three chords, a fourth one is an embellishment. There are only twelve notes but some of the black ones never get played. Almost every tune in the universe uses the same notes over and over and over again. What makes them different is in the hearing of it. It is down to the individual listener to decide what the tune in his head is.

Arthur Shand spoke to Wee Bobby gently but firmly, 'After all, most folk in Dalry have doors banging in their heids and the rest have Napoleon or God telling them tae kill somebody. Those not thus afflicted have tinnitus to bother them and I've got you to bother me so why don't you take your smart observations and fuck off and tell somebody who gives a shit.'

Wee Bobby went to the toilet to write that advice down thinking it was great material for one of his future sets. Wee Bobby had acquired the capacity to be un-insultable.

Bobby tried another song before anybody else jumped in and he did it in a determined not-to-be-stopped manner..... SS.Shieldhall ... (The SHITE SHIP)

This got the attention of all in the lounge because it called for audience and band participation.

Whenever Bilbo sang ..' We're the crew of the SS. Shieldhall ... everybody had to sing .. 'Fine Ship' ... and Bilbo continued ... 'pull your chain and we'll answer your call ...etc! Of course everybody sang 'Shite Ship' because it made them feel like naughty schoolboys ... to which Wee Bobby would quip .. ' Aye, but where are you going to get one of them at this time of night? comically alluding to poofery.

Being a Stand-up comedian could be risque-y and treading on dangerous waters, so to speak.

The night wore on ..... Instrumental medleys from Matt Nevis on banjo and home-made cigarbox guitars and Fraser Green on mandolin with Bilbo Birnie rendering most of the 60s and 70s popular songs but with some humourous ones added by audience request such as Minnie the Moocher and Sittin' in the Wee Room underneath the stairs.

Big John Peters obliged the company with a mix of Scottish and Irish traditional ballads and some Delta and Swamp Blues touched off with some Hank Williams Senior wailers. The truth was that he obliged his own desires because he didn't give a toss what the audience thought, he didn't much care for audiences who paid for nothing and still complained.

Half of the songs and tunes played were played every second Sunday Night, by accepted tradition and popular request. Some of the musicians only played the traditional stuff to get it out of their system, then moved on to their preferred style of music.

Some of the audience loved the traditional Scottishand Irish music and sang along when they weren't shouting at each other. One had to shout loudly for your neighbour to hear you over the unmiked singers.

Others in the audience just hated most of what they heard but the alternative was to stay at home, and switch the central heating on which they definitely couldn't bear to do.

Big Charlie McGregor stood his full height of 6' 4' and bellowed that there would now be a 15 minute recession. Wee Bobby took his chance and asked Charlie McGregor if he would help him by introducing him in the next session as a Speaker or Comedian. Charlie readily agreed.

During the interval several of the musicians and audience went downstairs to the main bar and some went outside into Eden Close for a smoke in the rain (Dalry was in the centre of a constant depression known as the 'The Garnock Valley Depression' and thus it was always raining, when it wasn't raining it was about to rain or had just finished raining which is why Glengarnock, Beith and Kilbirnie folks referred to it as Dalrain).

After 20 minutes had elapsed the folks were all alerted to a loud whistle which came from Big Charlie McGregor overblowing a wee yellow penny whistle .... 'Can I have your attention Ladies and Gent. Wee Bobby wants to speak ....' announced Charlie.

Charlie McGregor sat down. Wee Bobby said, ' Thanks very much folks, I would just like to thank you for giving me the opporchancity to talk tae yous ....'

rudely interrupted by shouts of ' Staun' up wee man - Oh! ye ur staunin' - Sorry!'

Wee Bobby tried to continue, ' A funny thing happened to me on the way here tonight .... ' interrupted by, 'Whit happened Bobby, did you get diverted through West Kilchuckie?' from Baldy Bella, the village tranny.

This was not unexpected behaviour to Wee Bobby but he was resolute in his determination to complete his mission otherwise it was a waste of the 8mg of Diazepam he had swallowed in the toilets in preparation for his debut, so he bantered on ...' Take my mother-in-law, please! would somebody take my moth-...' just then Arthur Shand sounded a crescendo on a G chord in introduction of his next set .... and he launched into another medley with Wee Bobby frantically waving his hands at him to stop but Arthur Shand's head was lowered as he closely examined his dexterous efforts at _'Dark Lochnagar'_ so just as he was wondering what to do next Big Charlie McGregor stood up towering above him and patted his head just like Benny Hill used to do to the wee fella on his TV show and the audience laughed loudly.

Systemic Failure, Mission Aborted, temporarily, thought Wee Bobby, and then he sat back down .... picked up his guitar and started strumming loudly, out of time and out of tune, choosing the key of F sharp for the hell of it ... 'Fuck ye's all, Yer all fannies! ', he muttered under his breath to console himself.

The Ha'penny Bar . Kilwinning

A wee musical jam session organised on Wee Bobby's behalf just to ensure his successful debut by doing a complete set

The Ha'penny Bar public house is in the east end of Kilwinning not near the railway station and is one of the cosiest wee pubs in town.

The Ha'penny Bar even has its own Hare-Coursing Club, they just don't have a course to play on. Fred Bican the owner is a generous host and whenever the jammers assemble he provides free plates of chips at around nine o'clock. He ensures they are extremely well salted as this makes them very very tasty, and gives the eaters a fair degree of thirst which needs quenching from the selection of fine wines, beers and spirits available at his bar.

If you visited a jamming session at Bogend Bar in Dalry on a Second Sunday you would recognise most of the crowd playing in the Ha'penny Bar on a First and Third Sunday, although there are about eight who will do the Ha'penny Bar, but not Bogend Bar, and eight who will do Bogend Bar but not the Ha'penny Bar.

There could be cases of discrimination or prejudice or perhaps self-selection and expressing preferences. All kinds of decision-making are to be found in the Greater Garnock Valley.

The physical layout inside the Ha'penny Bar lends itself better to separating the musicians from the audience and the dart-players and the television watchers.

From November to February it's best to get in early and grab the space around the real fireplace at the gable end and force the audience to sit either at the bar or at the raised rear alcove.

March to October is the best time for the raised rear alcove because the musicians can still be seated for playing and still be heard whilst being visually obscured thus suiting those of a nervous disposition who want to be part of a band yet remain incognito or inconspicuous.

There is only one spot where a Stand-up comedian can be seen by everyone in the bar if he is above 5' 11' tall , if he is smaller then he would need to stand on a stool. This would be the ideal position. Wee Bobby stands 5' 4' with lifts and some stretching.

To face his audience from this ideal position he would need to continuously turn by 45 degree increments until he has completed a 225 degree arc, and then reverse the procedure, all the while balanced precariously on a stool.

Wee Bobby asked Big John Peters to rendezvous at the Ha'penny Bar on a Monday night to reconnoitre the gaff because John lived nearby and was one of the original musicians to start the jam sessions so ought to know whatever one ought to know.

The first problem to be solved was in acquiring a suitable stool but this was instantly solved by HiHen the bar lassie who provided a plastic beer bottle crate which made an ideal 12' high platform when upturned.

As the ideal position was at the corner of the bartop it was considered unwise to have a microphone cable trailing loose across the floor.

'I can borrow radio mics', volunteered Wee Bobby.

He explained their method of radio signals to a receiver linked to an amplifier which could be sited out of harm's way, near a power plug point. Big John agreed this would be highly desirable, and quite professional.

Big John cadged an empty beer bottle from the bar lassie and handed it to Wee Bobby to use as a kid-on mic and told him to simulate a gig.

Wee Bobby's face turned red and he blustered and flustered and claimed not to have anything prepared. Big John took the bottle mic from him and assisted him forcefully off the crate.

He stepped up onto the crate and put the bottle mic in the appropriate position and began to sing,

_' Wrap me up in my tarpaulin jacket, and say a poor buffer lies low, lies low \- ow, and six stalwart lancers shall carry me, with steps that are mournful and slow._ ' as he swivelled around on his toes from the left at the gable-end television, past the entrance doorway, then the fireplace alcove then a quicker turn facing into the raised alcove then he reversed direction and stopped facing the doorway, and stepped down as he acknowledged the applause from Auld Larky, the bar's _fixed position drunkie_.

'Ah've not heard that sung since ma faither's funeral, pal - it wis lovely.' said Auld Larky, as a wee tear welled up in his eye.

'Now hear this Bobby, ' lectured Big John, ' A singer learns by heart several hundred songs and can start them at the drop of a hat, anywhere, anytime.

A Stand-up has to have a ready-learned repertoire of gags which can be called to mind instantly, as and when commanded.

You need to be aggressively assertive from the off. It's known in the trade as the _command presence_. It's what the police are trained to do in every situation, even when it is not needed, it demonstrates that _I am in command !_ even if they haven't a fucking clue what's going down.'

'Now you do it!' commanded Big John, adding,' Cos if ye canny do it in an empty, yer fukt fur doing it in a full hoose.', hoping for some comic effect.

Wee Bobby got back on the crate and grabbed the bottle mic and with sheer determination started off with, ' When I was young we were so poor we lived in a cardboard box and worked for fourteen hours a day at the coal mine and only had tins of corned horsemeat to eat, one tin between 5 of us'.

He had forgotten to swivel and related all this whilst facing Auld Larky's _fixed position_ slumped over the bar.

Auld Larky thought Wee Bobby was talking to him alone and replied, ' That's fuck all son, we were so poor we lived in a tree at the side of the rubbish coup and walked 5 miles to start work at 5 in the morning at the shite pipe shovelling excrement all day until 2 in the morning then had to walk back to our tree arriving at 4 in the morning and all we had to eat was roadkill '.

The darts team, who had paused their contest to listen in, hooted with laughter and gave a round of generous applause to Auld Larky, who gave the merest of bows, almost imperceptibly so.

' Aw fuck this for a game of soldiers,' said Wee Bobby.

' Naw! Haud oan there!' countered Big John. ' This is an ideal accumulating repartee situation here .... it calls for a response ... you must exaggerate your poverty beyond the claims of Auld Larky here ' added Big John.

'Whit dae ye mean?' asked Wee Bobby.

'Something like this ..., ' replied Big John, ' That's nothin' Larky, we were so poor we lived at the end of the shite pipe and had to eat soup made of excrement and diced carrots and we slept Standing up and at the same time we were making explosive pellets for the gunpowder factory by forcibly shiting wee dollops of keech into copper moulds and all we had to wear was black plastic bin bags.'

The darts teams applauded louder and hooted and laughed.

'Oh Aye! ?' exclaimed Auld Larky, ' Would that be full length bin bags then ?'

The Darts Teams and Big John convulsed with laughter and bought Auld Larky a beer declaring him to be the wer.

Wee Bobby looked befuddled. ' I don't get the joke there, what's so funny?' he asked.

Big John and Wee Bobby agreed to meet on Thursday for a dress rehearsal of 3 sessions of at least 20 minutes each.

**Chapter 3**

First proper night at the Ha'penny Bar

The Thursday rehearsal had gone quite smoothly and it was plain Wee Bobby's determination had carried through and he had learned his 3 sessions off by heart.

He had borrowed radio microphones and practised with them at home and also practised swivelling on a beer crate. By arrangement with Fred Bican, the Ha'penny Bar's owner, the live gig _debut_ was planned for the Sunday Night when there was to be no music because the Music Jammers were at Bogend Bar Pub in Dalry.

Big John had printed off a poster on his computer and it had been pinned to the pub's notice board all that week.

It declared, ' _A Night of Mirth and Fun with_ _Wee Bobby Blunder_ _fresh from his recent appearance at Kilmarnock Sheriff Court on charges of sectarian joke-telling, although the charges were dropped due to lack of evidence.'_

Wee Bobby had scripted the poster in the manner he thought would best grab people's attention.

It wasn't exactly the truth but it wasn't far off the mark.

Fred Bican, the Ha'penny Bar's owner had accepted £30 cash from Wee Bobby to supply sausages and chips at 9:30pm. Wee Bobby had planned to do his Stand-up Routine from 9 to 9:30pm. If they served the sausages and chips from 9:30 until 10:00 then Wee Bobby would get back on his beer crate from 10:00 until 10:30pm and if everything went well he would continue from 11:00 until 11:30pm, and even later if he received applause and encores, or at least some encouragement from at least some of the crowd.

Wee Bobby explained to Big John that he had prepared alternative gags in case he got an insensitive crowd and he needed to ' blue ' it up a bit.

At 8:00 o'clock on Sunday evening Wee Bobby entered the Ha'penny Bar 's public area carrying his guitar gig bag and approached the bar counter and asked HiHen the bar girl if he could speak to Fred Bican, the Ha'penny Bar's owner.

The bar girl laughed and said, 'Aye, I suppose you could phone him but he doesn't like to be disturbed on his night off. Is it important ?'

Wee Bobby was very surprised to hear this news, in fact, he was almost shocked.

'Does he know I'm doing my Stand-up Comedy Routine tonight?' said Wee Bobby, anxiously.

' Oh Aye, he said he would not normally miss it for the world but he's busy painting his toilet 'cos he's got visitors coming next month', she replied, adding ' Would you like a wee drink to steady your nerves before you get started?'

'No thanks lass, I don't drink, but thanks just the same. When does it start to get busy in here?' replied Wee Bobby as he scanned around the whole pub counting the customers, of which there were just eight.

'Just between eight and half-past eight Skinko Kelly and his wife Greta usually pop in and sometimes Hairy Mary the Woodwynd Fairy shows up but that's about all, unless of course there's a big attraction like the Music Jammers playing, then we get about thirty folks or so', said Pam, aka HiHen, the Sunday-night bar girl.

' But we've had a poster up for a week, do you not think that would attract a few more customers?' said Wee Bobby.

Pam replied, 'Normally Aye, but there's a variety act on at the Orange Lodge Social Club followed by a wee supper dance so you might be lucky and get a few more in, especially if the variety act is _bowfing_.'

Wee Bobby was beging to recognise the symptoms of despondency when the door burst open and Big John and Irish Bert Bush stumbled through the double doors and greeted Wee Bobby heartily.

'Let's get ready to rumble' said Big John and led the way through the darts players into the High Alcove followed by the others.

Big John pointed out the seat closest to the corner of the bar and indicated to Wee Bobby that he should grab it and set his Radio Microphone Receiver up while he went to get the beer crate from round the back of the pub.

There was no sign of any empty beer crates so Big John asked Pam the Sunday Bar Girl if she had something he could borrow for Wee Bobby to stand on. Pam quipped, ' Aye, next door's fucking ginger striped cat would do fine cos' it's been sneaking into my kitchen all day trying to steal the sausages.'

'Ha bloody Ha!, you're awfy bloody funny - maybe you should do the stand-up routine instead', said Big John.

Pam replied, ' At least I wouldn't have to stand on a beer crate to be seen.'

She dragged a plastic crate half-filled with empty Zinfandel and Lambrusco wine bottles from under a shelf and asked if that would do.

'Aye, that'll have to do, many thanks' said Big John.

Irish Bert helped Wee Bobby by taking an electrical extension lead and plugging it into a socket in a cupboard just below the dartboard, begging the pardon of the darts players as he interrupted them.

'So how does it all work then Bobby,' said Bert. ' I'm not really sure but I've got the Microphone already tuned to the Receiver so I'll just power up and do a Soundcheck,' said Wee Bobby.

All the panel lights were glowing on the Radio Microphone Receiver and Wee Bobby put the mic to his mouth and uttered the magic words, ' Testing, Testing, 1 2 3 4.'

Silence.

Big John laughed quietly so as not to embarrass Wee Bobby.

'Where is your amplifier and speakers?' he asked Wee Bobby. 'Whit dae ye mean?' Wee Bobby replied.

'That's a Radio Microphone Receiver and Transmitter you've got there Bobby, you also need a means of making a fucking noise, like an amp or a music centre which needs to be tuned to the Transmitter.' whispered Big John, in a smartarse sort of way, noticing Irish Bert trying to stifle a guffaw.

Pam interjected ..' Hoi you three fuckwits, why don't you tune the pub's music centre to your Transmitter, just like every other _Artiste_ does?'

'Thanks Pam, you're a lifesaver, where is it?' asked Wee Bobby.

' Just follow the music sonny jim, it can't be too far away, it's only a wee fucking Kilwinkie pub, isn't it?' replied Pam.

They all scanned the pub walls until they saw the Sony Music Centre sitting high up on a shelf above the dartboard.

Big John interrupted the darts players once again by asking if he could just get up on a chair and tune the tuner to the transmitter. He twirled the radio tuner to Number eight and Wee Bobby tested again, ' Testing Testing 1234' only quicker this time. Everyone agreed that it sounded just fine, so Big John switched their music back on.

'Are you sure you don't want a wee drink just to get you in the mood ?' asked Irish Bert, signalling to Pam to serve up a wee whisky and a half-pint chaser for himself and a bottle of Peroni, Italian beer for posers for Big John.

'Naw really' answered Wee Bobby, ' I've taken a propranolol tablet and a diazepam to ward off any potential stage fright and I don't think it mixes well with alcohol. I'm just going to sit quietly and rehearse my gags.'

Big John and Irish Bill withdrew into the corner to give Wee Bobby space to contemplate.

Big John flicked on his mobile phone to Google 'propranolol / side effects'.

'Jesu Christo! Bert, listen to this ...' Ian said to Bert, ' do not use if affected by dizziness, extreme tiredness or delusional behaviour ...'

Irish Bert asked, ' Do you think we should tell Wee Bobby, just in case he suffers from delusions of being a comic, like?'

The two of them once again suppressed guffaws and giggles and ended up sniggering silently with watery eyes and increased bladder pressure.

'Fuck no! Let's just wait and see what develops, sometimes his jokes are pish but it's aye funny watching somebody fall off a beer crate ', said Big John, somehow lacking sympathy.

One of the darts players called across the room to Pam the bar girl, ' Whit time's thon comedian stertin', hen?'

She shouted back, ' He should've started 5 minutes ago but he seems to have fallen asleep at the bar.'

Pam prodded Wee Bobby and he leapt, startled, off his seat, _' I surrender_ ', he blurted out, putting both hands in the air. 'Naw ye don't Sonny Jim,' retorted Pam, ' in this pub it's ' No Surrender ' or ye die, or get yersel' along tae the Lemon Tree'.

The darts players looked daggers at Wee Bobby thinking how easy a target he looked for chucking their wee spears at.

John and Bert moved quickly to turn on the pub's music centre and tested Wee Bobby's radio mic.

_'All the nice girls love a sailor, all the nice girls love a ....._ ' sang Irish Bert, 'Just Testing' he continued, by way of explanation and apology simultaneously.

Pam passed the Zinfandel wine crate over the bar and Wee Bobby stood on top of it.

It brought his head up to higher than Bert and John but at least he could be seen by everybody in the different areas of the pub, if they cared to look.

Wee Bobby took a big breath, too big a breath as it turned out, hyperventilating some would call it and immediately got dizzy and toppled off his crate which the audience found hilarious.

'Let's see you do that one again' they teased, ' we missed it last time!'.

Wee Bobby got up off his arse and tested his legs were still working before once more ascending the wine crate.

Trouble was he was facing the gantry of the bar, so, he gingerly danced around until he faced the opposite direction, namely, the door, at which there was no-one to make eye contact with, so he shuffled further round to face the darts players, but they now had their backs to him as they continued with their match.

He decided to launch into his routine anyway, after all it was to be an Audio experience, the Visual was supposed to be of lesser importance.

'Good Evening Ladies and Gentlemen,' started Wee Bobby, ' a funny thing happened to me on my way to the.....

The whole bar erupted in spontaneous belly-laughs and encouraging applause ...with shouts of, 'Great stuff wee man .... That's the game wee fella ... get it right up ye!, Don't jump! Quick somebody call the Samaritans , Hoi you, dae ye want a parachute, or a slide ?'.

Chrissakes ... the place was full of comedians.

Wee Bobby thought, ' That's a good enough start, they're in the mood '.

So he continued with gag No 2.

' My mother-in-law is so ugly that the mice in her house throw themselves on the traps.' Wee Bobby articulated and modulated his voice to ensure maximum successful understanding by the audience.

Pam the bar girl offered, ' I think I know her, does she live doon the Badlands?'

'Nae hecklin' allowed' said Wee Bobby, so Pam leant over close to his ear and gave a very loud 'stage whisper' saying this time, ' Is this aloud enough ... I think I know her, does she live up the Woodwynd?'.

'That's no in the least bit funny', stated Wee Bobby, feeling slighted and hurt.

'Then why is everybody in the pub laughing?' asked Pam aka HiHen.

Wee Bobby decided to act professionally and continued, ' Gag Number 3, a man walked intae a bar with a Unicorn and ordered a pint of lager and a gin and tonic and a pint of wine and a packet of cheese and onion crisps.

The barman served it all up then said, ' That'll be £30 please sir,' adding confidentially, 'We don't get many Unicorns in here mate.' '

' I'm no fucking surprised at these prices.' said the Unicorn.

The audience fell about themselves in helpless fashion.

They just couldn't believe how bad that joke could be told.

Wee Bobby's delivery was in the same class as a piano recital from Les Dawson or a Tommy Cooper failed magic trick.

The audience couldn't make up their mind if he meant to fuck it up or if it was part of the act. For now, they gave him the benefit of the doubt.

Wee Bobby was pleased to see it apparently going so well.

Big John and Irish Bert had retreated to furthest recess of the High Alcove muttering, ' We're not with him, we're just visiting!'.

Wee Bobby checked his watch, 9:18pm, right on schedule, time for Gag Number 4.

' How do you stop a lawyer from drowning? - Throw him off a bridge and shoot him before he hits the water!' blurted out Wee Bobby at such a speed and without pausing for the question to sink in and giving the punch line too soon for best effect.

'What's the secret of good joke-telling? -Timing' Wee Bobby asked and answered in one breath, no pauses.

The audience fell about themselves helpless with laughter.

To some it was the cringeworthiness factor but to others it was pure comic genius in the style of Tommy Cooper plays Marty Feldman.

9:21pm.

Wee Bobby thought to himself, Maybe now's a good time to take a chance and 'blue' it up a bit. Time for Alternative Gag Number 6a.

Wee Bobby started, ' In the mortuary the doctor was examining the cadaver of Big Charlie McGregor and he was shocked by the size of his huge penis, 14' long, flaccid, and of huge girth. He decided that a penis like this should be preserved, not cremated, so he cut it off and put it in a glass jar with formaldehyde.

The doctor took the jar home and set it on the mantlepiece and shouted his wife to come from the kitchen, ' Hi Hen, come and see this monster I caught ...'

His wife came into the room and looked in the glass jar and screamed, ' Aw Naw! For fuck's sake, Big Charlie McGregor's deid !'

To Wee Bobby's surprise this only got limited laughs which abruptly ended thus forcing him to quickly move on to Gag Number 7.

Will I do original or alternative, true or blue, thought Bobby, now unsure of himself. The thought continued .... Wing it, he decided. Which was no decision at all, thoroughly unprofessional, leaving it to chance or a whim.

9:25pm Soon be sausage time.

Wee Bobby just opened his mouth and out came, ' A grizzly bear took a skittery shite in the woods one day and he saw Mr. Rabbit walking by.

' Hey Mr. Rabbit, does green and yellow shite stick to your fur?'

'Of course it does ' said the rabbit.

So Grizzly picked up the rabbit and wiped his arse with him.

A hit. The audience loved that one. Bobby had found their level. Must continue in that style he decided.

Wee Bobby decide to try pot luck again, just start talking and see what comes out.

9:27pm

' The new multi-storey skyscraper in the heart of Edinburgh had a cocktail bar on its top floor, and a Guy in a Blue Suit at the bar loudly orders, ' Double Whisky and Buckfast, barman.' He throws it down his throat and announces to the room, ' Watch this guys'. He walks over to the window and jumps out feet first.

When he's nearly at the ground he slows down and lands softly on the pavement. He gets the express lift back up to the bar.

' How did you do that ?' says chump no 1. ' Easy !' says the Blue Suit Guy. ' The whisky and Buckfast interact in your system and generate internal anti-gravity forces which prevents you from smashing into the pavement. Try it out, man, it's great fun.'

So the chump asks the barman for a Double Whisky and Buckfast, downs it in a one-er, and goes to the window and jumps out. As he nears the pavement he spreads his arms wide but he doesn't slow down and smashes hard into the pavement with a crunch and a bloody splat!

The Blue Suit Guy goes back to the bar and orders another drink.

The barman says, ' You really are a bit of an arsehole when you're drunk, Superman.'

No one notices that that was the punch line and they watch and listen for more ... but no more comes.

9:29pm

Should really be sausage and chip time but Wee Bobby was actually five minutes late starting so he decides one more gag will make up for it.

' What has 2 legs and bleeds profusely ?' - pause 1, 2, 3 ... ' half a cat ' says Wee Bobby

Pam, the bar girl, says, ' That's just disgusting ... and here's me just about to serve sausages and chips as well.'

The audience chuckled.

Not good enough, thought Wee Bobby. Must deliver a belter.

9:32pm.

Wee Bobby starts off, ' A natural blonde is wearing her headphones at the hairdressers and he asks her to take them off so he can do her hair.

She says she can't, if she does she'll die.

He starts cutting her hair anyway and when he's just got to trim around her ears he notices she has fallen asleep so he decides to take off her headphones to finish the job.

However, she slumps down then falls off the chair onto the floor.

Someone takes her pulse and declares that she's dead.

The hairdresser picks up the fallen headphones and puts them to his ear and hears ...

' Breathe in .... Breathe out ..... Breathe in ..... Breathe out ...'

Some laughter but also a shout, 'Hoi you, my wife's a natural blonde, ya cheeky cunt ye' Somebody else shouts, 'Aye, but has she still got a pulse?'

Another joins in, ' My brother's a hairdresser and he's only slightly theatrical and dramatic' While yet another says, ' Wid that be Hairy Mary's man? I heard he wiz a shirtlifter' and yet another offered, ' I heard she's not yet had her back door kicked in so it canny be her man.'

9:35pm.

'Sausages and Chips' shouted Pam the bar girl, ' on the house', she added, thus denying Wee Bobby the credit for the generous supply of them.

She placed trenchers at 3 points on the bar top with piles of polystyrene bowls and plastic forks with knife edges and paper napkins.

Red and Brown sauce in plastic squeezy bottles suddenly appeared from under the bar. Pam wiped the congealed sauce from the tops with the bar sink's greyed cloth.

Everybody in the bar descended on the food like flies on a dungheap.

By the time Wee Bobby and Big John and Irish Bert Bush made their way to the bar the sausages and salty chips were gone.

'Is there more to come?' Wee Bobby asked of Pam the bar girl.

' There would've been if it hadn't been for that mingin' ginger stripey cat. It made off with half of the sausages.' claimed Pam.

One of the darts players reached up and turned the music back on.

Smokey Robertson approached Wee Bobby and shook him by the hand and told him, ' Don't take this the wrang way son, I think you'r shite but my wife Wee Ella thinks you'r a hoot, and you're dead gallus, and if you fancy a quick jump she'll meet you round the back at the smokey hole '.

Wee Bobby was gobsmacked.

Irish Bert patted him on the head and said it was not an offer to be lightly spurned, in fact it might be the best offer he would get all night.

Wee Bobby was further gobsmacked.

Shortly before 10:00hrs Wee Bobby declared to Big John and Irish Bert that he intended to do just 30 minutes more and he would try harder to answer the hecklers who had seemed to be getting the better of him in the first part of the performance.

Bert put an arm around his shoulder and confided it was the best way to learn, just like falling off your bike and getting back on straightaway. _'Fear no fear_ ' he assured him was the ideal way forward.

Big John nodded in agreement, but still turning it over in his mind, 'Fear no fear - surely not!'

Somebody switched the music centre back to the Short-Wave Radio Receiver as Wee Bobby mounted the Zinfandel wine crate once more.

' Before I start I'd just like to thank you for your earlier input as I'm practising to appear at the Strand Comedy Club open-mic night at the Edinburgh Festival and I understand that heckling the _artistes_ is part of the process so once again thank you for your input, it is greatly appreciated.' lied Wee Bobby.

Nobody seemed to have heard his thanksgiving speech and he nodded at Bert and then at the Sony Music Centre then mimed the words .. 'Could you turn the volume up please.'

Bert begged the pardon of the darts players once again and stretched up and cranked the volume dial round to Number 11, usually reserved for LOUD MUSIC for DANCING.

Wee Bobby launched into hypergag mode ... ' I'm just going to blurt them all out and see how the audience reacts, that way I'll know whether which ones to keep in the act next time, ' he told himself.

'A Scotsman, an Englishman and an Irishman were in a bar and had just started on a new round of drinks when a fly landed in each glass of beer. The Englishman took his out on the blade of his Swiss Army knife. The Irishman blew his away in a cloud of froth. The Scotsman lifted the fly up carefully by the wings and held it above his glass. 'Go on, spit it out, ye wee devil,' he growled.

A little Scottish boy ran into the house and said to his father, 'I've just saved twenty pence by running home from school behind the bus.'

His father replied, 'that's good but you could have saved £2 by running home behind a taxi.'

Did you hear about the man who gave up making haggis?

He didn't have the guts for it anymore.

John McDougall heard about a doctor who charged ten pounds for the first consultation but only three pounds for every subsequent visit. So he walked into the doctor's surgery and announced, 'Here I am again, doctor.'

'Just keep up the treatment I prescribed last time,' said the doctor, who was also a Scotsman.

A Scotsman and an Englishman lived next door to each other. The Scotsman owned a hen and each morning he would look in his garden and pick up one of his hen's eggs for breakfast.

One day he looked into his garden and saw that the hen had laid an egg in the Englishman's garden. He was about to go next door when he saw the Englishman pick up the egg.

The Scotsman ran up to the Englishman and told him that the egg belonged to him because he owned the hen. The Englishman disagreed because the egg was laid on his property. They argued for a while until finally the Scotsman said, 'In my family we normally solve disputes by the following actions: I kick you in the testicles and time how long it takes for you to get back up. Then you kick me in the testicles and time how long it takes for me to get up. Whoever gets up quicker wins the egg.'

The Englishman agreed to this and so the Scotsman put on the heaviest pair of boots he could find. He took a few steps back, then ran towards the Englishman and kicked him as hard as he could in the testicles. The Englishman fell to the floor clutching his groin, howling in agony for 30 minutes. The Scotsman smiled and said, 'Ye can keep the damn egg!!'

The pilot of an aerobatic bi-plane landed in the recently mown field of a Scottish farmer to make a few adjustments to his engine. While he was tinkering with his machine, he noticed the Scotsman and his wife watching with a great deal of curiosity. The Scotsman asked the pilot how much he would charge to give both he and his wife a ride.

'Well', said the pilot, ' Normally I charge £50 each, but if you are both completely quiet throughout the flight, the ride will be free of charge but I hear the least amount of noise, you will owe the full fare.'

The couple quickly climbed aboard, and the pilot taxied and took off. Immediately, he proceeded to put his plane through all of its paces: barrel rolls, stalls, spins, split S manoeuvers, you name it and he did it. The couple in back were completely silent throughout the thirty minute flight.

Upon landing, the pilot said, 'I really have to hand it to you for keeping quiet through all that!'

'Aye', said the Scotsman, 'but I'll admit ye almost heard me when the wife fell out.'

In the old days the English and Scottish armies used to fight by gathering their armies on top of the hills and at day break they would run down the hillside into the deep gorge below to fight. One morning at dawn there was a fog (as thick as pea soup) and the two generals decided to refrain from fighting that day. Whilst the two armies were resting a voice, with a Scottish accent came from within the dense fog.

'Any one Scotsman can beat any 10 Englishmen'.

With this, the english general sent down 10 of his soldiers. There was a hell of a fight and NO ONE returned. An hour later, the same voice was heard.

'Any one Scotsman can beat any 50 Englishman'.

With this the English general sent down 50 of his soldiers. The same thing, a terrible fight ensured and again NO ONE returned. An hour later the same voice.

'Any one Scotsman can beat any 100 Englishman'.

Same same, down went 100 of the best. NO ONE returned. An hour later.

'Any one Scotsman can beat any 1,000 Englishman'.

By this time, the English general had enough and was about to send down his elite soldiers, when he saw a lone Englishman crawling up the hill. He was battered to a pulp. As he reached his general he said, 'Don't send any more troops down, its a trap, There's TWO of Them !'.

Two campers are hiking in the woods when one is bitten on the arsehole by a rattlesnake. 'I'll go into town for a doctor,' the other says. He runs ten miles to a small town and finds the town's only doctor, who is delivering a baby. 'I can't leave,' the doctor says. 'But here's what to do. Take a knife, cut a little X where the bite is, suck out the poison and spit it on the ground.' The guy ruins back to his friend, who is in agony. 'What did the doctor say?' the victim asks. 'He says you're gonna die.'

Two campers are walking through the woods when a huge brown bear suddenly appears in the clearing about 50 feet in front of them. The bear sees the campers and begins to head toward them. The first guys drops his backpack, digs out a pair of trainers, and frantically begins to put them on. The second guys says, 'What are you doing? Trainers won't help you outrun that bear.'

'I don't need to outrun the bear,' the first guy says. 'I just need to outrun you.'

Last time I was down in West Texas I was in a restaurant and ordered some chicken, and these three cousins, you know the ones I mean, Klu, Kluck and Klan, come up and say 'Boy, we're givin' you fair warnin'. Anything you do to that chicken, we're gonna do to you.' So I put down my knife and fork, and I picked up that chicken, and I kissed it's little arsehole.

A man goes to a psychiatrist and says, 'Doctor, my brother's crazy, he thinks he's a chicken.' The doctor says, 'Why don't you take him to the mental hospital ? ' The guy says, 'We would, but we need the eggs.'

Two ministers doing missionary work in the South Seas are captured by a tribe and tied to stakes. The chief says to them, 'You have a choice - death, or ugga bugga.' The first guy says, 'Well, I guess ugga bugga.'

The chief shouts 'UGGA BUGGA!' and 30 members of the tribe attack and sodomize the first missionary.

The chief then asks the second minister, 'Now you have a choice, death or ugga bugga.' He says 'well, my religion does not allow me to choose ugga bugga, so I suppose it must be death.'

The chief says, 'Very well,' and shouts 'DEATH. But first, UGGA BUGGA!

Wee Bobby's brain freeze kicked in quite suddenly and he decided that was enough jokes for one gig and stepped carefully down from his wine crate.

' Time please everybody - drink up and go home ' said Pam aka HiHen, the Sunday-night bar girl.

Wee Bobby looked around the bar for Bert and John but they were not to be found.

He asked Pam if she had seen them and she replied that they had left half an hour ago.

'Did they say anything ?' asked Bobby. 'Not really, just 'Goodnight' ' said Pam.

Wee Bobby checked his watch. 00:08hrs. He thought to himself, ' Doesn't time fly when you're enjoying yourself.'

And so ended his first proper pub gig. One small step for the wee man and one more step on the road to fame and fortune ...

**Chapter 4**

on the phone to possible comedy venues in Glasgow and Ayrshire, phoning from home

Now that his confidence was high from his Ha'penny Bar experience Wee Bobby thought he would try to persuade some of the important comedy venues in Glasgow to book him and thus add to his audience exposure to ensure that the next big thing would be a roaring success, the gateway to stardom. _( The Edinburgh Festival Fringe)_

He poured a large mug of coffee and sat by the phone with a copy of Yellow Pages and his notebook and pen.

He dialled every venue listed in the directory that suggested that Comedy was part of their customer attractions.

He discovered that it was extremely easy to get invitations to open-mic nights and apparently all he had to do was turn up and wait his turn to go on.

What he didn't know was that the people who were answering the phones in the mornings were the cleaners who had just stopped work for a fag and a cup of tea. They would invite Genghis Khan and Adolf Hitler, no skin off their noses, it was just nice to be nice.

Wee Bobby's confidence rose a notch or two further up the self-delusional scale. The feel-good factor made him feel as though he had really cracked it now and it was only a matter of time before his comic genius was widely recognised.

Starting next week Wee Bobby reckoned he had a solid 10 nights worth of bookings.

He couldn't wait to tell Bert Bush and Big John and the others at the next Bogend Bar Jam Night.

First Glasgow Gig at O'Lafferty's Pub in Sauchiehall Street

It was the third Thursday in July and Wee Bobby journeyed from Ayrshire's wild, wet and windy Barbary Coast to Glasgow Central Rail Station and took a taxi to O'Lafferty's Pub in Sauchiehall Street.

Although he was a ' Buddy ' from Paisley he reckoned he knew Glasgow quite well but was still surprised by how quiet the city centre was and remarked thus to the taxi driver, ' Where's all the punters tonight, It seems awfy quiet?'

Taxi driver replied, ' Och ! it's not really too bad for the first week of the Fair.'

' Bloody Hell! ' thought Wee Bobby, ' I clean forgot ... _The Glasgow Fair Fortnight_ _Holiday_ ... the Second Fortnight in July'. Anybody with money or unspent credit on their cards was away for the duration of The Fair. Blackpool, if they could afford it, Benidorm if they couldn't.

He settled the taxi fare and looked cautiously inside the pub.

Forty people were mingling around in a friendly fashion, all Standing and all seemingly sober yet animated and there was as yet no-one on the small stage except a lone microphone Strand and a bright circle where the spotlight shone.

Wee Bobby made his way unnoticed through the groups of folks and asked the barman ' How do I get ready for my gig on the stage ? '.

'Practice, practice and more practice' said the deadpan barman.

Wee Bobby laughed politely. The barman indicated with a nod of his head towards a black velour curtain hanging from a brass rail and Wee Bobby ski'ed across the polished floor as it was dark and he was wary of tripping.

He gently slid the curtain back and put his head gingerly through the gap. A man in his late thirties with a stick-on false moustache sat at a small table with a large glass pudding bowl filled with slips of folded coloured paper.

' Are you doing a turn or two tonight twinkletoes ? ' he enquired of Wee Bobby, as he twirled an end of his 'tache.

Wee Bobby responded eagerly, ' I've prepared for two 4 minute sets but I can do more if you want.'

'It disnae quite work like that here on Thursdays ' said the 'Tache.

' What happens is you pick as many tickets fae the bowl as you want ... each has a different number and a colour so that you canny get two together. When your number's called you have to get on the stage within 30 seconds or the crowd will _barrack_ you.

You stay on the stage for 10 minutes max unless the _Phuquoffometer_ sounds and you have to immediately exit stage left, pronto like.' explained the 'Tache.

Wee Bobby looked perplexed. He had been practising looking perplexed in case he needed it for role playing in a comedy sketch, but this time it was genuine.

'Tache continued, ' Then you become part of the audience but be careful not to heckle too roughly or the comic's pals and favoured punters will do the same, or worse, to you when you're back on. When a comic turn comes off you have to know what the next ticket number is and when you hear it shouted you have 30 seconds, no longer.'

' Do you mean ; I no longer have 30 seconds .. or .. I have only 30 seconds ' asked Wee Bobby.

' Ah! A cunny funt, 'spose you think you're smart.' stated 'Tache.

'Bad move' thought Bobby, better try to humour him, ' How many Stand-ups and how many audience do you expect tonight ?' he aske 'Tache.

'About 40 ' said 'Tache.

' Forty Stand-ups ?' asked a bemused Bobby.

' Forty Stand-ups and Forty-one audience' replied 'Tache.

'Tache could see Wee Bobby was struggling to work that out so he explained, ' They are one and the same, audience and Stand-ups, except there is always at least one who craps it and doesn't take the stage'

' What's the normal time each turn takes ?' asked Bobby

' That depends on how good they are, ' says 'Tache, ' Some of them have never lasted more than a minute but they keep on coming back.'

'So what is it that tells them when to leave the stage ?' asked Bobby, ' How do they know when their time's up ?'

' The audience reaction tells them,' says 'Tache, ' and eventually the _Phuquoffometer._ '

' What the fuck is that ?' asked Bobby.

' Can't rightly say, sir, it's meant to be a surprise'. says 'Tache.

Bobby chose 6 tickets from the bowl at random and pocketed them.

Wee Bobby could feel himself getting warm in the face and slightly sweaty in the palms and a pain in his groin indicated he had 30 seconds max to do a pee, or .... he was glad he'd put on his black trousers, ' Fuckin' Hell ' he told himself, ' It used to be 30 seconds but since the heart trouble it's reduced to 13.'

He found his way to the toilet in good time and locked himself in a cubicle and opened the zippy bit in his wallet and took out two 8 mg Diazepam tablets and put them on his tongue and tried to swallow. No use ... mouth too dry now ... he heard voices in the main lavatory so he scooped some water from the vitreous enamel toilet bowl and quickly swallowed his mouthful whilst noting the lovely writing style of Armitage Shanks , a firm he used to work for as a boy, printed on the porcelain.

As he splashed clean water from the wash hand basin over his face he looked in the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair and told himself he would do just fine. Then he remembered he had already taken two 8 mg Diazepam before leaving his house, ' .... no matter ... who really cares ? .... this'll be a doddle ' he re-assured himself confidently.

He made his way back to the bar and asked for a glass of iced water. The barman placed a pint beer glass in front of Wee Bobby and poured water from a glass jug on the counter into the pint glass and scooped a metal shovel into the ice bucket on the counter and dropped some cubes of ice with a splash into the pint glass.

'That'll be £4 please' said the barman.

' Do you think I came from Ayrshire up the Clyde on a banana boat ?' said Wee Bobby.

'Ayrshire you say, my! my! we don't get many folks from Ayrshire in here' fed the barman.

'I'm not surprised .. at these prices.' said Bobby, adding, ' but I thought water and ice was free anyway.'

'Yes, you're perfectly correct' said the barman, also adding, ' if you had helped yourself it would have been free, but you asked me and I had to dirty a clean pint glass for you and I will have to wash, rinse & sterilise, dry it and stack it afterwards so I've made a modest house charge to cover our costs'.

Wee Bobby took out a Five pound note and passed it to the barman. ' Keep the change ' he told the barman, adding to himself, ' He'll never make a monkey out of me ! '

With his pint of iced water Wee Bobby located an empty table on a raised platform with a clear view of the stage.

He spread his tickets out with the numbers facing up. Numbered 8, 13, 23, 26, 39 and 49.

'Tache stepped up onto the stage and took the microphone from its holder, tapped it and blew into it, then said , 'Testing testing testing, One, two, three, four. Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow, and everywhere that Mary went ...... '.

And the assembly of Stand-ups ( henceforth known as the plaudit ) finished off with, ' mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy '. Then they applauded themselves loudly. Bobby was bemused. This made no sense.

The Show had started.

' Number 18 ' screamed theatrically activated 'Tache through the sound system.

An exceptionally good-looking guy with a show of great confidence bounced onto the stage grabbed the mike and Strand and leant over in a pose like he was about to kiss a lady dancer and suavely said, ' You know what I like about you Mike ? very short pause for effect but not long enough to allow hecklers to beat him to the punch .. You're dead straight ! '.

_The Plaudit_ erupted as one. ' _Phuque_ right off ! '.

No. 18 didn't hang about, he legged it off the stage and landed at the bar. The barman said, ' A new record Duffy, only 7 seconds.'

'Tache had expected a trick and was ready with his next ticket ... ' Numero 33 ' he shouted.

Wee Bobby jumped ... then he noticed another guy shoot out of the _Plaudit_ and take the stage ... he felt a panic swelling up but just as quickly it dissipated as the realisation came to him ... it was 33 .. he was 23 and also the realisation that there was 32mg of Valium rattling around in his system, which calmed him even more.

This is worse than the bingo thought Wee Bobby. Another insightful revelation dawned on him, so that's _the Phuqueoffometer_.

Two more numbers were called and the comics told very good jokes which got some applause which quickly died and got replaced with half-hearted laughing _phuqe-offskis_.

Suddenly it happened, Wee Bobby heard one of his numbers ... 39.

He ski'ed to the stage to avoid falling over and as he stepped up to it he quickly rehearsed his first joke.

As he grabbed the mike he realised it was set too high, it was set for guys about 6 foot tall. He was five foot and four inches in his lifts.

He tried to lift it out of its cradle but it was beyond his reach. He grabbed the knurled nut in the middle of the Strand and tried to undo it so as to slide the telescopic shaft downwards. He suddenly wasn't very adept at mechanical devices. He was trying to turn it clockwise. Bad move. A sweat spread across his forehead and a cascade dripped down his cheeks and gleamed in the stage spotlights. He thought to turn the knob in the opposite direction and it suddenly went slack and collapsed to his knee level, leaving Wee Bobby Standing alone, empty-handed.

_The Plaudit_ were cheering wildly and not only laughing but clapping.

Cries of, ' Brilliantino - Norman Wisdom hasn't a look in ... Lee Evans eat your heart out ! ... Gaun yersel' wee man.', were heard around the room.

Wee Bobby couldn't believe his luck.

He grabbed the mike and it slipped out of its holder.

As the applause died away Wee Bobby blurted out, ' What have virginity and a soapy bubble got in common ?'.

He wondered how long to wait before delivering the punch line ....

All in one voice _the Plaudit_ called out, ' One prick and they're gone'

Wee Bobby was gubbed into a stupid faced silence, his jaw hanging low.

_The Plaudit_ laughed themselves silly at their own cleverness.

But then, perversely, they started shouting, ' _phuqueoffski_ '.

Wee Bobby stared in disbelief. He replaced the mike and reset the stand and eased himself off the stage and returned to his table with many hearty high-fives and backslapping on his way.

Another eight numbers were to take the stage before his next encounter.

A jolly red-faced man with green eye makeup sat at his table and said, ' I don't know if you meant all that wee man but it went down a treat with _the Plaudit_ , that's why they went easy on you and let you get your first joke out but don't expect them to stay that way.'

' But I didn't get my joke out ' said Wee Bobby, ' They hunted me '.

His new found pal said, ' Naw, you don't get it do you ? - If you do a Question and Answer joke then you're inviting this lot of comics to beat you to the punch line - the most of them probably think you intended to set the joke up for them, that's why they applauded your pish joke.'

' How do I avoid doing it again ' asked Wee Bobby.

' Either tell an original story that they can't possibly know or guess at the punch line - they're forced to wait and listen because they want to steal any original material for their own acts - everyone's a comic here.' said his new pal, or do One-Liners ... short and really really really funny. If they are anything less than that this lot will go into _phuque mode_ automatically.'

Wee Bobby had rehearsed a third set of One-Liners in case he got an extended period on stage so he took out his notes and scanned them.

Some of them he didn't fully underStrand, after all, he hadn't written them, he'd got them from the Music Jammers at Bogend Bar Pub in Dalry.

' Number 13, lucky for some ' shouted 'Tache.

Wee Bobby glided to the stage now that he had had some practice at it.

' A little old man shuffled slowly into an ice cream parlor and pulled himself slowly, painfully, up onto a stool. After catching his breath he ordered a banana split with all the trimmings.' said Wee Bobby with a wide smirk.

The waitress asked kindly, 'Crushed nuts ?'

'No,' he replied, 'Arthritis.'

A slow chuckle built up in the room as _the Plaudit_ wondered whether to boo him off or wait.

Quickly in with number two thought Wee Bobby.

' My mother never saw the irony in calling me _a midget son-of-a-bitch_ ', said Wee Bobby, with emphasis on the midget.

Another slow chuckly went round the room.

I'm on borrowed time here, thought Wee Bobby. Next one better be a belter or I'm toast, he agreed with his inner self.

' If you think nobody cares if you're alive or dead try missing a couple of payments ', mumbled Wee Bobby, forcing _the Plaudit_ to listen attentively. It worked, the chuckles stepped up a level. Quick now, he urged himself.

' Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt ' he sagely suggested.

_The Plaudit's_ chuckles were maintained because they were forced to think about the implications of his statements albeit that they weren't really jokes. Still on borrowed time, he whispered to himself.

' To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism - to steal from many is research ' said Wee Bobby, solemnly.

_The Plaudit_ now collectively thought the wee man was having a go at them and there were fewer chuckles and several _phuqueoffskis_.

Wee Bobby thought , ' I'm drinking in the last-chance saloon now, I'll be lucky to get one more out there ... but _Phuque_ it, here goes ! '

' Did you know that dolphins are so smart that within a few weeks of being in captivity they can train people to stand at the side of the pool and throw fish for them.' chuckled Wee Bobby, thinking, 'that does it'.

_The Plaudit_ generously applauded.

Wee Bobby quickly blurted out, ' A computer once beat me at chess but it was fuckin' useless at kick-boxing '

The chuckle level went up again and there was only two _phuqueoffskis_.

' Women will never be the equal of men until they can walk down the street in a stained grey tracksuit with a beer belly and shaven head and still think they're sexy', said Wee Bobby, confident that would be his last joke but was surprised when _the Plaudit_ laughed most loudly.

Wee Bobby gave it his full - force voice and rendered, ' If at first you don't succeed - no more skydiving !'

As soon as he finished Wee Bobby leapt from the stage and scuttled round the crowd to his table, breathing heavily but elated as hell.

_The Plaudit_ were cheering him to the rafters ... ' Author ! author ! '

Wee Bobby sat transfixed. He swallowed the last of his iced water and ducked towards the door. Always leave them laughing he told himself.

He had a train to catch so headed through the swinging door. Just as he reached the pavement the barman caught up with him and grabbed him by the elbow and spun him round taking Bobby by surprise. The barman stuffed a folded wad of money into Wee Bobby's jacket pocket and congratulated him on his good fortune and his great performance and left Wee Bobby gobsmacked but delighted.

Bobby hailed a passing taxi which took him to Central Station and his train to Ardrossan.

On the train he checked around him and found it safe to take the money from his pocket and carefully counted it and it came to £164.

' Wow, wow wow! ', he said to himself, ' Just imagine that, Second Time on a Stage and I've won the Prize.'

Wee Bobby felt elated, his self-confidence going through the roof.

Befuddled, he pondered on how the night had went. He thought he had made a hash of it to start with but finished strongly but here was _Proof Positive_ that he was making brilliant progress.

He told himself that he could afford to skip further practice gigs and get ready for the _Big Time_.

Edinburgh Festival here I come, he decided, thoughts of the Gilded Balloon and the Perrier Award repeatedly flitting through his thoughts.

Meanwhile, back at O'Lafferty's _The Plaudit_ were debating the quirky performance of the newest Stand-up who had been voted in his absence as the _Least Likely Comic_ of the night and scorer of a record number of 'you've-got-to-be-kidding ' points.

One of their number shouted out to the barman, ' Haw Shuggy, who won the sweep ?'

The barman replied, 'The nyaff from Ardrossan, Bridget the Midget's brother, Wee Bobby Blunder '.

'Well that's the last £4 I'm giving you ya tube.' said one of them. ' Aye, me and all ' said another, and yet another said, 'There must've been Forty-one times £4 in the kitty, I make that £164, and the _wee dumpy bachle_ didny even buy anybuddy a drink.'

' He'd better not show his face round here again, ' muttered Mabozza Ritchie, ' mind ye, even if he did we might not notice. _' The plaudit_ applauded that last sentiment.

Final prep for Edinburgh at Bogend Bar

At the end of the regular Sunday Night music jamming session at Bogend Bar pub the atmosphere was buzzing because Wee Bobby had publicly announced that he had entered the competition to win the Best Newcomer's Comedy Award at the Edinburgh Festival.

A group of those closest to Wee Bobby's aspirations closed in on him and suggested he come over on Monday night and have a discussion in the wee wooden room.

At that meeting there was Big Charlie, Big Bert Bush, Big John, Bilbo Birnie, Matt Nevis and Jakey all seated on the wooden benches around the wee wooden Snug Room with the sliding door, and standing in the draughty gaps was Wee Bobby and Fraser Green.

A few others had to hold up the bar in case it collapsed but promised to join in the debate if needed.

'Tell us all what the big idea here is ' Big Charlie said to Wee Bobby, 'You've played in rock groups and wedding bands all your life but now you want to do Stand-up comedy.

What's the connection ?'

'None at all, ' answered Wee Bobby, ' After I recovered from my Life-saving operation I realised how easily that I could have drawn my last breath and I made a list of unresolved ambitions and decided I'd better choose what I most wanted to do while I still had time on this earth - and it's to be a success as a Stand-up Comedian.'

' We're all impressed by your ambition and want to help, so, what can we do ?' said Big Bobby Armstrong.

' I've struggled to get the type of material that's totally original, never been heard before and is guaranteed to get the ultimate laugh from the audience.' answered Wee Bobby.

He continued, ' I've mastered memorising my material and I feel quite competent at delivering it but I still have reservations about deciding what actually is the funniest joke.

Some jokes I did in O'Lafferty's in Glasgow that I was unsure of yet they got the best laughs and a few that I thought were wers hardly raised a chuckle.'

'If each of you wrote out five really great jokes that aren't copied from a magazine or the internet or an existing comic's repertoire and I develop an award-wing set from the list I would be eternally grateful, in fact, I might even buy you all a drink' said Wee Bobby, humbly.

'That'll never happen' said Big Erchie.

'Oh yes it will ' said Wee Bobby.

' Oh no it won't ' said Bobby McDougall.

' Oh yes it willny ' said Fraser Green.

' Oh no it wontny' said Big John.

'That's not a real word' said Matt Nevis.

'Oh Aye it is' said Jakey .

'This isnae helpin' ' muttered Wee Bobby.

' Aw aye it is' chorused the rest of the room.

' How are you going to know when you have the best possible jokes ?' asked Big Bobby Armstrong.

' Can we have a joke competition and award points out of one hundred ?' asked Wee Bobby.

They all discussed this proposition and agreed to meet on the next Monday and asked bar owner Milo Webster McCarroll if they could use the plUlster top lounge and it was agreed.

Everyone privately resolved to find the elusive best jokes in the world.

Rehearsal at Bogend Bar for Edinburgh

Monday night had arrived.

Bogend Bar was already busy by half past seven and the awkward squad took their drinks from the public bar up the short flight of steps into the plusher lounge bar which had an empty bar and gantry which was rarely used and so was bereft of drink.

Wee Bobby arrived early, he thought, at quarter to eight but was surprised to find a gaggle of gigglers already ensconced in the lounge.

Nobody noticed his less than dramatic entrance due to tallish people milling around just inside the lounge doorway thereby dwarfing Wee Bobby.

His pumped up confidence immediately sagged so he clambered up onto a wheelback chair and shouted his _hello_ to the crowd, but no one took any notice.

His antique wheelback bentwood chair creaked as it snapped, two of the legs folded under itself and launched Wee Bobby at a 60 degree angle towards the back of Big Jim Sawer.

Just as Wee Bobby was clutching at Jim's shoulders Jim turned to see what the noise was and Wee Bobby bounced off him and landed on the table of drinks.

Miraculously he was unhurt and even more miraculously .... no drink was spilt in the making of this story.

Those around the table broke out into generous applause and cries of **Bravo - What an entrance!**

'Rightee-ho!' said Big Charlie McGregor in his 'speaking to the body of the kirk voice', 'Let's get this show on the road.'

They formed a two-tiered semi-circle around the disused tiled fireplace and indicated that would be the stage and agreed all would take a turn on the makeshift stage to deliver their 'funniest joke ever told.'

Wee Bobby had only to note down the reference name and number of the ones he wanted to use in his own repertoire and then rehearse them against the clock so he would be all set for Edinburgh.

Big Charlie McGregor jumped into the unlit fireplace and spread his arms and shouted loudly, ' _Wheeeesht!_

Half- silence followed.

There was a group of uninvited punters in their own circle and laughing away to themselves.

'Hey youse noisy uninvited fuckers, this is a private party so take a hike.' Said Big Charlie McGregor using his 'command presence' (previously known as being _ultra- assertive_ ) and regularly practised since his days as a Military Polisman.

'We'll move when we're good and ready, OK ? ' Big Quintin (6' 2') spoke for his entourage without being asked.

Hunter Gatherer ( 6' 5') and Big Billo Strongarm (6' 3') and Big Charlie McGregor in his working boots (6' 9ish') moved through the tables and chairs towards the noisy interrupters suggesting NOW would be an appropriate time to leave.

'Of course, you're so right, I didn't realise how late it was' volunteered Big Quintin as he sideways stepped past his pals to the bar door. His accomplices stumbled after him right smartish.

Big John saw his chance to get in first and jumped into the unlit fireplace. He clipped his miniaturised throat mike to the inside of his tee shirt and hid the wire inside his fleece jacket then turned up the Volume to 11 on his Roland Cube amplifier.

' God must love stupid people because .... ' boomed out of the speaker, ' He made SO many of the stupid buggers - ' and the _awkward squad_ squawked their hoots of approval .... ' But why oh! why did he put them all in the Garnock Valley ' punchlined Big John.

' You're a fud Peters - get back tae Kilwingo before they shut the gates - Garnock Valley is God's own country', bawled the awkward squad with hoots of derision.

Big John responded, ' If I leave Dalry right now then the average IQ in this town will drop to 49 '

' We don't care - it was good enough for our fathers and grandfathers so it'll do just fine for us, so it will ' said Fraser Green, on behalf of his fellow Garnock Valleyians.

' But I was born in Irvine ' says Big Charlie McGregor, who was brought up on an auld clay biggin' high in the hills above Barrmill.

' Aye, Irvine Central Hospital Maternity, so was half of North Ayrshire ' said Matt Nevis, ' and the other half were born at Buckreddan Maternity in Kilwingo'

'Stoppit! Stoppit! That's enough ' shouted Wee Bobby raising both arms high in the air. No-one noticed his arms.

'You're supposed to be helping me with Universal Jokes, nobody in Edinburgh has heard of the Garnock Valley and won't care either ', shouted Wee Bobby, getting agitated and starting to stamp his foot.

'OK, OK, OK ' muttered several of the squad simultaneously, ' Let's come to order as if we were doing a Burns Supper ' said Bilbo Birnie who although well -practised at looking laid-back and nonchalant was actually a stickler for procedure and detail, in fact he suffered from an overdose of CC of YD at odd times, or so he often remarked to his musical compadres.

' Fair fa' yur honest sonsie face, great bastard of the puddin' race - abune them a' ye tak' yur place ... ' rendered Big Charlie McGregor , in his superior Burns Supper Address tae the Haggis manner.

' Aw, c'mon tae hell Charlie McGregor, this is not gettin' the washin' done! ' said Bobby.

' Correct ! ' replied Big Charlie McGregor, as if responding to the right answer being given to a quiz question.

' Attention please, next punter with the banter, into the fireplace .... who's it going to be ... Big Billo Strongarm ' said Bobby.

A polite round of handclaps, slowing to a Strandstill.

Big Billo Strongarm stepped into the unlit fireplace.

' Artificial intelligence is no match for Natural stupidity ' declared Billo, pause for applause, count to 3 then , 'The voices in my head may not be real, but they have some damn good ideas ' he finished with a flourish.

Some muted applause .... an audience not yet sufficiently drunk or intellectual.

One more, thought Billo, just to warm them up and I'll save the best till later.

' Never get into fights with ugly people ' said Billo, ' they have nothing to lose !'

A generous ripple of appreciation went round the squad and Wee Bobby marked the joke reference numbers down and put high scores out of 100 against them.

'Next up !' shouted several squaddies almost simultaneously.

Next on was Wee Malky. His real name was Kevin O'Driscoll. It didn't pay you to ask why he was called Wee Malky because invariably it gave him the opening to play his favourite trick on your nose or forehead.

' A funny thing happened to me on the way to the Forum .... OOOOOOOH! ' he mimicked Frankie Howerd acting as camp as he dared without losing his reputation for being supermacho.

' Ah jist want tae remind ye of the time Big Arsie's dochter wis gettin' merrit an' she telt awbuddy that wid listen aboot the toun that she wiz gawny huv a Cavalcade frae the Church tae the Hotel fur the Resepshun but she wiz fair stumpt when I asked her where from were they gonny get hauf a dozen tractors that worked in Dalry.'

Uproar broke out. Big Charlie McGregor's mates struggled to lay hands on Wee Malky but he snuck doon and crept under the tables and came up behind them.

He tapped Manus Derin le Chef on the shoulder and as he turned round Wee Malky leapt two-footed and tried to deliver a Malky ( otherwise known as a head-butt or The Glasgow Kiss).

As Manus Derin unsuspectingly turned he caught his heel on a twisted willow chair leg which caused him to twist and bring his pint of Best Beer glass arm up in front of his face to keep his bFred Bicance.

Wee Malky smashed his face into the glass breaking his bottom teeth and his top dentures and split both his lips.

Wee Malky screamed ' Ye glassed me ... ye glassed me ya basturt. Well I never took ye fur a dirty fighter ya dirty wee scunner'.

Manus Derin le chef was unable to further respond because the almost full pint of Best (Belhaven ie) lollopped into his open mouth in one go and caused him to splutter and choke until he managed to squeak, ' Hoo am I expected tae finish ma whisky withoot ma chaser ye wee rat!'.

Just then Milo Webster McCarroll ( mine host) grabbed hold of Wee Malky's shooder and frogmarched him to the exit saying, ' Git oot! Yur borred '

'Whit way am I borred', asked Wee Malky, ' It wis a fair fight !'

'That's no why you're borred', answered Milo Webster, ' It's because you haven't paid your Menage since you got Paid-oot 6 weeks ago'.

Wee Bobby decided things were getting out of control and no useful purpose would be served by trying to gather the killer jokes he so badly needed, so he slipped out towards the toilets but when he re-emerged into the corrdior he left the premises by the side door into Kirk Close and got into his car and sped off over the Munnoch Dam Road to Old Ardrossan.

Nobody noticed his departure.

**Chapter 5**

The breakthrough, the revelation of the REPUBLIC of ALBANIK

Wee Bobby mused about trying something radically different from normal Stand-up.

What about if I just rambled incoherently and see where it takes me ... something funny is bound to happen sooner or later ... it could take the form of a proclamation to the citizens, thus ....

' Well you're all in soapy bubble now. Yesterday I officially declared Scotland as a Republic, and I, as lifelong President, changed its name to Albanik.

From this moment on only the beautiful people get to have sex ... so that's you lot fucked for a start. ... think about it .... I'll wait.

In the new republik there will be many law changes. There will be new taxes. There will be new taxis. There will be new tacks, there will be newt axes.

There will be no more midgies .... I have changed their name to englfish.... (yeah yeah, I know, if you hate the f in englfish clap your hands).

There will be land reform. All the land now belongs to the Republick. Any and all landowners must provide documentary proof of their title to land.

All land title documents are henceforth null and void.

All income, savings & wealth taxes are henceforth abolished .... Everyone must deposit half their wealth in gold in the Bank of the Republik of Albanik.

The legal currency of the republik shall be backed by a Golden Promise and the money shall be called Goldnix.

All other foreign currencies must be converted on arrival in Albanik at an official Bank of the Republik.

The rate of exchange will vary as the wind. On windy days the rate will be higher than on calm days.

Currency speculators shall be put to the dogs.

Moneylenders may only charge 1% per month interest.

If borrowers cannot pay back then they don't have to.

If a moneylender cannot get his cash back then he can cry crocodile tears.

All republikans may brew their own beers and distill their own spirits and grow their own tobacco, weed & hemp and mix their own chemical cocktails .... 25% of the street value must be paid to the republic's health service ... if not paid the penalty will be Death by Chocolate Cheese.

There will be 100 Television Channels ... they cannot show repeats on the same channel.

There will be 100 Radio Stations .... they can do what the fuck they like.

Vehicles will no longer require to pass MOT tests ... they will be scrapped when they reach 12 months old.

Bicycles must all have passenger seating for 3 persons and will not be permitted to drive on the pavement or to have brakes or lights.

All sexual deviants and perverts will be Publicly Buggered on a daily basis by the Official Town Buggerers.

All thiefs will be castrated ... then suffer or enjoy public buggering for 30 days by the Official Town Buggerers.

All murderers will be murdered .... but only after 30 days of public buggering by the Official Town Buggerers.

Chimneys no longer need to be swept ... however, chimney sweeps may continue to keep small boys, just in case.

All those who leave the Republik of Albanik may only take 7% of their wealth with them and just once per year for a maximum of 5 years when the bFred Bicance will be confiscated by the State Bank of the Republik, and it must be in Goldnix promissory notes ( backed by a golden promise ).

The Armed Forces of the Republik shall consist of 1,000 personnel.

We will have 10 helicopters, 10 tanks, 10 Harrier Jump Jets, 2 aircraft carriers and 8 destroyers.

We will secrete nuclear bombs in the top 80 countries with remotely controlled detonators.

We will be on friendly terms with all the nations of the world ... unless they are unfriendly towards us, ... or we suspect they may be harbouring unfriendly thoughts in our direction ... in which case we will Attack!, Attack!, Attack!

... to defend ourselves.

All football referees who award penalties to divers will be forced to watch Scottish Girls Football matches, in the nude ... the referee, not the girls.

I, as President of the Republik of Albanik, hereby absolve you of all crimes big or small and any obligations, debts & promises you don't wish to keep, for evermore. Go forth and multiply

Wee Bobby cleaned a smudge from the wardrode door mirror with his sleeve and looked and admired his reflection in several dramatic poses. 'I feel on top of the world now I've got that out of my system' thought Bobby, but as the drugs wore off he could feel the need for sleep so he collapsed on the bed and dozed off.

THE STRAND Comedy Club in Edinburgh

Wee Bobby had secured cheap Bed and Breakfast accommodation with Edinburgh's Majestic Jacobean Hotel within easy walking distance of the Festival and Fringe Venues of the City Centre.

Now that he had secured audition spots at four Fringe Venues in Edinburgh's Medieval Old Town Wee Bobby decided to do a different set at each one thereby giving himself the best possible chance of having a wing show for the _Best Newcomer_ attempt.

He'd also decided he didn't really want anyone accompanying him to the gigs just in case there was humiliation and nervous collapse in the realms of possibility as that would prevent him from making any kind of face-saving excuses.

So, no witnesses, he would go it alone, fly, crash, burn & die .. whatever .. he was now _a stoic_ .

On the Thursday afternoon he ambled down the Royal Mile and looked into a busy wee pub near the John Knox House.

It was a long and narrow bar with a small raised platform at the rear on the right against the wall with a stand microphone and overhead speakers and a yellow-filtered spotlight pointing down at a black sticky-tape cross in the middle of the platform.

He ordered a pint of Belhaven Best Beer and a Scotch Pie 'n' Beans and settled onto a corner stool which gave a good view all along the pub.

There was a humming buzz and crackle from the speakers and a voice announced, ' Next !'

A loop tape played a circus drum roll .... several times, until a figure emerged from through the black tape curtain and stood on the black cross and adjusted the height of the mike.

' Good afternoon Edinburgh ! ' screeched the figure, ' Are you all ready to enjoy yourselves ? '

There was a noticable drop in the level of the conversations, for a few seconds, and a voice from the midst called out, ' We were till you jumped in Ya Fanny ! '.

A chuckle went round the room and the conversations resumed but this time at a higher level and many folks turned away from the stage and went on with their lives.

Wee Bobby winced, feeling the Stand-up's pain.

' A funny thing happened on my way to the pub this afternoon ...... (pause for dramatic effect) ...... I saw a man with a wooden leg ... ( 5 second pause [too long]) ... it looked like it was off a coffee table ! Boom boom! '.

At first no reaction .... then, someone began clapping ... very slowly. After a few seconds others joined in until half the room were doing it.

The voice in the room called out, ' Off! off! .... what rhymes with 'off ' ?'.

Wee Bobby felt his testicles trying to ascend and thought, ' This is murderpolis! '.

The figure on the stage readjusted his mic height to match his new position, about half his previous height. Deflated but not yet defeated (he thought).

' What do you get when you cross a midget with a Giant Great Dane ?' the figure bravely asked although there was now a croak and a tremble in his voice. He waited patiently.

At length a half-pished punter put down his drink and said, ' Ok! I'll help ye oot, nee'bour. Whit dae ye get when ye cross an eejit with a shitey dog ?'

The grateful figure responded, ' You get a ... a ... a .... ah jeesusjohnnie I've forgot. Do you know the answer ? ' he asked his helper-ooter.

The conversationalists interrupted themselves.

' If I knew the answer I'd keep it tae ma'sel ' said the no longer helpin'-ooter.

As the whole room got ready to chorus OFF OFF they saw there was no longer a need as the figure slipped quickly through the tapes and out of sight, so instead they gave a thunderous applause and whistles and jeers in good measure.

Wee Bobby was now shitin' hisself. He shoved the pie plate away and sipped more beer to clean his mouth and was about to leave when a thought occurred.

This is an ideal tester opporchancity, he told himself. Nobody knows me here, I'm pretty well prepared with a good choice of sets .... I can't do any worse than that plonker. I'm going to give it a go.

He sprayed some Rescue Medicine at the back of his tongue and swallowed hard then moved gingerly through the black tapes into a darkened corridor lined with empty beer bottle cases.

There was a manager- type man and the figure from the stage laughing and talking about the experience.

They noticed Bobby and ended their conversation with ... ' ..... so now you know how bad it can be if you are not well rehearsed with a suitable slick routine ! '

Wee Bobby asked, ' did you try that on purpose ? .... you're a braver man than me Gunga Din.'

' Aye wee man, ah did so' said the figure. ' I've always had good responses in the 2 years I've been doing gigs but I've never done really big venues and I was feart I would dry up just at the crunch when all the critics are in the room at The Strand tonight.

But now I've experienced stage fright brought on by my own crappiness and it's a horrible feeling I'm so determined never to feel as bad as that again ... that was like sticking a nail through your wrist just to see what it felt like.'

' I'm on at The Strand tonight myself ' said Wee Bobby, ' I've half-bombed before but I think I just chose the wrong material for that particular room so I plodded on to the end of my set but maybe I should have jumped off like you did.'

' Oh no! NEVER do that wee man ' said the manager-type, ' Oscar here has had difficult gigs but persevered and completed the set, you don't get paid if you come off early nor do you get a repeat booking, but he has never bombed or frozen before and just needed to know how bad it feels and what it does to your ability to keep going just as you would if there was an ace heckler who stopped you in your tracks and you have to fight dirty to win through with the crowd in the room.

He deliberately lost that room from the get-go and tried to recover but saw it was a hopeless cause so the lesson is YOU MUST HAVE a belter of an opening with a proven reliable follow-on '.

'Practise, practise, practise is the only way to Carnegie Hall.' said Oscar, ' same thing with the Ulster Hall if yur no wantin' to go tae Dundee'

'I heard Carnegie Hall was in New York', said Wee Bobby.

'Naw, it's just along the dual carriageway frae Perth' said Oscar, ' hauf' way tae Aberdonia.'

Wee Bobby tried to look as though he understood.

' Have you not got some friends to support you tonight ?' asked Oscar.

' Trouble is my friends are funnier than me and are all wisecrackers not joke-tellers so would probably have a good laugh winding me up on stage so this time I will be flying solo.' said Wee Bobby.

The manager-type said, ' Tell you what ... it's always helpful to have a friendly supportive face in the audience to look at when you need to focus on the next gag so just look at me ... I'll have my poker face on .... giving nothing away, it'll give you the chance to avoid eye contact with any potential hostiles in the room whilst you prepare the next line.'

'What are you doing here anyway ? ' asked Oscar.

'I'm going on with some gags I think are OK but I'm not 100% sure so I thought I test the pub's reaction.' said Wee Bobby.

'Sounds like a sound plan, wee man, good luck!', said Oscar and his manager.

So without any further ado he slipped back through the tapes and stood on the black cross.

Nobody noticed.

He sneaked swiftly back through the tapes and asked Oscar, ' By the way, what do you get when you cross _a midget with a Giant Great Dane ?_ '.

' Fucked if I know, I just made it up on the fly, it just came into my stream of consciousness.' said Oscar.

Re-emboldened, Wee Bobby launched through the tapes again and took his spot, grabbed the twistlock and brought the mic down to its lowest level and tilted it downwards.

Damn, still 5 inches too high.

He looked out at the room. The conversations had stopped .... everyone was staring at him.

'Has anybody got anything I can stand on ?' asked Wee Bobby, stretching.

The room erupted.

People all around the room jockeyed for position attempting to locate the source of the hilarity. Wee Bobby unknowingly had a head start as a Stand-up comic .... he looked funny.

Imagine a hybrid of Tommy Cooper, Eddie Izzard and Eric Morecambe with a touch of Harry Hill all reduced to a small package and the oddest look which comes from wearing extra strength spectacles that hugely enlarged his eyes ... perfect for comic effect when he rolled his eyes upwards trying to focus hard on his next gag.

No one offered anything to stand on but one punter said Wee Bobby was welcome to squat on his shoulder as long as he didn't shit on his new shirt and squawk ' _Pieces of Eight!_ '.

Wee Bobby at length realised that he already had the audience with him so decided to press his advantage ....

' To the man on crutches, dressed in camouflage, who stole my wallet ... you can hide but you can't run.' uttered Wee Bobby, wondering where on earth he had got that gag from, certain that he himself hadn't heard it before ... weird, strange ... ah! what the hell, but, what next ?

' It's sad that a family can be torn apart by something as simple as a pack of wild dogs ' came out of his mouth, out of his mind, but not from conscious willing thoughts, it just came out of the ether.

The room laughed heartily and a few clapped spontaneously.

' If trees could scream would we still cut them down ? We would if they did it all the time and for no good reason ' said Wee Bobby.

The comic look on his bemused face added exponentially to the laugh factor of the joke.

Little did the audience know that Wee Bobby was experiencing fear and alarm at this out-of-his-body feeling which accounted for his queer facial expression. Another joke he didn't recognise ... who was feeding him these lines ?

' My son asked me where rain came from so I told him it was GAWD crying.' said Wee Bobby, ' He then asked me why was GAWD crying so I told him ' Because of something you've done' ... GOTCHA ! ya wee bastard.'

Most of the crowd erupted into laughter and whistled encouragement .... a few had to think about it first and reluctantly politely laughed because it must have been funny because everybody else was laughing so heartily.

' A few nights ago I organised a threesome. There was a couple of No-Shows but I still enjoyed myself ' said Wee Bobby, and without waiting for silence he continued, ' There was a couple of girls banging on my bedroom door all last night, it was giving me a real headache so I let them out.'

The room was in raptures ... this is pure comedy gold thought Wee Bobby but he was utterly bewildered as to where these gags were originating.

Realisation began to dawn on Wee Bobby that he was giving away some great gags and getting no payback in cash terms so he'd better bring it all to an end soonish.

'I've spent the past two years looking for my ex-wife's killer ... but I can't find anybody who'll do it for me.' said Wee Bobby, again wondering where on earth, or elsewhere, that notion came from.

Must finish now thought Bobby ... what can I close with ?

'Edinburgh man Scratchy McTavish was on his deathbed and knew his death was near. Next to his bed was the nurse, his wife, his daughter and two sons.

' So! ' he says to them, ' Barney, I want you to take the St.Leonard's houses. Marie, take the flats over in Morningside and Bruntsfield. Kevin, I want you to have the offices in Charlotte Square & Heriot's Row. Sadie, my dear wife, please have all the residential buildings in the rest of the New Town.

The nurse is just amazed at this generosity and just after Scratchy died she said to the family ..

' Mrs McTavish, your husband must have been such a wonderfully hard working man to have accumulated all this wealth and property.'

' Don't be daft hen! ' replied Sadie, ' He was talking about his window-cleaning rounds '.

The next line came into his head and he must have had a perplexed look on his face as he struggled to hold the thought until it was the _Exactly Appropriate_ time to deliver it ....

... as the noise level fell Wee Bobby held up his left hand, palm outwards, as if to HALT the audience .... he paused briefly, then delivered, ' Just before I go ........ can anybody tell me what you get when you cross _a Midget with a Giant Great Dane ?_ '

Uproar, ballistic, snorts of laughing and hand-clapping and roars of approval and applause.

Wee Bobby ducked backwards through the black tape curtains and stumbled down the corridor and out the fire exit into the outside passageway. He slumped back against the wall exhausted and heard the chants of 'More' and ' Encore' and ' Bravo wee mannie '.

He was both exhilarated and exhausted but also still befuddled and bewildered at this other- worldly experience.

He heard and felt his heart banging against his chest wall and his eyes rolled skywards. Surely this is a sore pain, he thought, but maybe the adrenalin is masking it. He clutched at his inner jacket pocket and grabbed his Nitro-Glycerine spray and gave himself two bursting sprays under his tongue and immediately felt the effects as the heart-care medicine kicked in and the trembling in his limbs began to quieten down. The panic which was spiralling towards a full blown attack subsided and he felt light-headed but otherwise extremely pleased at his survival. He was especially pleased that his accomplishments were all his own work .... or so he thought.

Just then he heard a female voice echoing down the narrow close, ' Day yay hay shirt time ?' it sounded like.

He twisted to look up the slope of the close towards the Royal Mile and could just make out a silhouette against the light of the sky beyond.

' I think it's about 5 o'clock ' said Wee Bobby.

The figure shuffled down towards him.

' Naw son, I said dae ye want a short time ?' said the lady of the lanes.

' I believe I've only got a short time left ' said Wee Bobby, still struggling to draw full breaths.

' Short time - special offer - a Fiver to you son', said lane lady.

' I'm sorry, I came out without cash today, I've only got a credit card ', lied Wee Bobby, hoping that would get rid of her.

' I take credit cards ' she said.

' Can you take American Express ?' said Wee Bobby knowing that most businesses hated having to take them because they took an age to pay up so there would be no chance she would be in a position to take a charge card.

' Any speed you like wee man ' said lane lady proudly.

' I'm sorry to be rude, hen, but I'm struggling to stay alive just now and could you please just leave me in peace' he said.

' OK! then sonny boy, you've talked me into it - a quick jump for 50 pence - final offer', said lane lady as she stood spreadeagled in front of Wee Bobby.

' I'll give you a £1 just to go away ', said Bobby, fishing about in his jacket pocket and finding a £1 coin and offering it to her.

She stood her full height, a good 14 inches above Wee Bobby in her high heels and looked snootily down her nose at him and said, ' Whit dae ye think I am, some kind of common whore ? I'll have you know I'm a professional in this trade and I've got a reputation to maintain so you can take your pound coin and stick where the sun don't shine, ya manky moon-faced midget moron.'

**Chapter 6**

Leaving the hotel to go to the STRAND after a fleeting meeting with GAWD's representative on earth, in Edinburgh, who advises Wee Bobby on how to proceed

Wee Bobby stood in front of the full length mirror of his Majestic Jacobean Hotel bedroom's wardrobe. He wore his best der suit which had been tailored to fit his slight frame and he looked very elegant with its fine black web weave and black silk lapels.

He wondered if he should try to make himself look different from the norm without taking away anything from his performance on stage and decided to put on his tartan bowtie which the Hotel had thoughtfully provided to welcome him as a guest along with a packet of Crawford's Shortbread Fantails and a Tartan Bottle of All-purpose Shower gel and body lotion and shampoo combined, and a tartan flannel with a label reading 'GEnuine Mad Ein Chine'.

He didn't know which clan the tartan belonged to but it set off his appearance so much that Wee Bobby felt his confidence and self-assurance growing.

He'd booked a taxi for the short journey from Princes Street along Queen Street to The Strand Comedy Club on York Place, and wanted to go early enough to hear all the backstage chat of the other Stand-up contestants.

He'd specifically asked for a room phone call from the reception desk whenever the taxi arrived so he could avoid just standing outside on the pavement.

At 6:20pm the room phone burbled like a french style rumble rather than a ring. Bobby picked it up, ' Pronto' he said as if he was Italian.

' Your carriage awaits sir, it's parked at the rear of the hotel on Rose St. Lane' said the receptionist.

Wee Bobby found the taxi standing with its door opened. He jumped in and told the driver he was ready for the off and pulled the door shut and settled into the corner seat.

They taxi made its way out onto Princes Street and drove towards Binn's Corner and Lothian Road when Wee Bobby panicked when he realised they were going the wrong way.

As he was about to alert the driver he caught sight of his eyes in the rear-view mirror and saw he was smiling at him, ' Don't be concerned Sir, we don't want to get there too early, the paparazzi have not yet assembled outside the venue yet ... you don't want to miss getting the free publicity that goes with making a grand entrance, do you? ', asked the old driver who was smiling smugly yet indirectly via his mirror at Bobby.

' Now please listen carefully to what I'm about to tell you as I can say it only once ' said the driver, ' You're time on this earth has been extended several times as an act of generosity by GAWD in his infinite wisdom, Gawd only knows why, but my task is to enlighten you as to the big ending coming soon. You will survive tonight's performance because GAWD's booked you for the Refurbished Ulster Hall in Lothian Road tomorrow night and that's when you will make your Magnificent Grand Entrance and Exit Stage Left (carried - not walking).'

Without Wee Bobby noticing the taxi had circuited the New Town and was pulling up outside the STRAND Comedy Club at 5 York Place and about 20 guys with cameras were loitering with intent to shoot on the broad pavement.

Wee Bobby leaned forward and offered a Twenty Pound note ready to say to keep the change but the driver just waved him out of the cab saying, ' No son, payment's not necessary, you've already paid your dues ... you've given GAWD the best laughs he's had since he made Donald Dewar the First Minister, because he'd actually forsaken you a long time ago but was impressed when you stayed alive in that hospital for some as yet unexplained reason. Just - BREAK - A - LEG!, it won't matter after tomorrow ', he chuckled.

The paparazzi surrounded Wee Bobby and he struck the suggested poses to the delight of the guys before descending the stairs to the Lower Ground Floor Club.

He pushed through the doors and was immediately inside a very low-ceilinged crowded bar room with just a small raised stage at the far end which Bobby could only see by looking up at the CCTV monitors above the bar.

He asked the barman where was he to go to get ready as he was one of the Stand-ups.

The barman pointed towards a plastic taped doorway to the side of the stage and handed Wee Bobby 4 empty beer bottles and asked if he could deposit them in the blue plastic bin just inside the doorway just pointed to.

Wee Bobby complied but thought that it was maybe just a bit out of order so turned back to give the barman a filthy look but discovered them all laughing and pointing at him. ' The Phuquers ' he told himself, ' and I'm a plonker for falling for it.'

He pushed through the tapes and opened the receded door and passed into a broader passageway which contained a blue plastic wheelie bin full of empties. Wee Bobby pondered. He closed the door and placed the 4 empties just behind it ... just for laughs.

He continued along the passage past the kitchen entrance and into a storeroom converted into a temporary dressing room with extra mirrors and lamps fitted around the walls.

There was about a dozen people altogether, some were clearly make-up artists who were applying buff coloured talcum powder to contestants' faces.

Wee Bobby declined their offer to puff his face with it .. they said he would look like a light bulb under the Stage & TV lighting but he felt so cool, calm and collected that he would not perspire at all.

The room was full of nervous energy, positively buzzing yet with an air of anticipation that it might all go wrong when under pressure, except Wee Bobby didn't feel that way at all.

He wondered if 32mg of Diazepam was too much and maybe he should have just taken enough to leave a wee tingle of nerves but reasoned it was too late now - he'd swallowed it all and there was no going back now.

He looked around and the only other people he recognised was Oscar the Stand-up and his manager from his encounter at the Royal Mile pub.

He gave them a nod of recognition and a friendly thumbs up.

He noticed two TV screens mounted high up on the wall. One showed the performer on the small stage. The other showed the back of the performer's head and shoulders and included all the audience right up to the back of the bar but it slightly distorted the view in a bottom of the bottle fashion to allow everyone to appear on it.

A girl with serious black framed glasses was performing her act and receiving generous and polite applause.

A girl with a clip board approached Wee Bobby and asked his name and ticked off some boxes and tore off a slip with the number 47 on it.

' Just watch the corner of the monitor and obviously you follow number 46 but be prepared in case there's a No-Show in which case you'll be Next On.

Don't keep the Room waiting or you'll die before you get on stage ' she said.

' How do you know I'll die ? ' asked a disconcerted Wee Bobby, still worried about what the taxi driver had told him.

' It's just an expression ... in show business... if you hear ' Why are we waiting ' being sung you will have already lost them with precious little chance of wing them back, so don't delay - it's fatal,' she smiled, reassuringly, or so she thought, but Wee Bobby wasn't convinced.

There was definitely something otherworldly going on thought Wee Bobby as he sat on an upturned pile of beer cases covered with a copy of the Edinburgh Gazette.

Suddenly Wee Bobby had an urgent questioning thought.

' How long do you get on stage ? ' he said loudly to no-one in particlular although he looked towards Oscar hoping for help.

Several voices replied simultaneously, ' It all depends ' and ' How long's a piece of string ' and Until Death do you Part ' and a variety of other non- helpful wisecracks.

Oscar said, ' Not less than 6 minutes if you're a rapid fire man and no longer than 11 minutes if they're still laughing enthusiastically but don't overstay and always finish on a belter and get off quick while they're still laughing.'

Bobby took a deep breath and reached into his er jacket pocket for his joke list which he had memorised but just wanted to run through it all again, just in case.

The pocket was empty. How could that be ? He had definitely, deliberately placed it in the pocket and patted it several times to ensure its presence.

' What the hell, what's happened ', thought Wee Bobby, mystified, but suspicious, although the strange thing was he was not panicking, in fact he felt so calm he was beging to worry about being so calm.

He wondered how many Diazepam he had taken, he started counting by looking up to the ceiling then decided it would be easier to look in his wallet and count the bFred Bicance. There had been 6 tabs left on the foil strip when he last looked. He couldn't find his wallet. He knew he should now be worried and couldn't underStrand why he was so calm.

He heard this disembodied voice saying not to worry as the Gag Team at Head Office would provide the gags on a just-in-time delivery basis and modify their choice according to the audience reactions.

Wee Bobby scanned the room - no obvious speakers.

Just then he heard someone say ' that's number 45 on Next ' and Oscar made his way across the room and high-fived Wee Bobby as he passed saying to him, ' Always leave them laughing !'.

Wee Bobby just chuckled, but wondered if that meant he, or the audience would be laughing when he left.

He positioned himself for a good view of the TV monitor so he could check how Oscar was doing.

Oscar had already delivered his quickfire introduction trying especially hard to enunciate and stress his name because he knew there were many impresarios and agents in the crowd

He'd adopted an odd stance on stage by Standing on one leg with the other twisted around it and his left hand continuously forking through his long hair.

Oscar moved onto his next gag ...

' A Scotsman who was driving home one night, crashed into a car driven by a Non-Scotsman. The Scotsman got out of the car to apologize and offered the other guy a drink from a bottle of whisky. The Non-Scotsman was glad to have a drink. 'Go on,' said the Scot, 'have another drink.' The other guy drank gratefully. 'But don't you want one, too?' he asked the Scotsman.

' Aye, for sure' replied the Scotsman, ' but I'll wait until after the police have gone.'

The audience went along with the idea and gave slight applause and well-meaning chuckles because they were wondering why Oscar didn't say Englishman or Irishman instead of Non-Scotsman.

Oscar was feeling uneasy about the less than rapturous applause and decided he'd been too pc - that he must be bolder he told himself so mentally re-jigged his gag running order and launched into this gag he had just learned from a colleague;

' Three contractors are bidding to fix a broken fence railing at No.10 Downing Street. One is from East London, another is from Manchester, and the third is from Norfolk. All three go with a Downing Street official to examine the fence.

The Manchester contractor takes out a tape measure and does some measuring, then works some figures with a pencil. 'Well,' he says, 'I figure the job will run about £900. £400 for materials, £400 for my workers, and £100 profit for me.'

The Norfolk contractor also does some measuring and figuring, then says, 'I can do this job for £700. £300 for materials, £300 for my workers, and £100 profit for me.'

The East London contractor doesn't measure or figure, but leans over to the Downing Street official and whispers, '£2,000,700.' The official, incredulous, says, 'You didn't even measure like the other guys! How did you come up with such a high figure?' The East London contractor whispers back, '£1,000,000 for me, £1,000,000 for you, and we hire the guy from Norfolk to fix the fence.' 'Done!' replies the government official. And that, my friends, is how British Government works.'

The room was full of agreeably nodding heads and generous applause .. but it still wasn't rapturous.

Oscar berated himself for using a gag which he had not had proved before in front of any audience and instructed himself to use a known belter gag or he risked losing the room.

If this one goes with a bang I'm out of here - pronto, he thought.

He raised the voice volume to No.11;

' A bus full of seriously ugly people had a head-on collision with a monster truck. When they died, God granted all of them one wish.

The first person said, 'I want to be beautiful.' God snapped his fingers and it happened.

The second person said she wished for the same thing and so God granted it.

This went on and on throughout the group. God noticed the last man in line was laughing hysterically.

By the time God got to the last two people, the last man was still laughing hysterically and rolling on the ground.

When the man's turn came, he told God, 'I wish they were all ugly again.'

This raised the mood in the Room and there was a pleasant eruption of loud laughs and some hand-slapping and Oscar jumped off the stage with a finger raised in the air but without thanking the audience and reminding them of his name.

As he came into the backstage room the next comic was already waiting behind the black tapes for his introduction.

Oscar's manager was angrily waiting for him and threw his arm around his shoulder and they went into a huddle.

Wee Bobby edged closer ... he was curious to overhear.

' I thought you were losing them in the middle of the set but that was some recovery - I'm proud of you m'boy ' whispered the manager to Oscar.

All of a sudden .... ' Next On - Next On - Next On ' blasted out the monitor speaker.

Everybody turned to the screen .... on the stage the comic had come to a complete stop .... he was crying ... He was mumbling ... ' I'll be alright in a minute folks', he stuttered but the hand with the mic was across his eyes to hide his tears and embarrassment and no sound was being broadcast.

A waiter stepped onto the stage and took a firm grip of the comic's elbow and eased him firmly off the stage towards the backstage room.

Wee Bobby admonished himself for allowing his focus to wander instead of repeatedly rehearsing his opening gag.

He shuffled along the corridor and stopped behind the black plastic tapes.

A remote voice announced, ' Would you please give a warm Strand Comedy Club welcome to ....

**Wee Bobby B-l-u-n-d-e-r '**.

He slid through the tapes and carried his empty McEwan's beer crate onto the stage and climbed on with a slight wobble.

The audience went ballistic. He reached down to take the microphone off the stand but couldn't dislodge it from its holder.

He tried bending his knees to avoid stretching down but as he did so the beer crate began to topple sideways, Wee Bobby shifted his foot to the edge of the crate and restored it to its original position but it didn't stop there and tilted over onto its other edge.

Wee Bobby shifted his weight to compensate just as the crate started to slide sideways leaving him holding onto the microphone stand with one leg in the air and sliding down the Strand because of the sweat and condensation covering it.

The audience were in raptures.

Wee Bobby held on tightly but continued sliding until his elbows contacted the floor and stopped him from burying his face on the stage .... He twisted his body around to get his back parallel to the floor and facing upwards and began climbing hand over hand back up the microphone stand until he'd reached the top and the beer crate slid back to its original position just as if it was a ouija board. During this episode Wee Bobby was unconsciously rehearsing his opening gag unaware that the microphone was broadcasting his joke to the audience who were laughing uproariously and commenting that this was was pure comedy genius ... a blend of Norman Wisdom and Lee Evans and Marty Feldman.

Wee Bobby strangely didn't feel as foolish as he thought he should, but decided he'd best get started and so launched into the opening gag. ( Unaware that he had already delivered it whilst wrestling with microphone.)

'My mother went home one night with a guy she met at a Singles club. He was tall, handsome and deeply tanned, and he seemed different from most guys she met.

They arrived at his place and headed straight to his bedroom.

She couldn't help but notice shelves full of teddy bears.

On the first shelf were small teddy bears.

On the second were medium-sized teddy bears.

On the third one at the top were very large teddy bears.

She came to thinking that he was so sentimental and sweet, and wasn't afraid to show it.

Her heart melted and she wanted to give him the best night of his life.

They had sex in five different positions.

Early in the morning, she quickly got dressed, and smiled at him and asked, 'How did I do last night ? '

He nodded and with a lopsided smile said, ' Not too bad at all.

Help yourself to any prize on the second shelf !' '

The audience went wild ... They were cheering Wee Bobby to the rafters.

Wee Bobby Blunder waved his free hand shouting ' No! No! that's not the punch line ... I've not finished yet ... but no one could hear him for the cheering.

When the audience began to quieten Wee Bobby continued,

' When my mother got back home with her medium-sized teddy bear you could tell she was just a tad disappointed so when my father angrily demanded to know where she'd been all night she handed over the teddy bear and blurted out, ' I've been on the go all night working my arse off just to get you the biggest blue teddy bear and all you can do is shout at me - you're just an ungrateful cunt and I'm off to bed, so fuck your bear up your arse.'

The audience were in pain from laughing and many were pee-ing themselves.

Wee Bobby shouted again, ' No! No! that's not the punch line ... I've no finished yet ... But no one could hear him for the cheering and laughing.

He thought it best to wait for quiet but while he waited he forgot the punch line, except he was unaware he'd forgotten it.

At last the room came to order, anxious to hear the next instalment.

He thought he had no option but to deliver gag No.2 instead.

'In Govanhill in Glasgow, a tenement building was destroyed by fire. A Nigerian family of six con artists lived on the first floor, and all six died in the fire. A black Islamic group of seven welfare cheaters, all illegally in the country from Somalia, lived on the second floor, and they too all perished in the fire. Six Barlinnie gangbanger ex-convicts lived on the third floor and they died as well. One Scottish white couple lived on the top floor. The couple survived the fire. The Muslim Clerics and the Social Justice for Africans Committee and Restart Prisoner Welfare Support delegate were furious. They flew to Glasgow and met with the Fire Brigade chief in a television studio just as the program went live on air. They angrily demanded to know why the Nigerians, Muslims, and Ex-Prisoners all died in the fire, and only the white couple survived.

The Chief Fireman said, 'Please don't get upset. The reason those fellow citizens survived was because they were at their work.'

' Whoa there Tiger !', said some of the audience.

' You're taking that too far wee man !', shouted a few others.

But most of the audience were pee-ing themselves laughing for the second time - extraordinary.

Wee Bobby looked bemused, he wondered where that gag came from because he didn't remember rehearsing that one.

As the quiet returned an _Extremely Angry_ 6' 3' bear of a man and his girlfriend were shouting abuse at Wee Bobby and telling him he should be ashamed of himself for being a _fascist and a racist._

Wee Bobby asked the girlfriend, ' Does your feet smell like dead fish ?'.

'No they bloody well don't !', she screamed angrily at Wee Bobby.

Deadpan, he just shrugged and turned towards the punters at the back of the bar and said out of the side of his mouth, ' Must be your cunt then !'

The audience went into another round of raptures. They went ballistic .. They were _Hooting and Cheering._

The Big Bear jumped towards Wee Bobby with murderous intent just as the beer crate tipped forwards and to regain his balance Wee Bobby stuck out his hand with the microphone which went right into the bear's mouth and halfway down his throat, choking him into instant submission and he writhed around the stage trying to withdraw the microphone.

Many in the audience agreed it was the first time a contestant comic had enlisted the help of stooges but it was definitely working well in this case. A masterstroke in fact.

Two of the waiters who were relatively sober realised this was not part of the act and was deadly serious and frogmarched the big bear out of the club and up the stairs and as they were propping him up on the metal railings on the pavement a Police Wagon drew up and a crew of _Edinburgh's finest_ piled out and threw the bear and his bearess into the cage at the back of the wagon and set off for the Police Station, confident they had got the _Racist Perpetrator of Filth_ who several citizens had phoned and _Officially Complained_ about his foul and racist remarks.

Wee Bobby thought he'd better deliver the final gag and get off while they could still laugh normally ... he hoped!

Wee Bobby's mouth opened as if he was a ventriloquist's dummy and he had the sensation of a hand and arm going right up his arse but he had no personal control over this.

Out of his mouth, his voice said;

'There was this homeless drunk guy laying in Rose Street Lane talking out loud saying, 'I wish I had another drink.' He then passed out. As he was saying that, a gay dude was walking by and heard him. He fucked the homeless guy and put three quid in his pocket. The homeless guy woke up later and found the money, ran to the Off-Licence, and said, 'Give me a _half bottle_ of Buckfast,' and went back to his spot, drunk it and passed out again. The gay dude came back, fucked the homeless guy again, and this time left five quid in the guy's pocket. The drunk woke up and went back to the Off-Licence and said, 'Give me _three quarter bottle_ of Buckfast,' and went back to his spot. He fell asleep again. The gay dude came back again and saw the homeless man passed out, he fucked him again and left eight quid this time. The homeless guy woke up and realised he had some more money. He stumbled back to the Off-Licence but before he could say a word, the owner said, 'I know, you want a _Full bottle of Buckfast_ ,' and the homeless guy said, 'No, give me a _Bottle of Bailey's Cream Liqueur_. That fucking Buckfast is tearing my arse to shreds.'

Most of the audience went wild, they hooted, they cheered, they laughed, they cried, they pee'ed themselves yet again ..... Wee Bobby felt himself being propelled off the crate, off the stage and through the tapes and into the backstage room where all the other comics gathered round Wee Bobby and clapped him on the back and spontaneously cheered him and congratulated him on the best performance ever at the Strand .... a certainty to win the Golden Globe award. Wee Bobby felt fucking immense, yet still otherworldly, as if his feet were actually floating a few inches off the floor.

He left the Strand Comedy Club and returned to the Hotel by the same taxi ... he felt as if he was floating through a scene in a dream ...

**Chapter 7**

from the hotel to the Ulster Hall

The taxi driver dropped him off at the back door of the hotel but Wee Bobby only became aware of his surroundings when he realised he was back in his hotel room but was unaware of how much time had passed.

His gagnotes were neatly folded and laying on the dressing table with his mobile phone on top.

He wondered how on earth they could be there because he distinctly remembered putting them in his jacket pockets.

He opened them out and noticed there seemed to be more sheets of paper than before ... he leafed through to what had been the last page and counted 3 extra pages written in a strange script which was undecipherable to him.

He tried to make sense of it all but could only scratch his head and wonder ....

He was exhausted, knackered with the effort of the last two days of hyperactivity, so he stripped off and just dropped his clothes in a pile on the floor and clambered into the old-fashioned four-poster bed, flopped his head on the double soft pillows and drifted into non-consciousness.

The loud knocking on his door woke him.

He slipped off the bed and put on a bathrobe and opened the door to see two elderly men in well-made suits, one with a leather attache case and the other with a suitcase on rollers.

'Whit ye wantin' ?' mumbled Wee Bobby, finding it difficult to move his jaw and tongue.

The tallest of the two spoke politely, ' Mr.Blunder, we represent the Edinburgh Festival Entertainments Committee and we have an urgent proposition for you - is there any chance we can come in and discuss it with you ?'.

'Awrightey ! ', grunted Wee Bobby, with difficulty ... he stepped back to allow them to enter and went to the housephone and dialled reception and asked for a Pot of Coffee and Big Scottish Breakfasts for three ....

' Oh! not for us, thanks, ' said the tall one.

'It's not for you ' said Bobby, ' I've got a desperate dose of the munchies and I need to eat to take my heart medicines.'

Wee Bobby struggled back up into the bed and shuffled the pillows up behind him and made himself comfortable before addressing the two men ...

' Well !, who's first ? ' he asked, with a feeling that this was not sounding like his normally very polite and affable self.

' Straight to the point then ' said the taller man, ' we heard about your outstanding success at last night's Strand Comedy Club event and we'd like to book you for tonight's _Special Royal Variety Performance_ at the Ulster Hall.'

He paused as if expecting a question, then continued, ' Many more of the Royal Family than we originally expected have decided to attend so we've had to dash around town and hire the best acts of the Festival and we'd love for you to be the _Principal Standup Comic_ and we're prepared to offer you £10,000 if you'll do it '.

' Is that all ?' said Wee Bobby, thinking that a 20 minute gig was not too much to ask of him and also thinking it was a hell of a lot of money just to do one Stand-up gig.

'All right, £15,000 then,' said taller man, misinterpreting Wee Bobby's response as reluctance, ' but I'm afraid I can't go a pfennig higher.'

Wee Bobby murmured that he was agreeable, but his tongue was still partially sticking to the roof of his mouth so he still couldn't articulate well enough to expand into a statement or to ask any questions so he just nodded assent and shook both their proffered hands.

'If you could be at the Stage Door at 6pm prompt the Show Manager will be there to greet you, thank you so much, Mr Blunder ' said the taller man as they left the room, taking the suitcase but not the attache case.

Wee Bobby slid down off the bed and picked up the case and after feeling its weight he sprung it open to discover it was full of cash.

He spread the bundles on the dressing table and counted out £15,000.

Bobby wondered how they knew it would be £15,000 exactly.

Then he wondered ..... ' I wonder what was in the suitcase .'

He picked up his mobile phone and speed-dialled Big John, ' Hallo therr china !' he tried to say when Big John answered with ' Whit is it noo, I spose yer wantin' the votes eh! weel, it's nill pwantz, aw haud oan, China's no in the Eurovision Joke Contest, so it canny be that, awright then, I give up, whit'r ye wantin' ? '.

' I need you to come tae my hotel and take charge of an attache case with £15,000 cash in it, and keep it somewhere safe because I'm doing an unexpected gig at the ULSTER HALL tonight.' said Wee Bobby.

' That's bloody strange, wee man, we're all coming to the Ulster Hall tonight because unbeknownst to us, somebody posted us 20 tickets so all the _Cronies_ from the Bogend Bar have hired a minibus and we'll help you out with timely prompts and funny heckles, awrightey! wee mannie ?', said Big John.

' Aw naw! Jings crivvens! help ma boab! in the name of the wee man! Can youse not go tae the Playhoose instead ?' pleaded Wee Bobby, ' noo yur making me nervous.'

Big John countered with, ' You just look out that front door and you'll see us ' _comin' doon the road_ ' ( sung rather than spoken) except we'll actually be coming up the Lothian Road because we've decided to hire kilts from the kilt hire at Binn's Corner, but I'll nick over to your hotel first though, say about 4pm ?' ( The Scottish Football Team's followers are known as the _Tartan Army_ and their main chant is ' _We'll be coming down the road ... etc!_ )

The line dropped.

The big Scottish Breakfast for 3 arrived. Bobby scanned the plates. ' Haud on hen ' he said to the waitress, ' these are English Breakfasts !'

' I'm sorry sir, I don't understand, I'm from Poland ' she said.

' I don't care if you're from Balamory, hen ' stuttered Wee Bobby, ' What the fuck are thone red and orange things ?'

' Red is tomatoes and orange is beans ' said the Polish waitress.

'I know what they are, I'm meaning **What** are they doing there, on my plates?' quizzed Wee Bobby,

'I've never knowingly eaten a vegetable other than chips, mushie pease and tumshie in ma puff and even then never for my breakfast' claimed Wee Bobby.

' Can you not just push them to the side of your plate then ?' asked the waitress.

' Aw just forget it hen, it's probably no your fault ' said Wee Bobby.

Halfway to the door she turned and with big pleading eyes she purred, ' So, no tip then ?'

' Aye ,' answered Wee Bobby, now articulating once again,

' Try Pepsodent, your teeth are fucking yellow !'

She paused at the door, ' you're a rotten stinker, you smell like a corpse ! '

She slammed the door.

There was no real point but Wee Bobby shouted at the now closed door, ' Awa' 'n' bile yer heid !', and felt better for having said it.

He was scoffing the bits of the breakfast he wanted ignoring the slices of beetroot and cucumber and the halved tomatoes but forked a few beans and sauce onto his potato scone to alleviate the overfried hardness of it, while thinking aloud, ' Cheeky wee bitch, what does she mean, smelling like a corpse indeed, if I was dead I wouldn't need 3 breakfasts, would I ?'

He climbed back up the bed and snuggled under the duvet and drifted off once more - dreaming immediately.

The door was knocked again, softly at first then more firmly until Bobby called out, ' I'm coming.'

He opened the door to find the waitress with an empty trolley and Big John with a smirk, not quite a grin, but it might've been a grimace.

He retreated back into the bed and allowed them into the room.

The waitress loaded the unfinished breakfast plates onto her trolley and wiped the dressing table top until the spilled food debris was evenly smeared into a thin film which took the shine off the ancient formica.

As she retreated towards the doorway she affirmed that she was definitely not getting a cash tip she said to Wee Bobby, ' I tried your Pepsodent and for all the good it does it would have been better if I brushed my arse, so there!'

' That's what the song said,' called out Wee Bobby, just remembering how the old advertisement went and how it was modified by jokers all over Britain.

' What was all that about ?' asked Big John.

Wee Bobby answered, do you remember how we used to sing, ' You'll wonder where the yellow went when you brush your arse with Pepsodent !'?

'No !' lied Big John, not wanting to get involved.

Wee Bobby explained about the events of the previous night and the visitors with the attache case full of money and the big mysterious suitcase which they took away again.

He asked Big John to keep the cash safe until they all got back to the civilisation of North Ayrshire.

Big John said he would go down to Waverley Railway Station and stow the case in a Left-luggage locker because he was stopping overnight in Edinburgh and they could pick it up next day on their way home.

' You're looking a wee bit peely-wally Bobby, are you feeling alright?', asked Big John.

' Well, truth be told, I'm feeling decidedly weird.' replied Wee Bobby, ' I had severe chest and head pains several times over the past 2 days but they've all gone just now but I seem to be floating sometimes and I'm having difficulty in thinking straight, I'm having to force myself to concentrate and sometimes ideas are just jumping around in my head but the really strange bit is the voices in my head, they're not people I know, but then again I'm taking such a cocktail of drugs just now I'm not really surprised.'

'I wouldn't normally say this but seeing as you have a very important gig tonight you'd be better off with a shower or a long soak in the bath because you do have a mingin' whiff around you', confided Big John, with some embarrassment.

' Cheers for that Big Ears ', said Wee Bobby, trying not to show he had taken offence.

'Right-ee-o ! I'll be off to the station now, look out for _the jolly cronies_ , our tickets are for the front of the hall just in front of the stage.', said Ian.

' Before you go ', asked Bobby, ' was there any clue as to who sent you the tickets for the show ?'.

'There was a scrawl across the back of the wrapper saying - Remember the Alamo -and - Custer's Last Stand, and - The Charge of the Light Brigade and - other rubbish but GAWD only knows what it means.' said Ian.

' Aye, right, that's worrying ', said Bobby, ' Don't for fuck's sake say break a leg, gonny not'.

'Cheeribubble, catch you later', said Ian as he left the room.

at the ULSTER HALL, Royal Variety Performance

The biggest show of Wee Bobby's short career

Wee Bobby arrived at the Ulster Hall on Lothian Road in the same taxi he used for the trip to the Strand Comedy Club at 10 minutes before 6pm and crossed the plaza to the Stage Door and knocked as hard as he could on the heavy door.

Someone opened a sliding panel at normal height for eye-level and called out, asking, ' Who's there ?'

' Wee Bobby Blunder' answered Bobby, hoping like hell there had been no mistake and this was reality.

After a few moments of inactivity Bobby knocked again and the sliding panel opened again.

'Who's there ?' asked the same voice.

' I'm down here, ' said Wee Bobby.

'What are you doing down there, ' asked the voice,

' I'm fucking your father up the arse !' shouted Bobby

' and why are you fucking my father's arse ?' asked the voice.

' Because your mother is too ugly !' replied Wee Bobby.

The heavy door swung outwards and a hand beckoned him in.

The door closed behind him and Bobby stood in front of an elderly well-dressed gentleman, who sighed and said, ' I wish to fuck they would change the password system here! It's shockingly theatrical so it is, some stupid head office cunt's idea of a joke. Follow me Sir.' and Bobby followed him towards the dressing rooms and was ushered into Number 7, marked _Lucky for Some_ on the door panel.

' You'll find everything you need to make yourself tea and biscuits, Sir. There is a mini-toilet behind that screen. You're listed as on at 8:45pm with a 14 minute slot which takes us up to the Intermission at 9:00pm. If you're still talking at 9:01 the microphone will be cut off and the Safety Curtain will close so get back behind the thin yellow line and watch your timing, Sir. I'll ring your buzzer and put on the red light 10 minutes before and again 5 minutes before which just gives you time to get to the Stage on-ramp. The Royals will be in the box high up to your left and your friends will be up in the Gods. Anything you need, Sir ?' said the man.

'My friends said their tickets were for the very front of the stage', said Bobby.

' I don't think so, Sir' said the man as he closed the door.

Bobby checked out his dresser desk with multiple lights around the mirror, then clicked on the kettle for tea.

He took out his gag-notes and peeled off the ones he'd prepared for the Strand and discarded them even though they were unused.

The extra pages in the strange script intrigued him and he puzzled why anyone would bother offering them when they couldn't be read.

A sharp short knock and the door opened slightly and a woman slipped swiftly in saying, ' Make-up'.

Wee Bobby was about to say he didn't wear makeup but she got in first saying, ' I know, I know, I know what you're going to say. That's what they all say when they've never been on a Stage like this when it's being televised and filmed. The lighting is so harsh and intense although it's now a lot cooler than it used to be, however, you'll glow like a firefly if I don't matt your skin with some shady flesh powder and I've got some 'Eyebright' to brighten your eyes to stop them looking so bloodshot.'

Wee Bobby complied meekly, thinking, she clearly knows what she's doing.

After she'd finished Wee Bobby looked in the mirror and saw a healthy, tanned and bright-eyed handsome young Bobby looking back at himself.

'Thanks very much' he said, then added jokingly but hopefully speculatively, ' By the way, how good at cryptography are you ?'

'Strange you should ask' she replied, ' that's my full time job, I just do this wee job for the extra cash'

She scanned the pages and took an eyebrow pencil and deciphered the scripts and transcribed them onto the backs of the pages.

'I can't see the jokes in them, personally speaking, ' she said, ' I expect it all depends on how you tell them, like Frank Carson says.'

She left.

Bobby started to read. He wondered how he could be expected to commit them to memory with just over an hour to go. He was into the 3rd story when he decided he couldn't see the jokes either. If they weren't funny why should he use them. He retrieved his original gag-notes for the Strand and as they were all ones he had practised assiduously he became confident of putting on a good show.

At 8:30pm there was a knock at the dressing room door so Bobby called out to come in and in walked another very well-dressed gentleman who without introducing himself placed a typed page on the dresser in front of Bobby.

'This is a list of things you cannot refer to in the presence of any member of the Royal Family - No Exceptions, Thanking you! ' he officiously stated and immediately left the room.

Wee Bobby started to encounter strange feelings about this adventure. Something was nagging at him suggesting all was not normal.

He thought to himself, ' I didn't sign up for this shit .... Maybe I should just fuck off home right now.'

' A quandary ' thought Wee Bobby, ' that's what I'm in. Should I do my original script, should I do the translated script or should I wing it and play it by ear, from memory so to speak.'

Another thought occurred quite forcefully to Wee Bobby, so strong that he couldn't dismiss it and focus on a decision. 'What's the difference between a _Quandary_ and a _Dilemma?_ ' he asked himself.

Wee Bobby thought deeply and mused to himself, ' Quandary means to be in state of perplexity or doubt and derives from the Latin Quando meaning When, interpreted as if When will you decide then.'

He continued telling himself, ' Dilemma is from the Greek and means two possibilities, neither of which is practically acceptable.' From the far reaches of his teenage studies he remembered that a Dilemma was also known as _Zugzwang_ which was German for compulsion to move even though the move will result in a less favourable position than now.

He decided to not make a decision and to play for time hoping a decision would make itself.

He picked up the _Printed List of Things Not to Do or Say_.

Royal Command Performance - You cannot Remark or Comment on; That no Roman Catholic, nor anyone who marries a Roman Catholic, can ascend the British Throne.

No enthusiasm can be shown for or reference made to a republic or anti-monarchy political party. No mention of Royalty's German origins - Battenburg, Mountbatten Saxe-Coburg Schwlesig-Holstein or any other Germanic term.

Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh, was a Prince of Denmark and cannot be referred to as Phil the Greek.

Her Majesty the Queen is known as Elizabeth 2nd of England, 1st of Scotland.

Wee Bobby gulped and swallowed hard, thinking to himself, ' Well I'll be fucked if that's no a further Quandary or Dilemma. It seems I canny mention anything Greek or German so out goes Dilemma and Zugzwang and that just leaves Quandary which is kind of Italian.

Well at least that gets me off the Dilemma's horns. Maybe I should do a Quirquafleeg when in Edinburgh and do as the Romans do, and just surrender '.

No sense beating myself up about it. I know ... I'll just feign illness - stage a wee collapse - play the sympathy card - surely that's a first in philosophical terms - a dilemma with three possibilities but one's a happy outcome.

'Now, would that then be called a _Trilemma_ or would that be suggesting that all three outcomes were unacceptable.

'Aye, that'll do for me.' decided Wee Bobby.

A red lamp went on, a buzzer sounded, and Wee Bobby checked his watch ... 8:35pm.

' OMG OMG OMG' he repeated to himself, ' What to do , What to do.'

The decision made itself. It announced to Wee Bobby that whatever happens the show must go on. It told him he had elected to join this grand conspiracy to amuse and entertain and there was a centuries old tradition of continuance and perseverance to uphold so he must do the honourable thing even if it meant dying many deaths on the grand stage.

He reached for the Translations done by the makeup lassie.

He scanned the first joke.

The Chinese Farmer.

There was once a very influential farmer in an obscure part of China. He had a problem, for which he sought the counsel of the two wisest men in town. So he summons the two wise men, Hing, who is an scientist, and Ming, who is a sorcerer, and requests that they find a cure for his chickens who are losing their feathers and dying. Hing decides to pay a visit to his mentor at the Agricultural Extension of the local Community College, under whom he studied many years ago. The mentor recommends the book 'Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Diseases of Chickens, But Were Afraid to Ask'. So Hing visits the library, borrows the book, and finds inside the report of a study that finds that feeding the chickens with an infusion of gum tree leaves is often a cure for chickens losing their feathers. Meanwhile back at the ranch, Ming reads obscure writings of ancient wise men, he meditates, and he reads tarot cards. He also tries to read the entrails of a fetal pig. Getting no inspiration he uses his old Strandby, reading tea leaves. In a spark of discovery, he decides that an infusion of gum tree leaves is the cure. On the appointed day, at the appointed time, and at the appointed place, the two wise men report back to the influential Chinese farmer. Ming reports 'As gum sticks to tables and chairs, so shall an infusion of gum tree leaves make feathers stick to chickens.' Hing agrees, saying 'Four out of five ornithologists recommend sugarless infusions of gum tree leaves for their chickens who lose their feathers.' The influential Chinese farmer is ecstatic, for the two wisest men in town are of a single mind. He decides to carry out their advice, and it does not succeed.

The moral of this story is 'All of Hing's courses and all of Ming's ken couldn't get gum tea to feather a hen.'

Wee Bobby thought ' I'll never remember all that - there's no time '.

Buzz .. Red lamp flashing 8:40pm - Time to go-ho.

His room door swung open and a stage hand with headphones and a clipboard ushered Wee Bobby out and along the corridor to the ramp .. He made him walk to the top and told him, ' wait until the Green Lamp goes on, then you squeeze between the black velvet drapes and walk to the white cross on the stage - the microphone is overhead and controlled by the sound technician so just speak in your natural voice - listen for a buzzer - that's the 60 second countdown to finish your act ... A further 60 seconds later and the mike goes dead. - Ok! lovie ? '.

Wee Bobby deadpanned him. 'Fucking poof ' he muttered to himself.

Buzz - Green Lamp on - ' Fuck!' thought Wee Bobby, ' shirtlifter never warned me about the buzzer - I nearly had a heart attack there!'

All the while Wee Bobby barely heard his enthusiastic introduction as he walked across the stage to the white taped cross near the front and stopped ...

He looked up - 'Christo it's bright' he thought. He squinted as he tried to bring the audience into focus telling himself he should have brought his driving glasses, the polaroid anti-glare ones ....

He could hear a ringing in his ears and thought, ' what a time to get tinnitus .' but then became unsure whether he had spoken it as well as thought it.

The audience were already in raptures ... The introduction and pre-publicity had promised a new type of extraordinary Standup comedian who could make you laugh without having to say anything. Norman Wisdom, Marty Feldman and Matt Cooper had had that effect too, but not many others.

Wee Bobby wondered what the fuck they were laughing at as he hadn't even started yet and this set him on a slightly aggressive edge that was so unlike his laid-back style in previous incarnations.

He recited _the Chinese Farmer_ , the first translated joke, as best as he could remember it but couldn't for the life of him understand why he was using a very unconvincing Chinese accent for the spoken parts.

It seemed to take forever to tell it.

When he finished the audience were standing and applauding so loudly Wee Bobby found it hard to concentrate ... He starting mumbling to himself, 'Four Candles' which had become a security blanket which gave him comfort when stressed.

'What's that you said, Sir ?' came a booming voice, seemingly from the top of the seating area but shielded from Bobby's sight by the stagelights.

'Fork Handles' answered Wee Bobby.

' Sorry, could you repeat that ?' asked the booming voice.

'Throat Pastilles' said Wee Bobby, although he knew it made no sense and therefore wasn't even remotely funny.

Still the audience roared.

'That's not what you said before' said the booming voice.

'Hoes' said Wee Bobby, remembering the Two Ronnies sketch.

'Do you mean Garden Hoes? ' asked the boomer.

'No!' countered Wee Bobby, ' Hose '

' Do you mean Water Hose? ' asked the voice.

' No!' said Wee Bobby, ' Plastic letter 'O's.

' No, it wasn't that' the voice boomed.

'Oh Yes it was' said Wee Bobby, in his best pantomime voice.

'Oh No it wasn't' countered the voice.

'That'll be £5 please' said Wee Bobby

'What's that for ?' asked the voice.

'For the argument' said Wee Bobby.

' I didn't ask for an argument ' said the voice.

'Oh Yes you did', said Wee Bobby

'No I did not' said the voice.

' Fine, ' said Wee Bobby, ' That'll be £10, please.'

'What the hell for?' shouted the voice.

'Well, that's 2 arguments you've had.' said Wee Bobby. The audience laughed generously ... expectantly waiting for the Big Punch Line, ... which didn't materialise.

Wee Bobby decided this was too silly to continue so he sneaked a furtive look inside his jacket pocket, shielding it from the audience, and speed-read the _2nd Translated Joke_.

'This is rubbish', he thought, 'ah! what difference does it make now, I'll just do it anyway'.

He had to wait for the level of laughing and applause to die away before continuing.

Wee Bobby tried to look up at the Royal Box but could see nothing but glare so he spoke in their direction anyway,

'Why do Marxists only drink herbal tea? (Pause for 1.75 seconds)

Because proper tea is theft.'

An outbreak of guffawing from the Royal Box and some tree-hugging and loud yet very polite clapping ensued.

Wee Bobby gave way to a compulsion, he began;

'Queen Elizabeth and Dolly Parton die on the same day, but only one can get into the _Pearly Gates._

St. Peter asks Queen Elizabeth what makes her special enough to enter Heaven.

Elizabeth takes out a douche bottle and douches herself.

St. Peter asks Dolly what makes her special enough to get into Heaven.

Dolly opens up her shirt and flashes her chest.

St. Peter lets Queen Elizabeth in instead of Dolly.

When Dolly asks St. Peter why The Queen was let in, Peter replies, 'A royal flush beats a wild pair anyday.'

Groans from somewhere in the theatre but gales of dirty laughter too.

Wee Bobby goes on;

A boastful American from Texas was being shown the sights of London by a taxi-driver.

'What's that building there?' asked the Texan.

'That's the Tower of London, sir,' replied the taxi-driver.

'Say, we can put up buildings like that in two weeks,' drawled the Texan.

A little while later he said, 'And what's that building we're passing now?'

'That's Buckingham Palace, sir, where the Queen lives.'

'Is that so?' said the Texan. 'Do you know back in Texas we could put a place like that up in a week?'

A few minutes later they were passing Westminster Abbey. The American asked again,

'Hey cabbie, what's that building over there?'

'I'm afraid I don't know, sir,' replied the taxi-driver.

'It wasn't there this morning.'

Appreciative chuckles from the audience, but not very enthusiastic.

Wee Bobby decided he preferred _risque_ taking.

'Why do they bury Germans 20 meters underground?

Because deep down they are really nice people.'

Some gasps and some guffaws from the audience.

'How do Germans tie their shoes?

With little knotsies ' ( make it sound like Nazis)

'Time for quickfire', thought Wee Bobby

' Have you heard about the new German Microwave ?

It's got ten seats inside.'

Why wasn't Jesus born in Germany?

He couldn't find 3 wise men or a virgin.

A Greek and Italian were arguing over who had the superior culture.

The Greek says, 'We have the Parthenon.'

Arching his eyebrows, the Italian replies, 'We have the Coliseum.'

The Greek retorts, 'We Greeks gave birth to advanced mathematics'

The Italian, nodding agreement, says, 'But we built the Roman Empire.'

And so on and so on until the Greek comes up with what he thinks will end the discussion. With a flourish of finality he says, 'We invented sex!'

The Italian replies, 'That is true, but it was the Italians who introduced it to women.'

Half of the audience were in hysterics but the other half started booing loudly and shouting, 'Off Off Off'

Wee Bobby thought, ' Oh fuck! Now another dilemma - Ah! Well, I've split the audience into two halves and I can't please both sides simultaneously so onwards and upwards.'

' A guy says to his friend, 'I can't remember if the doctor told me my wife has AIDS or Alzheimer's.'

His friend says, 'It's simple. Drive her to the other side of town. If she finds her way home, don't fuck her.'

Groans!!

' Two church members were going door to door, and knocked on the door of an old woman who was obviously not happy to see them.

She told them in no uncertain terms that she did not want to hear their message and slammed the door in their faces.

To her surprise, however, the door did not close and, in fact, bounced back open.

She tried again, really put her back into it, and slammed the door again with the same result ... the door bounced back open.

Convinced these rude young people were sticking their foot in the door, she reared back to give it a slam that would teach them a lesson, when one of them said:

'Ma'am, if you really want your door to shut you need to move your cat.'

Louder groans !!

' A man speaks frantically into the phone,

'My wife is pregnant, and her contractions are only two minutes apart!'

'Is this her first child?' the doctor queries.

'No, you idiot!' the man shouts. 'This is her husband!'

Chuckles and groans!

The jokes just poured out of Wee Bobby and he didn't know where they were coming from but he was embarrassingly aware he had no control over their selection. Some greater Force was at work here.

He felt another Royal joke coming on - like an impending feeling of DOOM!

' Prince Philip went to see the doctor because he was a little too well-endowed.

In fact, it was 25 inches long and he couldn't get women or men to have sex with him.

The doctor told him that there was nothing that he could do, but recommended a witch doctor.

The witch doctor took a look at the problem and told the man to go to a particular pond deep in the forest and talk to a frog that lived there.

'Ask the frog to marry you,' she said, 'and each time the frog says NO!, you'll be 5 inches shorter.'

Worth a try, he thought to himself, and with that, he dashed into the forest. He found the pond and spotted the frog on the other side, sitting on a log.

'Frog, will you marry me?' He called.

The frog looked at him, disinterested at best, and called back, 'NO!.'

Philip looked down and sure enough, his penis is 5 inches shorter.

Hey, this is great, he thought ... I'll try that again, 'Will you marry me?'

The frog rolled his eyes, and shouted back again, 'NO!'

Zappo! The penis is now down to 15 inches.

Well, that's still a bit excessive, he thought.

Down another 5 would be perfect. So he called across again, 'Frog, will you marry me?'

The irritated frog yelled back, 'Look, how many times do I have to tell you? No, No, NO!'

The cheers drowned out the boos.

He felt another Royal joke coming on and this time his heart was in his mouth ...

From somewhere in the ethersphere came this thought ...

' Don't knock on Death's door.

Instead, ring the bell and run. Death hates that...'

Wee Bobby was not aware that he was still talking.

' China, New Zealand, England, and Samoa were all building a big TOWER for their leaders. So after they were done building the tower each leader wanted to make a toast.

China went first. The Chinese leader steps up and says, 'I want to make a toast to the Great Wall of China!'

All of the Chinese people cheered.

Then, the leader of New Zealand steps up and he says, 'I want to make a toast to the green grass of New Zealand!'

Everyone from New Zealand now cheered.

Then the Prince of England steps up and he says, 'I want to make a toast to my mum the Queen of England!'

So everyone from England cheered.

Then finally a drunk Samoan from Samoa was about to toast but his leader tried to stop him but he couldn't so the drunk Samoan says, 'I want to make a toast to the Bull of Samoa.'

Everyone freezes and they say 'The Bull of Samoa... What is that?'

Then he says, 'Yeah! the Bull of Samoa - The Bull of Samoa jumps over the Great Wall of China, takes a crap on the green grass of New Zealand and fucks the Queen of England.'

The cheers drowned out the boos.

Wee Bobby is now crapping it ... He feels he's achieved his ambition and now just wants it all to end, but, something strange is nagging at him, give it ONE LAST JOKE ...

' Two guys walk into a bar and sit down at a table.

The barman comes over to them and asks, 'What can I serve you gentlemen?'

One of them says to the barman, 'I'll bet you a large jug of your finest beer that I can lick my eye.'

The barman says, 'I've had guys come in here that could lick their nose but never have I ever seen one that could lick his eye. I'll take that bet.'

So the guy reaches up, pulls out his glass eye, licks it, and puts it back in his eye socket.

The barman says, 'Damn, you got me.'

He brings the guys a large jug of beer and goes about tending the bar.

When that jug of beer starts to get low the barman comes back and asks, 'Are you gentlemen ready for another?'

The same guy answers, 'I'll bet you another large jug of your finest beer that I can bite my ear.'

The barman hesitates for a moment and looks at the guy's left ear, his right ear, and says, 'There's no way you've got an artificial ear. I'll take that bet.'

The guy reaches up, pulls out his false teeth, bites his ear with them, and puts them back in his mouth.

The barman says, 'Damn, you got me again.'

He brings the guys another large jug of beer and goes about tending the bar.

A little later the betting guy is drunk, gets up and staggers over to the bar and lays a £100 note on the bar saying, 'I'll bet you a hundred that I can pee and fill 10 shot glasses lined up on the bar with their rims touching without spilling a drop on the bar from 3 feet away.'

The barman says, 'It'll be worth £100 to see that so I'm betting you can't do it.'

He puts his own £100 on the bar, lines up 10 shot glasses and steps back.

The drunk whips out his penis and pees all over the shot glasses, the bar, and the floor.

The happy barman picks up the two £100 notes, gets out his towel and starts to wipe it up. He then notices the drunk is smiling and says, 'I just made £100 so I'm smiling, you just lost £100, why are you smiling?'

The drunk says, ' you see the guy over there that I've been drinking with all this time?

I just bet him £1,000 that I could come over here, pee all over your bar, and that you'd wipe it up with a smile on your face.'

Even the booers cheered at that one ...

' Oh, bought some time there ', Wee Bobby told himself, struggling to think of a suitable ending joke.

From nowhere came ...

' These four gents go out to play golf one day. One is detained in the clubhouse and

the remaining three are discussing their children while walking to the first tee.

'My son,' says one, 'has made quite a name for himself in the homebuilding industry.

He began as a carpenter, but now owns his own design and construction firm. He's so

successful that in his last year he was able to give a good friend a brand new home

as a gift.'

The second man not to be outdone, told how his daughter began her career as a car

salesperson, but now owns a multi-line dealership. 'She's so successful, in fact, in

the last six months she gave her best friend two brand new cars as a gift.'

The third man's son has worked his way up through a stock brokerage firm and in the

last few weeks has given a good friend a large stock portfolio as a gift.

As the fourth man arrives, they tell him that they have been discussing their children

and ask him about his son.

'To tell the truth, I'm not very pleased with how my son has turned out,' he replies.

'For fifteen years, he's been in and out of work and I've just recently discovered he's

a bisexual.

But, on the bright side, he must be good at what he does because his last

three lovers have given him a brand new house, two cars, and a big pile of stock

certificates.'

Wee Bobby groaned, that's not the one he was looking for, try again ....

' There were 10 blondes and 1 brunette hanging on a rope in the mountains. the rope was very weak and the brunette said someone had to let go. No one volunteered, until the brunette finally said she would let go, and gave a such a heart-felt speech that on hearing it the blondes started clapping...'

' Oh Hell No! C'mon for GAWD's sake ', he told himself ...' Don't say another word until you are absolutely certain you've got the right joke.'

He was unable to shut up though.

' A successful rancher died and left everything to his devoted wife. She was a very good looking woman, and was determined to keep the ranch, but she knew very little about ranching, so she decided to place an ad in the newspaper for a ranch hand.

Two men applied for the job. One was gay and the other a drunk. She thought long and hard about it, and when no one else applied, she decided to hire the gay guy, figuring it would be safer to have him around the house than the drunk. He proved to be a hard worker who put in long hours every day and knew a lot about ranching.

For weeks, the two of them worked, and the ranch was doing very well. Then one day, the rancher's widow said to the hired hand, 'You have done a really good job and the ranch looks great. You should go into town and kick up your heels and let your hair down '.

The hired hand readily agreed and went into town one Saturday night. However, one o'clock came and he didn't return. Two o'clock and no hired hand. He returned around two-thirty and found the rancher's widow sitting by the fireplace.

She quietly called him over to her. 'Unbutton my blouse and take it off,' she said.

Trembling, he did as she directed. 'Now take off my boots.' He did so, slowly. 'Now take off my socks.' He did. 'Now take off my skirt.' He did. 'Now take off my bra.' Again with trembling hands he did as he was told. 'Now,' she said, 'take off my panties.' He slowly pulled them down and off.

Then she looked at him and said, 'If you ever wear my clothes to town again, I'll fire you on the spot.'

Most of the audience chuckled at that one, but it wasn't a belter.

' I'm drinking in the Last Chance Saloon ', thought Wee Bobby .... ' C'mon for fuck's sake '.

' A drunk man who smelled of beer and whisky sat down on a subway seat next to a priest. The man's tie was stained, his face was plastered with red lipstick, and a half empty bottle of whisky was sticking out of his torn coat pocket. He opened his newspaper and began reading.

After a few minutes the man turned to the priest and asked,' Say, Father, what causes arthritis?'

'My Son, it's caused by loose living, being with cheap, wicked women, too much alcohol, a contempt for your fellow man, sleeping around with prostitutes and lack of personal hygiene.'

'Well, I'll be damned,' the drunk muttered, returning to his paper.

The priest, thinking further about what he had said, nudged the man and apologized.

'I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to come on so strong. How long have you had arthritis?'

'I don't have it, Father. I was just reading here that the Pope does.'

' Aw! that's no the one ', muttered Wee Bobby, audibly but still to himself, or so he thought ...' Last time now ...'

Wee Bobby drew himself up to his full height and declared to the audience,

' I am going to prove to you that there is no God.

He said, 'GAWD, if you are real, then I want you to knock me off this stage.

I'll give you ONE minute!'

Three minutes went by.

He kept taunting God, saying, 'Here I am, GAWD. I'm still waiting.'

Just then a massive Wee Free Minister walked onto the stage and hit him full force in the face, and sent him flying into the orchestra pit.

Wee Bobby struggled up, badly shaken and bleeding profusely,

'What's the matter with you? Why did you do that?'

The Wee Free Minister replied, 'GAWD WAS TOO BUSY! so he spoke to me then sent me in his place instead.'

A realisation of time passing entered Wee Bobby's consciousness.

' Surely that's my time up' he asked himself.

'I desperately need a big finale to finish with ' he told himself, wondering if he should check his gag notes or just wing it and hope for more divine inspiration.

Wee Bobby stumbled slightly and steadied himself but still felt a tad light-headed, slightly nauseous and dizzy, and had an immensely strong feeling of his impending doom.

He shouted as loudly as he was able, ' I say all royalty are the product of 1,000 years of incestuous relationships.

Some people say if you can't beat them join them but I say kick them in the nuts because they'll be expecting you to join them so you'll have the element of surprise.

Now some of you may say that's using flawed logic but I disagree, furthermore, I say you'll get a _Not so Great Dane with 5 inch legs but with a giant tongue and a hollow arse_.'

High in the gods came a chorus of , ' Aw Naw! we've left him on too long! Quick, Bring it down!' ....

Then sounded a booming crashing thunderclap accompanied by an intense hot flash of a lightning bolt. Unfortunately the lightning bolt was carelessly misdirected and hit Wee Bobby's right knee and arc'd through his shoe into the stage floor melting the spongey rubber sole of his shoe, glue-ing him to the spot.

The Curtains finally began to close and Wee Bobby bowed and waved to the Royal Box and tried to step back behind the _Yellow Line_ but only one leg obeyed his command and the other was stuck.

The Curtains closed with Wee Bobby halfway in and halfway out and he became trapped under the curtains.

Lights flashed and buzzers and bells sounded and warning shouts rang out but Wee Bobby was doomed.

Then he became aware of an overhead presence.

He briefly wondered if GAWD had condescended to descend to his relief but another awareness began to accumulate in his thoughts, which were by now becoming pretty jumbled up, even mildly incoherent, he thought.

The overhead presence was the descending heavy lead-weighted Boom of the Fire Safety Curtain which smacked into Wee Bobby's skull with a noise like the amplified cracking of an eggshell.

With his head twisted limply towards the front of the stage Wee Bobby gasped,

' Is there a Doctor in the House?' There was no immediate reply so Wee Bobby shouted again, ' Can somebody call me an ambulance ?'

Big John was sitting with _the cronies_ from the Dalry Bogend Bar coach trip and got in first with, ' OK! you're an ambulance.'
Chapter 8

from the Ulster Hall to lying in state at Bogend Bar

After the legal procedures were carried out at Edinburgh following Wee Bobby's demise on the Ulster Hall stage his embalmed body was triumphally transported to Ayrshire to await his funeral.

It had been generally agreed with the cronies and Milo Webster that he could lie in state in the wee wooden snug room until his Saturday morning funeral at Ardrossan.

This way folks could come and pay their respects and chip in a few quid to offset funeral and purvey costs ( _No Flowers Please_ ) and also enjoy a Pint of Best Beer at Bogend Bar's vintage bar, surely a well kept secret as the only authentic 40s style hostelry in the County of Ayr if not the whole nation.

_The cronies_ had formed _an ad hoc committee_ to settle Wee Bobby's affairs and arrange his disposal as well as the disposal of his goods and chattels although his leather jacket had already been spoken for by Jakey who had been losing weight at an alarming rate since he had been forced to give up the brandy & babychams due to having an insufficiency of free pension funds after the demise of The Black Country Trio.

Big John had retrieved the attache case with the £15,000 from Waverley Station but saw no good reason to share the knowledge with the others, yet.

All agreed with Milo Webster that a Friday night _Wake_ was in order to allow all the musicians to gather to honour Wee Bobby's memory and sing what was thought to be his favourite songs and also to _take the piss_ because that was what they were collectively best known for.

They also agreed that the temporary name for the assembled band for this special occasion would be _The Undertakers_ which was not the unanimous choice but had _pro rata_ the highest votes outnumbering _The Ghouls_ and _The BodySnatchers_ and _the R.Slickers_ , (which had only got one vote in the secret ballot, but everybody was sure it was Big Jim Sawer with the gammy knee because that reflected his general humour).

They also agreed that a more dignified band would assemble at the graveside on the Saturday morning but no-one had much confidence that that would happen due to black humour being predominant in the north of the county of Ayr.

On the Thursday Afternoon the Auld Folks of Dalry's Committee, which included all the old folks of the toon onyway, paid their respectful visit to Bogend Bar to view the body and say some prayers, maybe, because stories regarding Wee Bobby's final moments spent slagging the Queen and her family and especially GAWD and his chosen few who were in the audience, did not go down all that well with Dalry's chosen or self-elected God-Squad, but he did after all come to support Bilbo Birnie, the Entertainer, for a wee half-hour gig at their lunch club and only got £15 for his trouble and had to pay his own petrol coming over the hills from Ardrossan whereas Bilbo got a free lift from Kilbirnie from Matt Givens, who somedays was called Mucker, especially by the followers of the Chocolate Box Nation to whom he was a bit of a folk hero on account of his creations of allsorts of Chocolate Box guitars and banjos and suchlike.

Meg a' Leerie was sniffing around the coffin and pulling a face like she was chewing a penny caramel with slack false teeth and remarked to the others that it might not be such a good idea to lift the lid off the coffin due to _the reek_ in the room.

Aggie Bawbags agreed but said it wouldn't do to break with tradition and risk God's wrath so cajoled the rest of them to agree that _the reek_ would clear quickly anyway.

Milo Webster was tending his bar and overheard the chat of the women and informed them that the lid had been off regularly and only re-fitted at night and anyway Wee Bobby had been embalmed and disembowelled so he couldn't possibly be smelly.

Rettie O'Toole took her wee jemmy from her shoulder bag and eased the coffin lid up at one side and a terrible shitey guff took over the atmosphere.

'Jings! Crivvens! Help ma Boab! In the Name of the Wee Man!' exclaimed the throng, ' Whit a pong!'

Jemmie McPeak pointed at the corner of the coffin next to Wee Bobby's left cheek and stated,

' That's a dug's keech if ever I saw one!'.

'Aye, yur no wrang there Jemima' confirmed Ezzie Cumming, ' It looks as though its got hairs growing out of the green bit, it looks like it's had a scabby rat for it's dinner as well !'

' Hey you! ', said Milo Webster, who was still tending the now busy bar, ' that's _Bob Martin's_ , nothing but the best for my dog, nane of them butcher's scraps for my dog, nothing but the best, and anyways, I'll clean it all up before the burial so just shut the lid back down.'

' How come your big dug's managed to get into the coffin to do his business ?' asked Elsie McPhee.

' Because he's been guarding the body in case the local bodysnatchers decided to come calling in the middle of the night', replied Milo Webster, defensively.

He thought it wise and prudent not to mention that the Garnock Valley Hellfire Club had carried out a Vigil through the Wednesday night and that he had to get Dan, the occasional barman, to help him the following morning to lift Wee Bobby's cadaver back into his coffin from the wheelback captain's chair at the head of the Plush Lounge bar where he had been left by the Hellfire guys with a cigar in his mouth and a bottle of beer clasped in his hand and a post rigor-mortis smile which had to be smoothed out by Dan and the dog's licking of Wee Bobby's cheek to soften it enough for the remodelling.

' Fetch me a plastic bag and a wet rag and I'll clean it up' said Chisela Murphy, generously,' this is the sort of thing I do in my job at _The Last Resort Retirement Home_ anyway, so I'm used to it.'

Milo Webster obliged.

He said, ' that's an odd name for a care home is it not Chisela ?'.

' That's not its official name, just what I call it,' she replied, ' You never want to end up in there. That would be similar to drinking in the Last Chance Saloon.'

'But I've just booked my mother in there, do you think she'll be alright ?' enquired Milo Webster, slightly, but only slightly worried.

' Did she enjoy sex ?' queried Chisela, ' I mean, well not to put too fine a point on it, could she take it front and back, like ?'

'Jesus jumpin' johnny' said Milo Webster, ' How the hell would I know that ? ... She's my mother for fuck's sake.'

'Well, you could always ask Frisky Cockburn, the part-time Postman, he would know, he's been up her.' confided Chisela.

' Oh! I think I'll need to go for a lie down now' said Milo Webster, wiping dewdrops from his forehead.

Everything was put in good order for the Funeral.

at the funeral

The Funeral was booked for the Saturday morning at 11:00am at Ardrossan Cemetery - Plot 747. ( _No Flowers Please_ ) and Steak Pie following at the Masonic Hall.

It was requested that no cars were to enter the cemetery but to use the car park opposite and the grass verge of Sorbie Road.

It was to be a non-religious affair with 3 designated speakers.

Big John, Big Charlie McGregor and Jakey .

There was about 700 people turned up for the event, many of them owed money by Wee Bobby and realising the last chance to see any of it come their way they decided it was the least they could do to witness his last gig and kiss their repayment chances goodbye.

On the Friday before the funeral the Gravediggers used their mechanical digger to dig a new plot for Wee Bobby and the two other funerals which were planned for the Saturday.

Measuring 7 Feet long and 3 Feet wide and 6 Feet deep, which was the _Standard Grave_ size, and to protect them in case of overnight rain, they covered them with green canvas tarpaulins laid over sturdy wooden planks.

This turned out to be a wise precaution because it rained heavily for most of the night and just after 8:00 am the Senior Gravedigger inspected them and found a corner of the tarpaulin on Wee Bobby's grave flapping in the wet breeze. He weighted it back in position with a granite flower vase holder from an untended and forgotten grave plot nearby.

At 9:00 the mourners assembled for the funeral of Bridie Riley. There were 15 elderly folks and a priest, most of them had been long-time customers of Bridie's. The service was short for a religious one and the folks dispersed immediately after and the gravediggers moved in and quickly filled in the hole with earth and topped it off with cut grass turf sections and rolled them flat and placed the wild flowers bunched with baler twine at the spot where a headstone would normally go but in this case it was a simple wooden cross with a plastic moulding of Jesus nailed on, by the wrists and ankles.

Ten minutes before the 10:00am funeral a small gathering of mourners awaited the Hearse bringing Rab O'Toole to his final resting place. The undertakers chief man in his overdressed mourning suit coughed loudly and said he had only 3 men available to lower the coffin and could he have 3 volunteers from among the mourners.

After an awkward pause and some backward shuffling 3 volunteers reluctantly helped to hold the cords and take the weight of the coffin whilst the wooden support poles were withdrawn from underneath.

Rab was lowered with dignity and silence to the bottom of his grave.

The Chief Undertaker said, ' God, Rest him in peace', then asked if anyone would like to say something about Rab's passing and maybe a brief account of his life.

There were several embarrassed glances from face to face until one gentleman who was dressed like a bookie stepped up and began, 'As you all know Rab O'Toole wasn't born in the Toon, and in fact, nobody knows where he came from but he did have a touch of the _blarney_ so we guessed he came with the Irish tattie howkers and just sort of hung around but although most folks said he was a good for nothing the truth is he was damn useful to me because he was the only guy that could handle my Great Dane and as far as I know the only money he ever earned was by looking after my dog, Erik, and they were so close it was spooky to watch them running along the North Shore and every time the dug stoaped fur a shite, so did Rab.'

The man continued, ' In fact the dug has disappeared so I guess he too is in mourning for his pal Rab. I'm no really a funeral person, in fact, if the truth be telt, I just came on the offchance that the dog would have shown himself, but then he wisnae tae ken whit time the funeral wis, so I'll conclude by thanking you all for coming and ... Cheerio Rab.'

They dispersed except for the Bookie who decided to stroll around the grounds hoping for sight or sound of his beloved Great Dane.

The gravediggers quickly dealt with Rab's Grave and as there were no flowers they crossed over to Wee Bobby's plot.

The Bookie approached them and asked them if they had by any chance seen a Great Dane loitering in the vicinity.

They all replied in the negative.

As one of them pulled back the green tarpaulin to make the grave ready for Wee Bobby's funeral he was almost overcome by the strongest smell of dog shiteypoo he had ever encountered. The others noticed his reactions and peered into the void of the grave and saw a giant dead dog at the bottom, covered in dog faeces and honking to high heaven.

'Hoi, Mister !' one of them called out, ' Is that by any chance the missing dog.?'

The Bookie looked into the grave and saw Erik the Deid Dug and instantly realised there would be a bill to pay for retrieval and a Vet's bill for disposal and he replied, ' Naw, but it's very like him, could be from the same litter though, how the hell could this have happened ?'

As he strode smartly away the Hearse at the head of Wee Bobby's funeral procession turned a tight corner and was only 50 yards short of the graveside.

'Quick boys' said the Senior Gravedigger, ' shovel some dirt in and cover him up then nobody will be any the wiser.'

They did so.

The undertaker's men slid Wee Bobby's coffin out of the rear of the Hearse onto a 4 wheeled trolley and brought it near to the grave. The Chief of the Undertakers read out from a list the names of the coffin-bearers and their cord number and as each took his place they shuffled sideways holding the coffin just a few inches above the wooden posts which lay across the hole, and gently let it rest on the posts, then all stepped back a few steps but held onto their cords.

' Dearly Beloved ...' started the Chief Undertaker but was quickly interrupted by Big John who jumped in with, ' We said nae Religiosity, OK?'

'Friends !', said the Chief Undertaker, looking cautiously towards Big John in case of further interruption, of which none was forthcoming so he continued, ' We are gathered here together to honour the life and passing of our friend, Bobby Blunder ....'.

'Harris !' whispered Big John, ' Blunder was his Stage Name!'

' Would you like to say a few words then ?' asked the exasperated Chief Undertaker.

' I might as well.' answered Big John.

' Wee Bobby asked me not that long ago to speak for him should he ever die before me so on his behalf I would just repeat what he requested, and that was to tell you he was _so, so sorry_ ', said Big John who then stepped a few paces back.

' Is that it?' asked a few folks simultaneously.

' What was he _so sorry_ about ?' asked others.

'I'm sorry, I don't know ' replied Big John, ' He never said.'

' and did you not think tae ask him ?' asked the interested mourners.

' Well, I did, but then I found it all a wee tad embarrassing talking about him being deid when he was actually sitting in the Bogend Bar wooden room playing his guitar so I just sang a song instead but only after I said I would do that for him. So there you have it, he was _sorry_ \- end of - can we move on now?' answered Big John, defensively.

'Big Charlie McGregor next !' said Big John.

Charlie McGregor stepped forward and stretched up to his full height of 6 feet 10 inches and assumed _the command presence_.

He began, ' I never knew him that well but what I do know is that I liked his sense of humour, in fact he was the loudest laugher at my specialty joke about the ' _tottie bogle_ ' so that rates him fairly high in my estimation.

Big Charlie McGregor continued, ' As you're all aware I'm pretty well known for Scottish Folk Songs and the Blowin' of Pipes n Flutes n Things and a' things Rabbie Burnsian whereas Wee Bobby, who, by the way, only came up to my nipples .... '

' Why did he dae that? was he thirsty like ?' came from the hidden part of the crowd but it was either Matt Nevis's voice or somebody kidding on they were Matt just to get him into bother.

' ... as I was rudely prevented from saying,' said Big Charlie McGregor, ' Wee Bobby was into Pop and Country and Western stuff and I cannot be bothered with that shite, so I'll just conclude with a short prayer.

' Naw ye'll no.!' said the body of the kirk, so to speak.

Jakey stepped forward saying, ' I'll take over from here on Charlie, after all, I've got a lot more in common with Wee Bobby, seeing as how we're both from a musical background.'

' Do you mean you both played with your organs ?' said an anonymous hidden person in the crowd, but it sounded awfully like Matt Nevis.

Jakey laughed and said reverently, ' Not so, I mean we both played in bands.'

'Aye, that would be the Jock Strapp Elastic Ensemble, wouldn't it ?' said Matt Nevis, anonymously.

'Naw it wisnae!' countered Jakey, ' it was Bert Hoven's Electric Orchestra.'

Sniggers all around the graveside.

Big John stepped forwards again and raised his hand on high and said, ' By the way, Wee Bobby requested we all play and sing for him but he said it didn't really matter what and we could all sing and play different songs as long as we all finished at the same time, he was a stickler for that.'

So Bilbo Birnie played his fiddle as Fraser Green mandolined with Matt Nevis banjo-strumming a medley of hielan' pipe n fiddle tunes.

Big Charlie McGregor tried to follow on his South Korean-made D blowtube all the time asking what key they were playing in and Jim Sawer tried triples on his bodhran whiles Mairead Skye and Arthur Shand squeezed the life out of their boxes. ( _accordions_ )

Jasper the Harmonist sang _Dark Lochnagar_ in very high tenor but was hardly heard and Manus Derin did some elegant finger-picking in an Irish Folky way but Barry Brown was oblivious and delivered his full tilt version of Sympathy for the Devil, including bent blues howling riffs on his harmonica, as made famous by the Rolling Stones.

Dan tried to follow Barry Brown's chords but couldn't keep up so he just waited until he recognised one and gave a quick up-down strum meanwhile Dickles gave it laldy on his _moothie_ which was hardly heard in the din but sounded rather Cuban in style.

Big John and Jakey decided on _' It keeps right on a-hurting since you're gone_ !' in their best imitation of Hank Williams / Sidney Devine style following on with _'I'm in a Tropical Depression'_.

Big John played it in the D key but Jakey favoured E but somehow it just sort of worked out OK!

After ten minutes of _cacophony_ they all sensed an impending close and so they raised crescendos and volumes until Jim Sawer gave 2 loud beats of his bodhran drum which signalled the approach of the last line of the music.

The last notes were sounded all together and held for a full six seconds and all ended abruptly, together, for the first time ever.

Big John jumped in again, ' Steak Pie at Ardrossan Masonic Club at the Princes Street corner with Glasgow Street for anybody that's anxious to come. Pull up one of your trouser legs or you'll not be admitted'.

They departed the dear departed.

Wee Bobby stirred uneasily in his coffin. It would be technically quite wrong to say he thought or felt because he was no longer truly alive but one could say he was somehow still aware.

He was aware of a strange odour which struck a chord in the inner core of his as yet not fully dead brain and somehow reminded him of the occasion of his first major collapse whilst jogging on the North Shore.

He sensed a wet patch under himself and believed at first that he had let go and soiled himself but then it didn't really matter anymore, did it ?

An astonishing realisation came into Wee Bobby's dying embers of consciousness ... Erik the Great Dane is buried beneath me. He wondered if the brute from hell was still oozing dods of keech during his death throes. It certainly smelled as though the Great Underdog was taking the piss.

Wee Bobby marshalled all his remaining mental resources and sent thought signals to his bowels and his bum cheeks to force the contents past the rubber bung which the undertaker had wedged up his jaxie, ostensibly to preserve delicacy by preventing leaks of gases and unwanted fluids.

Against all the odds the bung shot out and cracked a hole in the wafer thin eco-friendly papier-mache coffin and it was followed by a mix like curry soup under massive pressure from the bio-gases which had generated since the bung insertion.

The soup soaked into the dog's fur until it could absorb no more.

'Justice done!' mused Wee Bobby, chuffed with his new found ability.

**Chapter 9**

not quite the Pearly Gates ... the side entrance

There was a strange feeling of other-worldliness about his new surroundings. Wee Bobby wondered what state he was really in, dead or alive, heaven or hell, home, hospital or somewhere in-between.

Inbetween it turned out.

As Wee Bobby listened to the TV Show's Presenter he felt an ominous feeling of repeated impending further doom creep over him.

Was it something in the git's smarmy smile or super-ingratiating manner or perhaps it was the oft-repeated phrase ' K9 prize of the century' and ' a triumph of Selective Breeding'. The muttering made no sense to Wee Bobby and thus he was unnerved beyond comprehension.

The TV show's format had been for a _Clapometer_ to register the audience applause for each Comic Act and when challenged to vote for _Wee Bobby Blunder_ there seemed to be charged particles in the air as well as unbelievably over-the-top cheering and clapping which ensured Wee Bobby was voted by a great margin to be the _Comic of the Century_.

Cheesy grin man held up his hand palmwards to the audience for silence ...

' And now ........ the supreme prize of the century for our Comic of the Century ' in an elevated voice like a Circus Ring Announcer ... ' A triumph of selective dog breeding and this year's Champion of Champions at Kruffies ..... _Erik Aenus Kollona Pharter_ .... the giant of arse-licking canines and the only dog able to perform colonic irrigation in situ.'

The audience went wild, delirious. The _clapometer_ collapsed under the weight of applause.

Wee Bobby was petrified. He was immobile with pure dread.

As the TV Presenter handed Wee Bobby the leash handle a circular spring wound in the lead and dragged the world's ugliest giant dog onto the slippery stage.

' Not only is this the Dog World's most prolific arse-licker ... it has a 38 centimetre tongue which can lick out your colon and leave you feeling refreshed in a way that no other body overhaul can match ... ' announced the TV man, ' and it's cheap to keep, it only eats three cats per day and a pint of water so it's very low maintenance.'

Wee Bobby's blood substitute had stopped moving around his body ... frozen with fear ... he couldn't re-open his eyes but that didn't matter because the vision was in his forefront of astral consciousness and he couldn't persuade the images to depart ... ' not the dawg ', he thought to himself, as if in mental pleading .. ' Please Gawd, not the Dawg !'.

In his mind's eye he was stripped bare and lying flat on his back with his ankles and wrists tied to stakes and forcing his buttocks apart.

A desperate Wee Bobby anguished ' how can I prevent this.'

The Big Ugly Dawg advanced with it's drooly slevery tongue hanging out of the side of its mouth, ' please, please, not this! tell me what I have to do to stop this, please oh! please, '

The Dawg stopped short of Wee Bobby and sat on its tail stump and licked out its own bum. Its last meal had been _KatRatKipper Melange_ and that had just worked its passage through to the exit. It was bowfing!!

Even the Dawg clamped its nostrils shut during its excavations.

It then waddled round and began licking Wee Bobby's face ... then it tongued him.

He could feel his throat constrict and wondered if he should just die all over again, or maybe he could bite through its tongue, but none of his muscles worked.

The Dawg retreated.

Wee Bobby thanked Heaven, in his own special way.

The Dawg ambled round to Wee Bobby's bum, which was raised off the ground by two breeze blocks.

It gently licked around Wee Bobby's anal sphincter and made him burst into a hysterical chuckle.

'This can't be happening', sort of thought Wee Bobby, ' surely I should be greetin' instead of laughing ... oh! how embarrassing is this ? '.

Then WHANG!

It was like a red-hot poker up his hole. He felt his tonsils rattle.

He arched his back so far he lifted himself clear of the breeze blocks and when Dawg withdrew his tongue with his payload he slumped downwards with a sharp thwack as his coccyx cracked the blocks.

The pain was indescribably excruciating .... but the relief at the end of his ordeal was immense.

The Dawg then ambled back round to Bobby's face and started licking his face, then his lips, then inserted his tongue deep into Bobby's mouth and regurgitated the payload.

Wee Bobby was aghast and distraught.

His muttered thoughts were scrambled but included, ' I knew I'd regret that Prawn Curry but I never imagined it would come to this' and ' I'm sure I've seen that Dawg before ' and ' this is not making any sense now ' thought he, willing it to stop now.

He could see a face moving above him and it was trying to talk to him ....

' Wakey wakey, Mr Blunder ...... Wakey wakey. ', the face seemed to be saying.

As the depixellated face reconstituted Wee Bobby was surprised to see it had a blue paper hat and a surgeon's gown up to its throat.

' Where the fuck am I ?' croaked Wee Bobby, ' and who the fuck are you ?', he asked.

The surgeon courteously replied, 'It's all right, you're back with us, back in the land of the nearly living.'

' What happened to Hell ?' queried Wee Bobby

' You're not speaking very clearly just now Mr. Blunder, take your time' said the surgeon.

' Nor would you if your throat was full of shite and prawn curry ' muttered an angry Wee Bobby, unsure if this was still the TV game or some other reality.

The surgeon turned to the theatre charge nurse and _sotto voce_ whispered, ' Give this ungrateful cunt 100 adrenalin and pap him back on Ward 10, he's not going to last long ', then disappeared through the swing doors.

The theatre nurse unlocked the brakes on the operating table-bed's wheels and swivelled it around and with the help of an assistant they headed off to the _recover-or-else_ ward.

As the bed trundled into the ward the receiving nurse asked, ' Which side? Survivor or Ashcash? '

' Not bothered ', said the theatre nurse, ' tell him his dog's waiting for him, that'll wake him up ... you decide '.

' What was he in for anyway ? ' asked ward nurse.

' Section ' said theatre nurse.

' Whit! Do you mean as in a _Caeserian Section_ ?' asked ward nurse.

' Don't be daft ! That's for pregnant women ' said theatre nurse.

' I know that fine, I'm a qualified Degree nurse after all ' said ward nurse.

' Section 47a. DOA with Donor Card ' said theatre nurse.

' Never heard of it ', said ward nurse.

' He collapsed with a cardiac arrest and crushing injuries and was DOA but he had a donor card in his pocket so the surgeon decided to harvest his organs ', said theatre nurse, ' Well, we'd taken a kidney and a section of colon and we were planning on the eyes next when somebody noticed he was still sort of alive, so we stopped.'

' What happened then ?' asked ward nurse.

' The doctor shone his maglite through the donor's eye and saw a lump and some bleeding in his brain so decided to excavate some tissue there and then but somebody had turned up the suction on his wee suckerupper device and the basin filled to the brim so he had to shut it off.' said theatre nurse.

' We were going to take the eyes then but he hadn't died yet so we decided to go for a smoke to give him a wee bit of time to do the decent thing and when we came back in he was writhing about and trying to talk about a Giant Dog so we had to wake him up and here he is.', said theatre nurse.

' What about his cardiac condition ? Did you do anything about it ?' asked ward nurse.

' Are you kidding me ? ', asked theatre nurse, ' After taking a kidney and half his intestines and 70% of his brain do you think we'd sort out his heart problem - he's probably a forty fags a day man - he won't last the night, I'll take bets on it.'

' Why have I to tell him his dog's waiting for him ?' asked ward nurse.

' Oh! the poor wee soul is probably missing him terribly, he woke up talking about him - felt him licking him, or something like that ' said theatre nurse as she bummed backwards through the ward's swing doors.

After some time Wee Bobby was aroused by a distinctly chilly breeze and he saw a committee of ancient white bearded characters with clipboards and pencils conferring as they gathered in a semi-circle near to his bed.

One of them spoke, ' We're having a problem with our Entry System, we seem to have some Malware infecting it and I'm afraid you can't be admitted to either Heaven or Hell until it's sorted out and tested.'

He continued, ' You'll just have to be returned home via your grave and the hospital and we'll send for you once Microsoft or Kaspersky get it sorted. Of course, feel free to do whatever you like while you're there because nothing worse than death can happen to you until we're able to admit you, Cheers wee man!'

' What about my Award ? ' shouted Wee Bobby at the retreating figures.

' Don't be daft man, you're not a ward, you're an ambulant ex-patient, we've just free'd your bed so get to fuck out of here ' said the last man going out.

The nurses bandaged and dressed Wee Bobby and called for a Private Ambulance to cart him off to his home in Ardrossan.

Nowhereland

Time passed.

There was knocking at the door, it persisted because Wee Bobby took no action.

Flat on his back, he wondered again ' Where in the universe am I ? '.

He could hear his name being shouted but it seemed to be in the distance, detached but somehow recognisable as being ones he should recognise.

He rubbed his eyes and tried to go towards the faint yellow glow just a few metres away.

He fell to the floor with a thud and screamed with the pain and embarrassment of it.

He hadn't realised he was in his own bed.

He crawled towards the glow.

He felt velour.

' Aw no!' he told himself, 'it's curtains now for sure.'

He pulled them aside and was blinded by the light.

The summer's setting sun was just shining over the Isle of Arran and the Breakwater but was directly in his eyes preventing him from seeing anything detailed about the blurry shapes outside his window.

But _they_ could see him.

' Come on ya wee malingerer, get the kettle oan!' said Big John, ' we've brought cakes and biscuits.'

Wee Bobby crawled round on all fours like a dog and opened the back door of his Ardrossan home.

He was bundled out of the way as his visitors, his _cronies,_ shoved their way into his house.

Jim Sawer had an opened packet of fake Jammie Dodger biscuits (substitutes made by Fox's Biscuits) and Big John had a full box of Border Biscuits' Dark Chocolate Gingers ( _surely the world's best biscuit)._

Big Charlie McGregor had a Battenburg Cake and he filled the kettle and switched it on and then went looking through the cupboards for crockery, milk and sugar.

He couldn't find milk or sugar and muttered, ' fecking poor hoose this, eh? that's a shitey way tae treat your guests.' said Big Charlie McGregor, from somewhere high up.

Bilbo Birnie and Jakey came empty-handed.

Big John brought a tin of Nestle's Condensed Milk from his pocket and set it on the kitchen table.

' Just as well we've done a bit of shoplifting at the Alpine Stores.' said Big John.

The teas and coffees were dispensed around the group except for Wee Bobby.

' Just make yourselves at home why don't youse ' said Wee Bobby, mildly resenting this imposition.

'OK!' said Big Jim Sawer, ' where's your _porn stash_?'

Most of them laughed.

'He's not joking', said Big Charlie McGregor, ' just make sure he cleans your toilet afterwards.'

The banter was cracking along great style for half an hour when Wee Bobby decided to pose some questions in the hope he could make sense of just exactly how he stood relative to being alive not dead and at home not hospital or buried in his coffin in his grave especially as he had lost some crucial for life body parts.

' I hope you don't mind me asking,' said Wee Bobby deferentially, ' but I'm awfully confused right now and I really need to know just how I stand.'

' Try balancing your body above your wee legs ', advised Matt Nevis.

' Thought you were standing Wee Mannie ', said Big Charlie McGregor,' it's always been hard to tell though.'

' Seriously though lads, I've been told that I've had a kidney removed for unauthorised transplant and a section of my colon cut out, some of my brain removed and I seem to have lost my appetite completely'. pleaded Wee Bobby.

' I've been to hospital, then somehow died when I was supposedly already dead, then dead and buried and gone to heaven or somewhere very close to it, or hell, I'm not sure, and then because of a glitch in _Pearly Gate's Entry System_ I'm bumping along as if I'm waiting in a queue for a death bus, it couldn't get any worse ' added Wee Bobby.

' Actually you're dead wrong there wee man,' said Big John, ' legally speaking, although not altogether true, you've been _Legally Certified Dead_.'

' So how come I'm still alive ?' asked a perplexed Wee Bobby.

' It's quite simple really,' answered Big John, taking off his spex, and suddenly looking more handsome because of it, ' It's because of the _Zeolite_ , or to be more precise, the zeolites.'

' Who the fuck are they when they're at home? ' asked Jim Sawer.

' If you don't mind Jim, I'll ask the questions.' said Wee Bobby, ' after all, it's my life or death we're discussing.'

' Oh, there's no discussion there sonny jim, you're deid, corn breid, lumpa lead, toast, as they say.' quipped Jim Sawer.

'Well, I'll get technical then, because, ' said Big John, with a sigh of advance exasperation, ' because I know you are quite technically minded because we know in your earlier life you worked for GPO Telecoms, in fact, you were a telephone line-man for the county .... '

.... A choral interruption occurred ....

Everybody, including Wee Bobby, broke into the Glen Campbell song, _' I am a lineman for the county, and I drive the main road, looking in the sun for another overload, I hear you singing in the wire ..._

'Enough!,' called out Big John, even though he was one of the instigators, ' that's not helping.'

' I was just going to say that because you worked technically you might understand if I explained about molecular sieves, ' said Big John, ' but for the sakes of the assembled company I'll explain it in layman's terms, not quite lineman's terms.'

That got a wee round of mocking applause and some chuckles.

'The principles involved are the same as in using Cat Litter to absorb smells and soak up pee and dry up jobbies and the granules that garages scatter on the floor to absorb the diesel spills', Big John said but paused for some much needed breath, ' there are many examples of _Zeolites_ in detergents and cleaners and filters of all sorts and oxygen concentrators which are basically derived from aluminium-silicates or similar materials. Long story short, you've had a miniature multi-zeolite pack inserted into your body sometime recently and it's that that both almost killed you yet kept you in an alive state simultaneously, not quite fully dead.'

' Would that be like Molly Malone and her ghostly wheelbarrow ?', asked Matt Nevis, seriously, apparently.

' Naw!, she died of a fever.', said Bilbo Birnie.

' From which no one could save her', said Jim Sawer.

' If only they had zeolites instead of mussels they might have!', said Big John, knowledgably, adding, ' well, _en actuellement_ , they did have, only a very few knew it though.'

Suddenly someone broke into song;

' _In Dublin's Fair City - where big dogs are shitty, I first came across the clean-up brigade, with a shovel and barrow, in the streets broad and narrow, they sterilised all with Dungo_ Zeolite ' sang Manus Derin the Chef who was quite expert at instant composition as befits a top chef.

'That last bit doesn't rhyme' said Bert Bush. Everybody nodded agreement, but sighed.

Big John continued the explanation saying, ' _Clinoptilite zeolite_ removes the nitrogen and holds it until saturation from air passed through it under a wee bitty pressure thus increasing the oxygen content of the remaining air from 21% to 90% and if the air is alternately blown through a similar adjacent tube it duplicates the process whilst the first zeolite tube releases its nitrogen to atmosphere resulting in almost pure oxygen even from a miniscule amount of incoming air thus an unconscious body which is hardly drawing a discernible breath is actually receiving sufficient oxygen to redify the blood to the brain for continuous survival, that is, still alive, not quite dead yet.'

'For fux sake, would that no burst yer tits ?' queried Jim Sawer.

' For fux sake yurself Jim, can you not let me ask the questions, I'm really quite interested so I am', said Wee Bobby, sharply.

'Other zeolites adsorb water and other essential liquids but can slowly release them to prevent your tissues from drying up just like they use them in plant pots and also preventing the build up of bacterial gases and suchlike. Yet more zeolites absorb the smelly gases, up to a point.' concluded Big John.

' Is that it ?' asked Wee Bobby, ' who could have done such a thing to me ?'.

'Not wanting to be pedantic Bobby but anybody who could stand the smell whilst pushing the package up your jaxie - it's not rocket science you know, ' said Big John.

'Fucking sounded like it to me!', said Big Charlie McGregor, ' although now that I think on it it's more like rocket science fiction.'

' Fiction eh! ?', said Matt Nevis, who had been listening intently, if slightly unbelieving, ' You'd ken all aboot it if if was up your erse.'

'You would need to shove it up with a clothe's pole 'cos his erse goes right up tae his mooth', joked Wee Bobby, just beging to realise he had a position to defend.

' Anyhow ' stated Wee Bobby, still bemused, ' How did I get from Plot 747 in Ardrossan Cemetery to here ?'

' Ah! ' said Big John, getting ready to provide a succinct explanation, ' You do remember your grave companion, Erik the Red, the World Champion Great Dane?

Well it turns out that he was just as valuable dead as alive because his DNA could be re-integrated into new dogs thereby increasing their monetary value tenfold.' So, the Bookie who owned him commissioned somebody to dig him up but it also meant we had to disturb your remains and of course that's how we discovered your zeolite multi-pack needed recharging because you had regained obvious consciousness and we hadn't the heart to leave you undisturbed so we took you to the Accident & Emergency department at Crosshouse Hospital and they said they couldn't do anything for you as you were a hopeless case and sent you home, just for a wee while though.'

' So how long have I got ?' asked Wee Bobby, anxiously.

'Nobody knows the answer but if I were you I wouldn't be buying any long-life milk.' said Jim Sawer.

' The wee bastard never bought any milk at all, just as well we brought the Nestle's Milk ', said Jasper the Voice.

' The moon wobbled last night ' said Big Charlie McGregor.

' How do you know that ?' asked Bilbo Birnie.

' It was on the Twitter feed.' said Charlie McGregor.

' What difference does that make, and does anybody really care ? ' asked Victor Felix, speaking for the first time.

' Well, if a bear shits in the wood and there is nobody there to see it, did it really happen ?' asked Bilbo.

'If a boulder rolls down a mountain and there's nobody there to hear or see it, did it really happen and does it really matter ?' said Victor Felix, speaking for the second time.

' I think you better go and lie down in a darkened room, Victor, you must be dizzy with all that talking' said Jakey, with a hint of sarcasm and an Elvis lip curl.

They never saw the wave coming.

The Wobbly Moon-wave cleared the Breakwater easily by 50 feet and passed the Harbour Lighthouse then charged across the North Shore Bay and swamped the shorefront houses, one of which was Wee Bobby's, ( actually, it belonged to his estate, legally speaking).

As the living room filled with sewage-strewn seawater the last gasps and gurgles strangled their way out of the throats of everybody trapped in the room, except for Wee Bobby.

Last to suffer was the tallest amongst them.

Big Charlie McGregor's head was still in the air pocket at the ceiling and he managed to ask Wee Bobby, ' How come you're not drowning, wee man ?'

' I think it's the zeolites Charlie, they must be dispersing the water and trapping the nitrogen and feeding me maximum _Concentrated Oxygen'_ said Wee Bobby.

' Any chance I could get some of your spare zeolites ?' asked a desperate Charlie McGregor.

All the others were now doing the dead-man's float, like in the _Bourne Identity_ Movie.

' I'm sorry big man, they're in the bedroom.' said Wee Bobby, doggy-paddling his way around the room as the wave slowly receded.

Big Charlie McGregor gasped his last, 'Just before I go, wee man, is there any chance of a wee wave ?'.

Wee Bobby tried to laugh but couldn't.

A distraught Wee Bobby stepped gingerly over the bodies of his former companions in music and humour and as he dried himself down he noticed something strange between his legs, towards the back, just above his bumhole.

It was a tail, just like a Great Dane's.

' Aw NAW!' screamed Wee Bobby, ' Whit next ?'.

He felt the sudden need to defecate and couldn't hold back the splatter of skittery shite which shot out of his arse like a fireman's hose.

He sensed the relief of emptied bowels but couldn't resist the compelling urge to bend over, and he started to lick deep inside his own bum, all the whiles crying like a tormented baby.

**Chapter 10**

Conclusions and explanations and the future

Is this the end of the story ? No. What happens next? _Zeolite_ , a wonderful discovery.

Wee Bobby crawled into his bed and pulled the quilt over his head and continued crying, hoping to sleep his last sleep.

Why oh why did he not just be contented with his life after the first operation. It saved his life, he was otherwise healthy and able to pursue his passion of playing the guitar without having to earn any money from it due to his generous pensions.

What on earth was GAWD playing at interfering in a cruel and nasty small-minded way with ordinary folks lives ? Why the humiliation ? What purpose did any of it serve ?

His brain could no longer compute and thoughts were intermingling and just further confusing him so he decided that there was no further point in his continuing this life, it was _time to move on_ , up or down, it no longer mattered to Wee Bobby.

He rolled out of bed and headed for the kitchen to get the tool for the job.

As he passed the living room door he sensed movement from within.

He pushed the door just enough to sneak a look ....

He was dumbfounded at what he saw.

All of his _cronies_ were sitting around the room, soaking wet but looking so happy to still be alive. How did this happen?

' I thought you lot were all dead, are you not overstaying your welcome ?' asked Wee Bobby, hoping for a cheerful reaction.

' We're just helping ourselves to some of your Zeolite stash ' said Big John, ' this stuff is life-saving gold dust and is meant for sharing, so we're sharing it, ok?'

'But why didn't you all drown ?' asked Wee Bobby.

' We're not sure of the why and wherefore of it ' said Charlie McGregor, ' we kind of think that it was just a severe warning to mend our ways in future, but we're only guessing, but when we know for sure you'll know too.'

' Anyway ' said Bilbo Birnie, ' we've got to get in some practice for a _Bothy Ceilidh_ for the _British Zeolite Association_ at the Thistle Hotel next week.'

' By the way Big John,' said Wee Bobby, ' what happened to my £15,000 fee for the Ulster Hall gig ?'

' Well, there was the cost of the private ambulances and the cemetery plot and the granite headstone and the steak pies and whiskies and I've just spent the balance on an online order for a selection of zeolites for all your cronies.' answered Big John.

'Why ?' asked Wee Bobby.

' We've all come to believe it's _the secret of eternal life_ , that's why, wee man, and Big Charlie McGregor is just about to propose a toast to our _Immortal Memory_ ' confided Jim Sawer.

' But what about the side-effects ?', said Wee Bobby, with a concerned look on his face.

' Side-effects, top-effects, bottom-effects or hee-haw effects ' said Jim Sawer, ' as long as there's no back-effects then we've all got a future to look forward to.'

Wee Bobby felt a twitch from the rear.

'Besides ' quipped Matt Nevis, ' who the hell has ever been happy with his lot in life anyhow and what would they give for some change, any change ?'

They all had a hearty chuckle in agreement and Wee Bobby felt obliged to join in when Charlie McGregor dropped his _Zeolite Pack_ and when he bent double to pick it up Wee Bobby felt an overwhelming and irresistible compulsion to sniff his arse, and as he did so he could feel his new tail wagging.

The circularly assembled cronies all stared at Wee Bobby oddly as if expecting an explanation for this strange behaviour.

Jakey blurted out jokingly, ' I hope to hell _Zeolite_ doesn't turn us into a bunch of shirtlifting poofy queers.'

' Naw!, you're all right there Jakey ' said Wee Bobby, ' it's a helluva lot worse than that, very soon there will be no cats or cars in the North of Ayrshire that will be safe from us _tyre-biters_.'

They all howled with laughter.

Meanwhile, a guard-dog, a mile away up at the Witches Linn, pricked up its ears, _wondering_ ...

***

**Part 2** ... coming soon. Featuring Charlie McGregor the Sleuth ( no point taking to the high hills to escape him because he is a Fell Fellow and always gets his man. Bilbo the Entertainer and Captain Sawer feature in the tales of Concert Cruises _'Doon the Watter'_ on the SS.Shieldhall to the Shite-dumping Zone midway between Ardrossan and Brodick (Official : Map included) and the _Great Zeolite Expose_. _(I know it should be an e acute, but my keyboard hates les froggies and refuses to comprenez.)_

Bio of the Author

Ian Peter Nelson, born in the post-war baby boom in 1947 in the South West of Scotland and fed on carrots and National Health Service Dried Milk Powder until he was 10 years old.

Born too late for National Service thus has only fought in Imaginary Wars which suits his pacifist nature. After a wandering has settled and retired to very near the West Coast to fouter with broken musical instruments and commit to writing stories. I'm close enough to hear the waves crashing on the shores but it just might be the onset of titus because none of my neighbours can hear it.

I enlisted at Strathclyde University in Glasgow as a mature student aged 50 and to get rid of me they issued a certificate saying I had a Bachelor of Arts Degree. Strangely a degree in Scottish Studies also includes, Spanish, Italian, Economics, Politics, Psychology and Transport Geography as well as Scottish and Irish History and Gaelic Language and Culture. Much good it did me.

I have on my computer FIVE unfinished stories so hopefully I'm now inspired to complete and publish them. Slainge mhath!

authorauthorauthor15@gmail.com

