Episode 3 Live at the Apollo

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your host for tonight,

Al Murray, the pub landlord!

# Another one bites the dust Another one bites the dust

# And another one's gone And another one's gone

# Another one bites the dust

# Hey, they're gonna get you too! Another one bites the dust #

AUDIENCE CLAP IN RHYTHM

# How do you think I'm going to get along... #

Yes! Let's hear it for the beer! All hail to the ale!

And welcome the wine for the ladies. Good evening, good evening. Welcome to Live At The Apollo,

ladies and gentlemen!

And look at this beautiful British audience and beautiful British people, it's fantastic.

Stars of EastEnders present. We like EastEnders, don't we?

CHEERING

And they need a new publican on that show, don't they? Incredible.

Now, the fellow here - the spud-faced man here -

what's your name here, sir, with the serial killer beard?

Muah-ha-ha-ha! What's your name, pal?

Kerry?! Mmm.

Beautiful British name, comes from the ancient Celtic name meaning slightly camp, innit?

-What do you do, Kerry?

-I'm a welder.

-You're a welder!

No, you're not, are you? Come on.

There's not a welder with soft hands called Kerry in the world, is there, pal?

What else we got? The young fella,

with glasses - what's your name?

-Will.

-Will, a beautiful British name. What do you do?

-I'm a student.

-You're a student, oh, great, fantastic.

-What are you studying, young man?

-Radio production.

Radio production. Is that a proper job?

-Sort of.

-It isn't, is it? I bet you've got asthma, haven't you?

No!

-Of course you have. You've got asthma, haven't you?

-No.

-You've got asthma, haven't you?

-No.

"Ooh, I can't get down the stairs. I can't get back up.

"I'm all right now." That's not proper old school asthma.

In the old days, one kid had asthma, didn't he, just one child -

the blue-faced boy at the back of the class.

You probably think poetry doesn't have to rhyme as well, don't you, mate?

-Yes.

-You were excited about the release of Windows 7, weren't you?

You're not normal, are you, Will? That's what it boils down to. You worry me,

and I'll tell you why. I mean, you're a nice lad, but what you're forgetting,

and everyone else here has remembered tonight - is that today is tomorrow's history.

Think about it. Today is tomorrow's history, yeah?

History's written by the winners.

French history books, of course, are blank from cover to cover. The point is...

And I'm worried - what if the world ended right now?

What if the world ended right now, and it could. The icecaps could melt. We'd all be drowned,

couldn't we? Someone could leave the taps on. We could all be drowned.

The greenhouse effect could take...effect, couldn't it?

And the world would be plagued by a plague of tiny green unripe tomatoes.

It could happen, yeah?

Or the Chinese - all of them, all at once - all of the Chinese -

could jump up and down -

daah! Like that - and crack the Earth's crust. It could happen, Will.

The thing with you, Will, is, I'm worried - what if archaeologists,

in a million years time, and you know what archaeologists are like.

They dig a hole. They find one leather shoe,

and they can paint a picture of an entire bloody city,

based on the strength of one leather shoe.

What if, in a million years time, they find you, Will,

the sole surviving remnant of all human civilisation, yeah?

They're going to think we're a bunch of wankers!

It's not personal.

It's for the sake of everyone else, my friend.

If, in a million years time, they find you at the bottom -

they find an asthma inhaler, a tub of E45 cream,

a book of blank verse, some subtitled French films,

and the manual for Windows 7,

and they look at you, and they look at us, and we will be judged.

So, I'm offering you something, mate. What I want to do right now, for the sake of all mankind,

is fix you, right now, live on stage, yeah? Up you come, Will.

A round of applause for Will. Up you come, son.

Come, son! Welcome.

Look at them all. It's Will, ladies and gentlemen. It's Will.

APPLAUSE AND CHEERING

-Welcome. Yeah, you got any hobbies, Will?

-I quite like tennis.

-You quite like tennis.

-I quite like tennis.

-Ah, I've got a lot of work to do here, haven't I?

You disgust me. Now, the...

LAUGHTER

It's a good game.

Shut up. Now, what we're going to do is dead simple.

We're going to do compare and contrast between me and you -

-normal - and Will, right?

-OK.

-You up for this?

-Yeah, why not.

Put your hands out like that -

look, like that so everyone can see them.

-That's it, yeah? Now look at my hands.

-Yeah.

-Now look at your hands.

Now look at my hands. Now look at your hands.

Now look at my hands. Now look at your hands.

Now, tell me, Will, what have I got that you ain't?

-You've got two rings on.

-No, no.

It's not the rings. I'm pointing at the moon,

and you're looking at my finger. You can't see the wood through the trees.

What I've got that you haven't is class, innit?

-How so?

-Well, look.

I'll sort you out, pal. Put this on, go on.

-It's too big!

-Put it on!

-Which finger?

-Shut your face, and put it on.

That one, you doughnut.

There you go, and the other one,

there you go. Here we go. Let's sort you out.

Yeah, you've got rubber bands on, ain't ya?

Rubber bands to show how much money you've given to charity!

You arsehole. Eh? Shut up, shut up.

We're nearly there, let's see it, let's see it.

Nearly. One last touch,

one last touch for you, Will. Here we go, pal. How about this, yeah?

Put this on. Put this on, Will.

There you go. Pop that on.

There we go, fantastic.

Now take a look, you'll feel better. He looks better,

doesn't he, gentleman?

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

Will, you're fixed, you're sorted.

On your bike, pal. God bless you. Good luck, son, eh?

You're beautiful people. That's how much it meant to me, mate.

Esther, can you give me a hand with this, love, yeah? Esther,

Esther Rantzen. Come on.

APPLAUSE

Ooh, may I say, Esther, the chassis's in fantastic order.

It's been a year, love.

Thanks very much. Esther Rantzen there, ladies and gentlemen, doing up my clasp.

God bless her. Now, I want to help you people. You're beautiful people,

because people don't believe in anything any more.

I mean, Kerry, do you believe there's a God?

-I'm not sure.

-You're not sure. Well, I will prove it for you now.

It's dead easy. I'm not going to use any Bible blah blah or vicar waffle.

I'm going to do it with one simple thing,

that everyone loves, that's touched the lives of everyone here tonight,

and it is, of course, bacon.

Bacon proves the existence of God conclusively, and His infinite wisdom and mercy,

because everyone loves bacon - even the vegetarians. They say they don't, but they love it.

The smell of bacon proves that aromatherapy isn't total bullshit.

Everyone loves bacon, everyone.

Bacon proves the existence of God, because Jesus died on a Friday,

rose again on a Sunday, a very impressive achievement.

You can't take that away from him. Give the boy a biscuit. But...

Bacon means you can kill yourself with alcohol on a Friday night,

and be fully resurrected Saturday morning with the application of just one bacon sandwich.

That's a fact.

It proves the existence of God.

And we've all - we've all had that Friday, haven't we? Yeah?

When you get get home from the pub,

get the front door open, slam the door behind us.

Tear off our clothes because of the raging fire of dehydration,

that comes from taking too much fluid that science cannot explain.

The useless nerds. At that point you collapse to the floor.

You drag yourself through the hall towards the stairs like a beached walrus, naked, and in pain.

Urg, urrrh, rrrr.

You haul yourself up the stairs. Urg, urrrh, boof, urrrh, boof.

Drag yourself across the landing towards the bathroom,

snagging your ear on the strip of metal that separates the carpet from the lino.

Ahhh!

Gather your senses, and then, begin the perilous assault on the rim of the bog.

Aaargh! Aaargh! Aaargh!

Oh, oh, oh, ohhh!

Aaarrgh! Oh!

You feel the cold ceramic kiss against your face.

You gaze down into the liquid abyss.

A pork scratching falls out of your nose.

The stale piss-water splashes back onto your face.

You start to drool uncontrollably...

into the Toilet Duck. The fumes rise from the Toilet Duck into your eye

and you start to cry back into the Toilet Duck.

You're caught in an endless cycle of bodily fluid and chemical pain.

You do one of those farts that could go either way.

No way of knowing the damage till you check with your hands in the morning.

For ten seconds you forget who you are.

Catch your reflection in the rippling bog-water...

and you remember, and then, and only then,

you begin a humiliating and disgusting process of passing out

with your face on the rim of a toilet.

HE SNORES

Blargh!

HE SNORES

Blargh!

Who?! W-Where am I?

Can't you see I love you...?

Blargh!

You sleep fitfully for three hours.

But then in the morning the miracle begins.

Down in the kitchen, a loved one...

..a friend...

Esther Rantzen - cos you got lucky -

puts on the gas, puts on the frying pan

and puts some bacon in that pan.

And the bacon begins to sizzle, and the bacon begins to spatter,

and suddenly from the pan the bacon aroma leaps out into the kitchen

fans its way through the house.

It vectors through the hall patrolling for hung over life forms

wherever it may find them.

Darts up the stairs, makes its way across the landing

avoiding the strip of metal that separates the carpet from the lino.

Fights its way through the frightful, fetid, fart-fug and finds you...

There, lying on the toilet, face down.

The only thing marking you out as a human being

is the words "Armitage Shanks" tattooed in reverse on your forehead.

And the bacon sees you.

And the bacon knows.

It knows why it was sent to this planet.

It knows why it spent three years living inside a pig.

It knows why it was then mercilessly slaughtered, cut into strips,

put in a vacuum pack and put in a supermarket.

It knows why it was sent to this Earth.

To save you!

And as you take your last half-dozen breaths,

the bacon vapour darts into your nostrils,

deep into your brain and touches the bacon-receptor.

And the bacon-receptor sends out a message.

Wake up! Wake up!

There's bacon! There's bacon!

Wake up! You love bacon! Everyone loves bacon!

Even the vegetarians love bacon!

Wake up - there might be eggs as well.

Wake up! Wake up!

And as you feel it, the bacon-force makes its way through your body

into the tips of your fingers, the tips of your toes

and thanks to bacon, God's greatest gift of all,

you are back from the dead. Do you believe ladies and gentlemen?

-AUDIENCE:

-Yes!

-Say, "Hallelujah, I believe" AUDIENCE:

-Hallelujah, I believe!

Bacon, proving the existence of God. And you can't argue with the logic there.

APPLAUSE

And now, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our first act of the evening.

Please show your appreciation for the comedy stylings of Mr Chris Addison.

APPLAUSE

Hello!

Hello! Hello!

Hello Hammersmith, you all right?

-AUDIENCE:

-Yes!

Ah, lovely, thank you for coming out.

I was in Scotland, in...

WHOOPING

-Are you Scottish?

-CHEERING

The correct word is "aye" but we'll believe you for now.

Whereabouts are you from in Scotland?

Aberdeen.

Aberdeen! What an extraordinary town.

They talk like that in Aberdeen because if they open their mouths

any more, the wind will get in and they will freeze from the inside.

Astonishing town. It's great, Scotland. I love Scotland.

They don't care what anyone thinks of them.

That's what's great about the Scottish.

Any country whose inhabitants are prepared to take tossing the caber

as its national game...

Never mind about football,

I'm going to throw that tree!

They won't play cricket cos it's a "waste of wood".

They look at the stumps going, "Look, travel-caber!

"Look at the wee cabers!

"Look at that!"

I tell you who I think gets a bad press

Pirates.

Right, and not these rubbish modern pirates.

Don't like them. Lazy - can't be arsed going to the fancy-dress shop. No time for them.

I mean proper pirates, I mean the old pirates.

You hear terrible things about them. Nobody ever talks about

what brilliant role models for disabled people they were.

But they were!

They were. They were high achievers.

They were the kings of the high seas.

They were the terrors of Hispaniola,

and every single one of them had a disability.

No leg, or a hook for a hand,

or eye patch.

Entire ships filled with disabled men ruling the oceans of the 18th century,

with their own special mooring space in the harbour,

that only they...

were allowed to use.

That bit nearer the pub than everybody else.

Entire ships with men with only one eye each!

Think about that! That's where they got their reputation for aggression.

They weren't ramming other ships out of violent intent,

they just had no depth of vision.

"Sorry mate, sorry. I thought you were on a bigger ship, further away.

"I apologise...

"let's swap insurance details."

Once the eye patch goes on, that's when the limbs start going.

Isn't it. Because of the increased likelihood of kitchen accidents.

A pirate in the galley, chopping onions with a cutlass

going pht-pht-pht-pht-pht. Ow!

Ow! That smarts!

Ow, pass me a hook.

Good as new!

Happy pirate!

I've never really understood why a hook was supposed to be an adequate substitute for a human hand

unless pirates do actually run like Dodgems.

Maybe different pirates, with different roles, had different things.

There would be one with a bottle opener for a hand,

one with a spanner.

A Swiss pirate with an arm that does everything.

He'd collect an entire floating toolkit of pirates.

The Black and Decker!

I love DIY because since the '90s we've been told that it makes us sophisticated. It doesn't.

It's just a way of marking your territory. All animals mark their territory.

They just do it differently. For example cats.

Cats mark their territory... by urinating all over it.

Seems to be cutting off your nose to spite your face, slightly.

All this is mine!

And I'm not sure that I want it now to be perfectly honest.

It smells of wee.

Why did I not just paint a sign? Murray, get a cloth. That's cats.

We mark our territory by doing DIY.

That is why the first thing you do when you move into a new house

is you take the idiot's wallpaper down, and you put yours up.

Now, here's a little tip if you want to be extra territorial next time you do this.

Take the idiot's wallpaper down. Before you put yours up,

go to a DIY shop, buy a tin of blood-red paint,

take it home and write on the wall, with the paint,

"I will kill again!"

All right.

Wait for it to dry, and then put your wallpaper up.

Now, you never actually get to see the punch line of this little practical joke,

but you do get a lovely warm feeling, in about five years time, when you hand the keys over.

That's a nice moment.

And you can sit back down and watch Time Team.

I love Time Team. I love Time Team.

-SCATTERED CHEERING

-Really?!

That's really interesting that you cheer for that, you geeks!

What I love most about Time Team is the scale of the lies!

The lies they tell about tiny, crappy pieces of pot!

"Ah well, yes. This, Tony, is very clearly a segment of milk-jug handle

"- no I've not finished, wait -

"This would have been owned by a big, fat woman called Brenda, right,

"I can tell that by looking at it - shut up, I'm not finished -

"with a harelip and a cousin in Gillingham." Liar!

You liar! The only thing that archaeology can tell us,

with 100% certainty, about ancient civilisations,

is they were all skeletons who lived underground.

That's it.

The rest is purely speculation, right?

But it's amazing - the power of that programme.

15 years ago, archaeology departments were shutting down.

Now, you can't get a place to do it, cos middle-class children are queuing round the block.

There are so many of them! The chances of any of us staying in our graves past about 50 years

are pretty slim, right? Cos these buggers are going to need projects.

So...

This is our opportunity to put them off the scent.

Here, tonight, we'll make a pact. A word-of-mouth pact.

Don't text it, don't e-mail it. No written record must exist for these people to find.

We will all agree to be buried in the same bizarre manner.

So that 900 years from now, there'll be archaeologists digging us up going, "I can't understand it, Phil.

"Here's another one buried the same - arse in the air, surrounded by eight toasters."

If you're prepared to put a bit of time and money into this,

get yourself buried in a spring-loaded coffin. Right?

Designed so when they finally prise the coffin open,

your body's propelled to a standing position. Your arms come out and a tape clicks on, going...

# I am what I am

# I am my own special creation. #

Ladies and gentlemen at the Hammersmith Apollo, it's been a pleasure to talk to you.

Thanks a lot. Good night.

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

Chris Addison, there, ladies and gentlemen.

I'll have a bit of that! Oh, yeah.

Well... There's no point hanging around now, ladies and gentlemen.

Let's crack on with the next act. Please welcome to the stage,

live at the Apollo, it's Tim Vine!

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

Good evening.

I don't know why, but I keep getting my head kicked in.

So, this bloke said to me, "Can you tell me your availability to run a football team in Sheffield?"

I said, "I can't manage Wednesday."

I saw a football game. They came on like that...

# Der-der-der der-der der-der der-der. #

It was "Charleston" Athletic.

I watched a football match in Japan. At the end, they started doing martial arts.

I said to the bloke next to me, "What's going on?" He said, "Two minutes of 'ninja-ry' time."

Then a referee walked in. I thought, "It's all going to kick off now."

So, Eric Bristow came up to me.

He said, "How come you put superglue on one of my darts?"

I said, "You just can't let it go, can you?"

Ripped all the hair off.

I was working in a health-food shop. This bloke said, "Evening primrose oil."

I said, "Mr Vine to you."

He said, "Soya chunks." I said, "You shouldn't have been looking."

You see, the advantage of easy origami is two-fold.

Exit signs - they're on the way out, aren't they?

Velcro - what a rip-off. Come on!

I was in this horse race. I was like that...

I was disqualified for punching the horse in front.

I got to the finishing line and got hit in the eye with an apple seed. Pipped at the post.

D'you get that, when you're half-way through eating a horse and think,

"I'm not as hungry as I thought I was."

Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to start tonight by...

LAUGHTER

I'd like to start by telling you a bit about my personality.

I'm a very private, secretive person.

That's it, really.

During the Second World War, my granddad couldn't stop scribbling. He got hit by the "doodle bug."

When I was in Vietnam, this fortune teller came up to me. He was on fire.

He was a "napalm" reader.

So, this bloke said to me, "Tim, as a young boy, was your mother strict with you?"

I said, "Let me make one thing absolutely clear.

"My mother was never a young boy."

At Pizza Express, I said, "Give me an American Hot."

Next thing I know, big fat guy, Hawaiian shirt. "Can somebody open a window?"

I saw a sign that said, "Watch out for our new menu." I looked round, it hit me in the face.

I ordered dessert, he gave me tiramisu and a blindfolded horse.

I said, "No - mascarpone."

Dale Winton came up to me. He said, "Tim, can I ask you a question?"

He said, "Are you any good at impressions?"

I said, "No."

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

Now... No, please.

I've got a lot to get through - don't start that.

Now, the big highlight of the show.

There it is.

But I think it's time for a bit of music. Let me tell you this - I'm actually totally deaf.

And, er, I never thought I'd hear myself say that.

My favourite composer is Handel,

who later teamed up with Hinge & Bracket to form The Doors.

Now, it's time to sing a song. I'm going to sing you a song. This song is called Alarm Bells.

Hit the music, please. Thank you very much.

PIANO INTRO PLAYS

# When a man wears trousers He's still a man

# When a girl wears trousers She's still a girl

# When your dad wears lipstick

# Alarm bells

# Alarm bells

# Alarm bells

# When the rollercoaster's fast It makes you feel high

# When the rollercoaster spins The world whizzes by

# When there's blood on the seats

# Alarm bells

# Alarm bells

# Alarm bells

# When an airline pilot says, "Fasten your seatbelts"

# That's all right

# When he says, "There's turbulence" It's just part of the flight

# When you hear him say "What does that light mean?"

# Alarm bells, alarm bells

# Alarm bells

# In your life, there are sights and smells

# But listen out for those alarm bells

# For example

# I am now a quarter of the way through my act. #

Alarm Bells. There they are, ladies and gentlemen.

This bloke said to me, "Tim, do you know, Marie Osmond is about to appear in the world's worst film?"

I said, "Warner Brothers?" He said, "I already have."

At a record shop, I said, "What have you got by The Doors?"

He said, "A bucket of sand and a fire blanket."

My mum and dad are complete opposites. You couldn't hope to meet two such totally different blokes.

My local police chief does a talk on heroin.

So, you can't understand any of it.

I was mugged recently. I was at Victoria station, I was mugged and I burst into tears.

A policeman came up to me. He said, "I'm fining you £10."

I said, "For crying out loud!" He said, "Yes."

I went to the cinema, saw a very sad film and the bloke behind started "wailing."

I got hit in the back of the head with a harpoon.

I love reading. At the moment, I'm reading My Life by Bill Clinton.

Which freaked me out, cos I didn't know he knew anything about my life.

This bloke said, "I've got bubonic plague."

I said, "Don't give me that."

Ladies and gentlemen, I'll leave you with this.

Well, I didn't bring it with me.

I had dinner with my boss and his wife. It was a complete disaster.

His wife said, "How many potatoes would you like?" I said, "Just one."

She said, "It's OK, you don't have to be polite." I said, "All right, then. Just one, you stupid cow."

Thank you very much. Good night and God bless.

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

Vine!

Tim Vine, ladies and gentlemen.

And now,

it's time to say goodbye.

Thanks for watching Live At The Apollo, with Chris Addison, Tim Vine and me, Al Murray the Pub Landlord.

See you again.

Subtitles by Red Bee Media Ltd

E-mail [email protected]