Globusz^® Publishing 

Like ants building a nest, the jokers set about turning the old Hercules pub into a comedy venue. The building was just perfect for the transformation; Norman was amazed when two guys with ponytails walked in with chainsaws and turned two bars into one. A strange looking female with huge tits was putting up curtains everywhere with a staple gun. Long haired ex-public schoolboys hung spotlights from the ceiling and a bloke covered in tattoos drove everyone round the fucking twist, “One two, one two,” his testing call. “ Hawkwind used these speakers once.” 

“Only once,” shouted back Doc.

Everything did in fact go like clockwork; at 7 there was a queue at the door. “Let them queue,” Nigel told Norman, looks great, there will be press here tonight, early cause it’s free drinks for them, don’t worry, comes out the door money, our treat.”

The night was sheer chaos; Doc and Nigel had pulling power. The local hospital had provided a high local turnout also. Well over a 100 paid entry on the night, the guest list just added to record takings at the bar. Admissions had to be stopped at 10. Doc compared the evening he introduced a succession of unknown Stand-ups; Nigel as stage manager worked himself into neurotic state before leaving early. Doc referred to him as ‘The Man Who Fell to Earth.’

There was only one Stand-up known to this first night audience; a kiwi pretending to be an Aussie named Bungalow Bill stormed onto the stage at 10.15.

“You Whinging fucking poms,” he shouted at the crowd. Then opening a newspaper he proceeded to read out headlines, adding his thoughts on the issues.

“Pensioners say Council Tax too high, oh, what a fucking shame. If they don’t want to pay it, they should fuck off and live somewhere else. Try on the banks of the Ganges, no Council Tax there, you just poor your piss and shit in the river along with your garbage. Like you’re wanted here anyway. Stop fucking whinging coffin dodgers 

Here’s another, firemen consider further strike action, what bollocks, I’ve seen that documentary, London’s Burning, get a real job guys.

Heat wave continues, do me a favour.

We had to open this place tonight, as it’s the only night this year that that fucking Office is not on the tele. Strange statistic, 100% of people that watch the Office, don’t have a video-recorder, so they all had to go out and buy the D.V.D. I auditioned for the girl in the wheelchair part you know, equal opportunities and all that, I think Ricky Gervais was worried I would be too strong a character, I respect his honesty.

You do have some weird tele here though, the Royal Family, I channel hop a lot, first I thought it was a furniture ad; it’s just some whinging fucking poms; sit down comedy. I don’t get it.

What’s the difference between a carpet and a wank? You can beat a carpet, but you can’t beat a good wank.”

After many more insults, Bungalow Bill bowed out, the crowd were up for a great night and so they had one. Nancy, Norman and Doc had worked well together; the next comedy night would be Thursday. After Doc had left, Nancy showed Norman another location for sex. They then staggered off together, Norman just seeing Nancy safely to her front door, before tip- toeing back into the world of Ernest and Katie, now both fast asleep

Early next morning, as Norman burnt some bread for breakfast, Katie came down early. She was keen to know how the first comedy night had gone down at the old Hercules. Norman was very excited even telling her a few of the less blue funnies. She asked him if he would be interested in staying on at the brewery after the summer. “Just a general tidier-up,” she explained, “money’s not bad though and you would finish in plenty of time for your door job.”

Unable to reason at that time of the day, Norman replied, “Why not, thanks Auntie.” Katie smiled as she now hurried off to the bathroom.

Nancy needed now to speak to Norman at the brewery daytimes, as there were matters to update him on. There was no gossip about the pair, he was considered to be her go-for. She asked him to let the jokers into the pub that night for a couple of hours. They had some more work to do and wanted to do a few auditions. Nancy would drop by after bingo. It was 11pm. when she let herself into the pub, only Norman was still there. He sat watching news on the big screen. Nancy poured them both a large Southern Comfort. “Sunday already,” said Norman.

“No it’s fucking Monday,” replied Nancy, “pun intended.” She sat down with him. Cigarettes were lit. Norman grabbed the remote control, the big screen went blank. “Good shot,” said Nancy. “Here you go, a present.” She handed over a gift-wrapped box, Norman not really a presents man, was embarrassed. Nancy had to help him unwrap it.

“A mobile phone” he asked, “for me?”

“It goes with the job,” she answered, “but they offered to gift wrap in the shop, now will you shag me.”

As they locked up the pub, Norman pointed out to Nancy, that they had yet to have sex in the same place twice. “There isn’t time now Norman,” she replied in her mocking tone still fixing her clothes. They walked to her front door. She tidied up his thick hair with her hand and pushed him away in the direction of Ernest and Katie’s.

Tuesday and Wednesday with the exception of the gift of a mobile phone, were more of the same for Norman and Nancy. Thursday evening kicked off the first of four nights’ consecutive comedy at the Two Buttocks. It was during this stint that Norman started to get noticed. Many of the customers were coming back, there were many bar-staff, and Doc and Nigel had friends that helped out. Even the lads from the brewery would stop for a chat with him as they passed by. Known now officially as Norman the Doorman, one or two ladies would hang around outside the door with him, some evenings. Nancy would tease Norman over his, ‘Normie’s,’ as she called them.

The first full weekend of comedy was a huge success. Reviewers had been excited about the new comedy venue and their free drinks. Doc had researched the area well before approaching Paddy at the old Hercules. The area was on the up; professionals were moving into now trendy ex-council tower blocks. They of course took the brunt of much of the humour at the Two Buttocks. “No pissing in the lifts, you lot, on your way home,” Doc would shout most nights as he wished all good night and begged them not to come back again. Nancy had let the flat to her head barman Patrick and his Girl-friend B.A. despite her being an Art Student and the most awful Irish Comedienne on the circuit.

The summer became routine for Norman and all those around him. The Thursday to Sunday comedy nights were established, with the odd extra one thrown in, August Bank Holiday Monday was a sell-out. Life at the brewery changed for him as the students went back to college. He got kept on, mainly due to Lottery Lenny now having the hots for Katie.

Nights stood on the pub door soon became colder; Norman borrowed a night security coat from the brewery. He had from the onset listened to much of the comedy, it was very loud and easy to hear from outside. But as the winter weather forced him to stand just inside the door (with Nancy’s permission of course) he started to take note of the comedians’ mannerisms and developed his own style of humour.

Norman had now entered a world where everything was fair game for would-be comedians and of course there was, the comedienne. “Always one,” moaned Nancy, “they are just not funny, especially B.A. That Jo Brand she’s not bad, they should get ‘er down here.” It seemed like every comedy observation seemed to be followed by, ‘How sad is that,’ Norman noticed and he soon went from living and breathing stand up to speaking its very language. It helped remind him there was a much bigger World than his, somewhere.

At the brewery he made them laugh, repeating material from the acts. At home he entertained Ernest and Katie. With Nancy he switched off, however she noticed he was more like Doc, Nigel and the acts, than he was her. He could no-longer look at things without seeing a funny side to them.

One night Norman answered so many questions whilst watching University challenge, that Nancy tried seduction to put him off. She knew how clever he was and it added to his mystique and attraction. Their sexual encounters continued. He supported Birmingham City F.C. and asked Nancy if he could fuck her at half time when they were watching a televised match, she consented.

Nancy asked Norman if he would use a microphone to clear people out a bit quicker at closing time, he agreed. Doc and Nigel were against it, but when Norman started to throw in a few funnies this became a feature of the evenings, the crowd enjoyed it so it stuck. In the run up to Xmas Nigel became ill, the Two Buttocks had taken its toll on his health, so he reckoned, despite his theory of out of date Yoghurts being good for him. There were even jokes made about Nigel after he had gone back North to his parents for a rest and to work on his idea, ‘A Fumble in the Jungle,’ un-solicited for Channel 4. He was referred to as, ‘Neurotic Nigel’ by Doc who now depended on Norman to help him out, Just as Norman depended on Patrick.

With the arrival of winter Norman would sit by the cashier’s booth, just inside the main venue door. He now had a mike clipped to his shirt, a push button made him live. Being most nights the tallest person at the Two Buttocks and dressed in black suit and bow tie, he became master of ceremonies by default. At first introducing the compares, then introducing the acts if required. Doc found it easier to work with less people; he stopped booking compares and ran the shows with Norman. They worked well together. Doc was a very small guy, in his mid-thirties with fair thinning hair; he loved to dress up for the stage, had loads of energy and was an undiscovered comedy talent. He had lacked faith in himself and patience so moved into management. Now he had the power to control the fate of others, just as others had once controlled him. He was a bitter man but knew his comedy. As agent to many acts and comedy venues he was now discovered.

December brought new customers into the venue, as regulars attended parties elsewhere. It was hard to get acts some nights and it was like the Doc and Norman show, with the audience as their support. But it still worked, the place was packed out with the seasons revellers anyway, ‘And good talent would have been wasted on such morons,’ Doc insisted as he got richer and Norman got funnier, Paddy now thought every day was his Birthday as Nancy updated him on the bar takings, Maureen was still dieing, Ernest had almost forgot his Nephew lived in the house; Katie was spending a small fortune trying to attract Norman with sexy underwear, whilst Nancy seemed in control of it all and it wasn’t even Xmas yet.

As the 25^th of December got nearer Norman and Doc had to think on their feet more and more. But the Xmas week brought out their best efforts. They put on comedy Karaoke it went down a storm. Then one night the most feared thing was happening live, with only a mystery top of the bill expected Norman’s phone rang. Bungalow Bill booked only because he owed Doc a favour was having a massive problem at home. He lived in digs in a posh flat in Golders Green, where he claimed, ‘Some guys pretended to be Jewish, just so they could wear a skull cap to hide their bald patch whilst chatting up the local Sheilas.’ Bill’s landlady was having a mid-life crisis. “She’s 50, I keep telling her she should have had this at least ten years ago,” said Bill, “she will not live till 100 anyway, she could drink and smoke for Israel.”

“If you can’t make it Bill,” insisted Norman, “your fucking nuisance of a landlady won’t be the only one having a mid-life crisis tonight.”

“I offered the Sheila a good shagging,” shouted Bill into Norman’s ear, “seem to make her worse though. I will get to you for that last spot, must go.”

Norman quickly relayed the troublesome news to Doc. He also proposed he devise a sketch for the two of them to do there and then. Doc nodded and with that, Norman picked him up like a puppet and strode onto the stage. Sitting down with Doc on his lap and his arm threaded up through Doc’s jacket, he looked into the eyes of his nervous dummy, “What’s up Doc,” he asked. The crowd were gob smacked as Norman bounced Doc on his knee. Lottery Lenny from the brewery helping out on security that night nearly fell off his stool. Doc’s friends working stage effects stood speechless in anticipation of the pairs’ next move. Bar staff stopped serving and Nancy on a rare visit to the venue of an evening thought she was going to orgasm. Doc reached out to the table closest to the stage, he picked up a full pint of lager. He then passed it to Norman who slowly started to down it in one.

Then Doc spoke, “ Hello Boys and Girls are you looking forward to Xmas,” the crowd went for it and thanks to some great hecklers the routine with Doc the puppet and Norman the straight faced ventriloquist trying to keep some order went down well. When a lady insisted on trying to pull Doc’s trousers off Norman brought the act to an end, by admitting Doc was not really a puppet and he never really wanted to be a ventriloquist. No he wanted to be a lumberjack, and he led the crowd into singing the lumberjack song. He retreated still carrying Doc like a puppet. “Thank god for Monty Python,” screamed Doc over the loud applause, “now will you fucking put me down.”

Nancy went over and hugged the pair she had tears rolling down her face. They had bought the time they needed. Norman had put Ernest’s Chas and Dave video on the big screen; they would only get away with this at Xmas. Norman’s phone rang; he rushed outside the pub to take the call. 

“I’m just round the corner,” shouted Bill as his car screeched into sight. “I ended up giving her a good shagging Norman,” he yelled across the street, “it was the only way, and you owe me big time for that, she’s awesome man, hairs on her chest. I can never go home again.” He laughed and hugged Norman. Doc joined them outside.

Bill explained he had an idea for his entrance tonight, Norman agreed. He removed the mike from Doc’s shirt and pinned it on to Bill. The entrance began. They could be heard, but not seen inside the pub.

Norman, “Sorry sir, you can’t come in, we’re full up.”

Bill, “Come on just a jar or two matey.”

Norman, “No come back, where do you think your going?”

Bill, “I just want to check out the sheilas.”

Bill ran into the pub and made his way to the stage he let rip his catch phase, “Hello you whinging fucking poms.” The place erupted. Bungalow Bill now a minor television face held the audience through till closing time. He closed his act with a song, ‘Fuck off across the Mersey.’ Whilst receiving a standing ovation he ran out, still screaming abuse. He drove off, on the way home phoning Norman, “I got to get home and shag the Sheila again,” he chuckled, “well it is Xmas, can’t have her feeling crook; gooday.”

The next morning, “What’s a good thing for a hangover Katie,” begged Norman.

“To drink too-much the night before,” she answered, dressed in a burgundy silk look dressing gown.

Norman was slumped over the dining table; the excitement of the previous evening had culminated with a bottle of Southern comfort and some quite violent sex with Nancy in the back yard of the pub. She called it the masonry position, “Missionaries should have taught this on their travels,” she had screamed.

Now to get into the brewery for just a half day as it was Xmas Eve. Katie brought a glass of water and told him the fresh air on the way to work would also help. At the brewery to his relief, there were other casualties of the Demon Drink. Nancy had booked the day off as she did every year; she would spend hours sitting beside the grave of her late husband. Knowing of this spooked Norman.

The horn sounded at the brewery, cheers could be heard from the men. It was off to the Prince of Wales for their Xmas drink. In years gone by the Hercules was the chosen pub for this yearly binge. Norman tagged along, he didn’t want to let Ernest down and being family it meant a lot.

Norman slipped off after a couple of beers. He now felt better, so he grabbed a pie and chips on his way home. He set himself up at the dining table, poured a beer and switched on the tele. He presumed he was alone in the house, finished lunch, cleared away and then relaxed for a snooze in the Ernest chair right in front of the tele. After realising his needed to use a toilet he climbed the stairs and entered the bathroom. “Oh Norman,” Katie said, in a welcoming tone her nakedness just slightly blurred by the steam rising off her heavily scented bath water.

“So sorry,” replied Norman, “really sorry.”

Katie having dreamt of this moment, seized it, standing up in the bath, “Fuck me Norman, please, please,” she begged.

Norman had to think fast on his feet here, ‘If he refused, the embarrassment it would cause, would mess the both of them up. After all she had done for him he owed her everything really. It was just a fuck.’

“Where?” said Norman in true James Bond style.