Globusz^® Publishing 

“So, cards on the table,” said Doc, “what routines are we all doing in Brighton then?”

“My usual I guess my dearie,” answered Betsy.

“Pass,” said Norman.

Doc with a head in hands gesture spoke, “O.K. then I’ll go first; the Spin Doctor is going to slag off the commuters who live in Brighton. I suggest you two follow my lead, hence why we are here at this un-godly hour of a Sunday. Zen, Norman, think a little Zen. We are going to get a-tuned to Brighton. So when we get up on stage tonight we are as one with our environment and can really take the piss out of the audience. So whatever road you go down tonight, make sure it’s in Brighton. This gig, right: an old friend of mine; a retired basket ball player; Gay would you believe; a born again; the worst sort. Anyway he has bought a pub with B&B upstairs and we are here to give him an opening night. The local press will be propped up at the bar, which is good for us. We get free board and as much as we can drink. You two get sex, sea and more sex. Now look out of the window because soon coming up, the Sussex Downs.” From the train they saw a mangled wreck of a car by the roadside, “A monument to Lady Di!” exclaimed Betsy. They all went silent as the train carried them on and into Brighton. At the station Doc was like a cross between a child and a B.B.C. historian, dragging the others outside the station to point to where the sea was; then he dragged them back inside to admire the Victorian architecture.

They strolled off towards the seafront. Doc now excited by the seagulls overhead, Betsy only impressed by all the drinking holes they were passing and Norman just pleased to be there. The nearer to the sea front they got the louder and more animated Doc became, “ Now that’s what I call a water feature, they filmed, ‘Oh what a lovely war,’ here you know,” he shouted and then loosing control pointing to the ground. “Right fucking here,” then he burst into full song and dance. “ Oh, oh, oh what a lovely war,” he sang much to the embarrassment of Betsy. She went off to hide in a Victorian promenade shelter. Norman stood and watched Doc, then applauded his brave performance. 

“Bravo, bravo,” Norman now shouted. As this was Brighton on a Sunday Doc drew a small crowd. Norman had surprised Doc entering into a bit of theatre with him.

Betsy emerged from the shelter not really wanting to miss out on an audience. “Oh, oh, oh what a lovely war,” she sang. Doc joined in as Norman mimed filming them. The three now getting strange glances from new passers by burst into laughter and danced off. Doc pointed to a Regency square on the opposite side of the road. He led them up through the square and off into a narrow street to find his friend’s pub. Still in an excited animated state he announced, “One day I’m going to put on an Opera. Yes, in English and modern. About security guards working through the night in a factory. I will call it And Even The Kitchen Sink.” He started to sing and gesture at his companions, “What have you got in that bag. And that bag. I; must; search; them; now. ” Betsy and Norman looked at each other in disbelief of the moment

“For fucks sake Doc, I think it’s time the men in white coats came to collect you,” responded Betsy just as they arrived at the closed door of a pub.

Having failed to get any response there, Doc suggested a drink on the sea front and they went off in search of one. A restaurant with tables outside lured Betsy even in the February weather. They shared a bottle of Champagne and Norman’s cigarettes. A passing family seemed outraged by this sight, stepping into the road to distance themselves from such decadence.

“A toast,” demanded Doc, “Sex in trees.”

“Sex in trees Doc! Where did that come from? ” asked Betsy.

“I was watching these two pigeons in a tree, from my bedroom window.”

“Thank you Doc,” she cut him short. 

At Norman’s request they moved on to explore the whole of the area. Doc acted as tour guide. Betsy remained un-interested, she held onto Norman’s arm. They wandered round till hunger steered them into an old style pizza restaurant. “Best stick with the Champagne,” advised Doc, “it’s good for the figure. If I could afford it I would only drink this stuff.” His request for extra toppings to include tuna and dolphin had not gone down well with the young waitress; so straight after their blow out, Doc guided them back to the pub. This time it was open and Doc’s friend Moses a six foot tall Black American was delighted to greet them. He showed them to a room on the first floor, with two double bunks; they thanked Moses and dived onto separate beds.

It was totally dark when Doc stirred, he woke the other two. Having found the light switch and blinding everyone with it, he announced, “Good morning Brighton,” then confirming in fact it was six p.m. One after another they freshened up in the bathroom along the hallway.

By six thirty they were sat round a table in the bar, with Moses. “We don’t open till eight,” he said, “I don’t serve till then, usually, but as you three look like shit.”

“Cheers,” responded Doc, “Just a bottle of Champers and three glasses will be fine.”

“I’ll go and put the kettle on,” said Moses, chuckling to himself as he walked off.

With strong coffee now on the table, cigarettes were passed around. The group were hardly visible through the haze of smoke to staff and helpers as they turned up for the opening night. It dawned on Norman that perhaps they were the only stand-ups that night and the coffee was a good idea after all. Doc and Moses ran through the night’s format. Doc would host the whole event. Norman and Betsy would be introduced as main attractions on the London comedy scene and therefore would only be expected to do short routines. 

After coffee, Norman and Betsy went out for a walk down to the seafront. It was a clear night, the tourist lights were on. They gazed and listened to the waves crashing. Norman phoned Doc to check what time they were needed back. “Not till ten,” said Doc, “but don’t get too pissed my lovelies.” They wandered arm in arm the length of the sea front and back in silence. Near to the gig they took warm shelter in a hotel bar.

“This is very posh Norman,” said Betsy, “are you trying to impress me?”

“No.”

“Why not.”

“Need to impress that lot in the pub, not you, right now.”

“Fair point Norman.”

“Zen!”

“What!”

“Zen, tonight Betsy I’m going to be Zen Warwickshire.”

“So, what are you going to do tonight Zen?”

“Pass.”

“Really.”

“Yeah, I’ll bluff it out.”

“So is that Zen.”

“Not really, but I am. Did Doc really make it big? ”

“Maybe.”

“Will you really make it big?”

“Let’s go and find out.”

They ambled back to the pub. It was so cold on the sea front they hurried up through the square and off into the side streets. There it was, shelter, as they opened the door the heat burnt their faces up.

The pub was packed with people generating warmth. It was another World. It was still early, Norman led Betsy through the crowded bar. He tapped Doc on the shoulder and shouted into his ear, “Call us when you need us, we need a power- nap.” The pair continued on upstairs.

Doc gave them a shout at ten. He met them on the stairs. “There is no backstage area here,” he explained, “if you don’t mind just being in the pub, I will introduce you and call you up. You will be on first Norman. ” They followed him down and through into the pub, which was now full to capacity and people still arriving. Moses was behind the bar serving, he offered them priority, which they took.

Doc stood up on a small round platform in the far corner of the bar. He pulled the microphone from its stand, “Order, order, order please, order, order, oh come on order please. Order in this public house please,” he said, “as the speaker in this public house, I must ask for, order, order please. Thank you.” Silence fell. “Thank you, welcome, welcome, welcome. Tonight is a grand re-opening of the pub known to many of you as the Hope Tavern. However it shall, now be known forever as, ‘The Pub,’ I ask you, raise your glasses, ‘The Pub.’ Onto other matters, Moses has spared every expense tonight. We have buy two, pay for three deal at the bar, two guest speakers from London and the grand-ma-draw.

The draw will take place at mid-night. Your invitation cards tonight once handed in have all been placed in a large black bin-bag. Oh sorry, Moses, what’s that, oh sorry folks a large grey bin-liner. Is that cause they’re cheaper Moses or some political correctness issue. Oh I see, they are more environmentally friendly, grey bin-liners, oh really, glad you told me that and of course it matches the colour of you hair. O.k. your invitations will all be placed in a large grey bin-liner. Then at mid-night, still O.K. with mid-night are we Moses? Good.” Moses nodded from behind the bar. Doc continued, “So, midnight our two glamour girls, well when I say glamour girls, two local students with huge tits will make the draw. They will after handling in a sensual fashion the grey bin-liner, remove all but the bottom one in the grey bag and that one will be our winner. Normally in a draw the first to be drawn would be the winner, however tonight, the last out will be our winner, therefore someone who would usually be a loser in life, will tonight be a winner. The one and only prize is a night out with Moses Grandma, she has just flown in from Long Island in the U.S.A. and has still got her own teeth and if she asks, Moses isn’t actually a homosexual. He just helps out when their busy. ” Norman laughed loudly and applauded along with the crowd; he admired Doc’s skill this night.

“Let’s move on then,” shouted Doc over the fading laughter he had created. “On such an evening I will ask no other than Zen Warwickshire to say a few words to you all, Zen if you would be so kind; thank you.” Norman made his way over to take the microphone off Doc they swapped places on the rostrum.

“Oh, I got a huge hard on,” announced Norman, “Must be the sea air.” He grabbed his crotch. “I must come down here more often, Brighton, I mean. Talking of which, it’s fucking February again. Having had to go into deep debt to prove our love over Xmas and New Year, we men have to do it all over again. Valentine’s Night, what a load of bollocks and you know, it’s the thing that scares me most about getting old, true, cause it’s worse for the oldies. Buying the card, you see them in the shop and it doesn’t matter how they play it they’re only going to get fucked at the check out. The envelope can’t be found or the price stickers fallen off and the poor old fucker’s stood there with the female assistants who must be thinking, who the fuck’s this balding old fart buying this card for anyway. They treat you worse than if you’re buying porn, at least then they’re scared of you. Then it’s, ‘Kylie, how much is this tonight’s the night Valentine’s card.’ ‘I don’t know Cher, asont it got a bah code.’ People in the shop are looking now, trying to draw a mental picture of this poor fucker making it tonight’s the night for anyone. If he is then there will be many more embarrassing moments for him before the 14^th. Feb. is over. 

Then there’s the present and no, a new vacuum will not do unless perhaps it has a vibrator attachment. Probably not though as the 14^th is national erection day, no cheating gentlemen please. We are now talking, the task to end all tasks. They didn’t even have to do this in the Lord Of The Rings for Christ’s sake. Oh yes it’s the visit to the Sexy under-wear shop. How the fuck baldies deal with that one is beyond me. It’s bad enough when you’re young. James Bond, only he could get away this. The rest of us forget it. For most of these couples it’s lights off sex anyway, why throw money at it. I’ll leave you all, with one Valentine’s thought.

This is a true story. I’m in a large newsagents shop just last year, going through the cards. I notice this one, cause on the front it says. ‘We all know that diamonds are a girls best friend, but,’ I just have to know what the but is. I open up the card and it says, ‘A big stiff cock comes a very close second.’ And there you have it. So don’t forget chaps. Thank you thank you. As you have been a wonderful audience tonight I will reward you by saying enough’s enough. So it’s Good night from me Zen Warwickshire.”

Norman handed back the microphone to Doc before going off to join Betsy in with the crowd. Doc reminded the audience that, “An Englishman’s Cock is his Castle,” by way of continuing the Valentine’s theme. “Talking about traditions, Hunting, I said Hunting dear heart, well I would hardly mention the other in a bar in Brighton would I? No, what is a private members bill? I’ve heard of a Private Bill’s member. So why the hell do you lot in the great no-where want to hunt any way? Can’t you go to the Supermarket like the rest of us? And you got the fucking ocean down the road. Horses and dogs can swim you know. Fox, fish, what’s the big deal? And the chance of encountering a hungry shark would liven the hunt up. Even Vegetarians could join in. Look, if you really want to piss off T.B. why not wait till his next party con down here. Then give it some, Oh, oh, oh what a lovely war. Right outside; the press would love it. You’d be on the TV. live. Probably upset the Actors Unions though. Well enough of politics, now here’s something that really should have been made illegal, Abba-music. If any of you suffer from good musical taste, please cover your ears.

Doc joined Norman and Betsy in the crowd, Moses was excited with the way his evening was going and provided the three with another round of free drinks. Doc shouted in Norman’s ear, “Not bad mate for first up, you’ll do.”

Betsy slipped away back upstairs to compose herself for her turn. Doc and Norman drank together as they were joined by a succession of locals. Moses kept the free drinks coming, so Norman guessed there would be no wages. “Only the wages of sin for you today Zen,” shouted Doc, “free booze, fags and Nancy in a bunk up stairs, what more could you want.”

Just after 11 o’clock, Doc sent Norman up to call Betsy as he jumped up on the rostrum. He would introduce Betsy after he ran out of material. Norman propped himself up at the bar to watch the master at work.

“Evening all, sorry I’m a bit late, a bit of a rush today, spent ages doing my hair and forgot to put it on. I see you still got Ben Hur on at the Regal. Heard a couple of Gays talking as they came out, of the cinema I mean. One says, did you like the film? The other replied, loved Him, hated Hur.”

Doc moved on, “What the fuck do you lot find to do in Brighton anyway?” Next a comment about the tradesmen’s’ entrance and Oral B toothbrushes into watching reality T.V. and his ideas for some new ones. Having got a few boos with, ‘Blind Date Rape,’ he nearly brought the ceiling down with, ‘Who’s Turd Is It Anyway,’ ‘Celebrity Gang Bang,’ ‘Jail Bait,’ ‘Fart Wars,’ ‘Hunt the Hard On’ and ‘Back To The Gutter,’ all delivered with some fine graphic examples that only his sick mind was capable of. “American Idol that’s the pits, I keep thinking that Randy Jackson is going to jump- up and say,” ‘Yo’ll I dig it dog, yeah man I mean you gave me a big hard on.’

“The tele is getting bad though, worse than us lot really. This’ll be the next thing, good evening, here is the news. Tonight’s news contains swearing and scenes of extreme graphic violence, sex and sport. Mark my words; The End Is Nigh.”

Norman was concerned that Betsy would not be able to follow this; he need not of worried Doc slowed it all down. Next he made up a story of bringing his dog Foreskin down with him from London. Having lost his Foreskin and wandered the streets calling it, he goes to the Brighton police station to report his loss. The kind desk sergeant allows him to go for tea in the police canteen, whilst there he over-hears two policemen chatting.

“Are you still going out with that Mary?”

“No, she packed me in.”

“Why? You two seemed so suited.”

“Something I said about Catholics.”

“Didn’t you know she was a Catholic?”

“Yes, but I didn’t know the Pope was.”

“Yeah really, that’s what you pay your fucking taxes for.” Screamed Doc, “here we go, here we go, here we go,” sang Doc in football style. “When I first discovered Betsy Norfolk she was a third rate porn star. She offered me sex. I said, sorry I’ve only got a tenner, she said that’s all right I’ve got change. Now she’s a third rate comedienne, please give a warm Brighton welcome to Betsy Norfolk.”

Betsy jumped up on the rostrum; she took the microphone off Doc.

“I see you lot will laugh at anything,” said Betsy to the crowd in mocking tone, “So I should be a big friggin great hit. I’m not funny either. She rubbed her chest with the palm of her hand. “Oh that’s nice I’ll save that for later. It’s not true though what Doc said about me, it was a Fiver he’s a friggin cheap-skate, that Doc. Families aye, my Mother’s still suffering Post Natal Depression, can’t think why! I overheard my young nephew talking to his friend. Five they are.

“I found a condom in the conservatory.”

“What’s a conservatory?”

“Friggin schools,” she shouted, “of course children should be taught about conservatories. Teachers they are a strange race. An ethnic minority group for sure. All part-time, bags of friggin dosh and they still dress badly, buy weird cars and download porn in their spare time, of which they have loads. They retire early and carry on supply teaching earn even more dosh and still dress badly buy mobility cars and eventually get caught, downloading porn. I love porn films. Wish they just showed them on general release. It makes sense, let’s really legalise fucking sex, pardon the pun. Cinemas these days are just for fucking kids, not literally of course.

You see all these adults filing into watch Harry Potter, why? It is so sad. Today’s man spends his days off pretending to enjoy retail parks with the wife. Then it’s Harry Potter with the kids. He would prefer, the morning in bed, a porno film in the afternoon, a few beers and blowjob off the baby sitter. So he gets frustrated and the years roll by and he gets angry. You know that angry, that you want to go out and murder a prostitute. But it’s not your fault, it’s Ikea, Harry Potter and the baby sitter for wearing a mini skirt and then there’s that film American Beauty that got you thinking in the first place that there really should be more to life. Then the kids wake you up, cause you’re embarrassing them snoring and it was just a bad dream and you’re sitting there in the friggin cinema filled with children watching Harry Potter and J.K. Rowling is the richest women in the world has got some more of your money and every one lives happily ever after. Give me, loneliness any day.

I like sex though; I just think it’s overpriced. I generally wait for the sales. I was brought up in the countryside, you can tell from my rather cute accent. Some men find it a turn on, especially when I shout out, ‘Oh master give me a good seeing to, just like you did that sheep last night.’ Used to make me very horny the countryside. Never mind village bicycle, they used to call me the village tandem; yes darling you got it did you, so did I, good an proper. Even walking home from school, I’d pass a field where the horses were at it, what a sight that is. I’d be gagging for it by the time I got indoors. Fortunately I was the only girl in the family. We were a poor and yet miserable family; I used to have to stuff my brothers socks down inside my bra for the local dances, they used to smell a bit though, still that’s country life. You know what’s long, thin, covered in skin, red in parts and goes in tarts; rhubarb.”

Doc and Norman were mortified, Betsy had topped the pair of them and it was serious stuff. She continued, “Well my throat’s a bit horse, no pun intended. So I guess it’s time to remind you all if you’re drunk, do drive it’s a lot easier than walking, well, cause you’re sitting down, it’s obvious aint it. If you run down a bus queue, they only take away your license. Best not to take a test in the first place, then they can’t even do that. ‘The Law is an ass’ and then some. Good night good people of Brighton may your Pier burn brightly for ever.”

Doc was overwhelmed by the applause for Betsy as he took the microphone off her to close up the show. “Betsy was only joking folks about the drinking and driving, you get fined as well,” he quipped.

We have had a great night here. When I first walked in tonight and saw all the anoraks hanging up, I thought oh fuck, those National Trust jokes will have to go. So I will leave you with this one question, where was Moses when the lights went out? In the fucking dark of course. Good luck Moses, you’ll need it with these thick bastards. Good night Brighton.”

Moses laughed and led the applause as Doc squeezed himself Betsy and Norman on the rostrum to lead the singing of Land Of Hope And Glory. Moses knew he had had himself one good opening night.

The three hid upstairs to allow Moses to clear the bar within his licensed time. They returned for a late drink with the staff, local press and a few invited. The press were seeing Doc Betsy and Norman as a team. Doc found this an interesting concept and it started him thinking about their future; he set off in need of the toilet and sneaked off to spend the night at a 5 star Hotel as his payment for providing the night’s entertainment.

Moses was on a mission and kept the drinks flowing. He announced that the table now covered in dirty glasses, over-flowing ashtrays and awash with spilt drinks and fag-ash, could be an entry for the Turner Prize. One of the local press photographed it. Betsy then suggested he go with her and Norman to the seafront and do a photo-shoot. All very pissed, they set off. The local police passed them by as they fooled around; only the flashing camera saved their arrest. The cold forced them to retreat to back to The Pub. Betsy and Norman left the others now playing drinking games as they crept off to their room for the few hours left of the night, far too drunk to attempt sex, or notice that Doc was missing; they slept in separate bunks.

It was mid-day, it was Monday, and it was hangovers all round. Doc had climbed up a drainpipe to wake Betsy and Norman. There was no other way in to The Pub. Moses was still in a coma. Norman heard Doc at the window and let him in. “God it’s like the walking fucking dead round here,” Said Doc, “come on we need to get back to Town. Remind me to show you two, ‘The Days of Wine and Roses,’ sometime. Now Norman fuck some life into Betsy, I’m going downstairs to get the coffee on the go. See you soon.”

Norman slowly woke up Betsy, got them both washed and downstairs before the coffee was cold. The three demolished two pots in silence, left a scribble goodbye note for Moses then secured the bar door behind them as they headed off in the general direction of London, via Brighton Railway Station. After even more and stronger coffee on the platform they slumped into their train seats and back to sleep.

Doc announced, “There are only two places in England you know, in London and out of London.” He was in better condition than the others so he only closed his eyes and remained busy making plans. The others started to regain consciousness as the train jerked to a halt at Victoria. Doc assisted them onto the platform and into the nearest coffee shop, then into a black cab. His plan was, they go to Betsy’s and from there he would go on home in a mini-cab. However having paid off their taxi, Betsy suggested they all eat at her local Italian. Doc remembered his last meal there had been rather a farce, but he was hungry.

The three ordered a modest amount of food, a hair of the dog and soon had the giggles as they topped up their alcohol levels. Doc tapped their table with his knuckles, “A toast,” he proposed, “the 2^nd of February, the Two Buttocks and us.” The colour was now returning to the faces of Betsy and Norman. Doc told them that Brighton had been very special for him. He thought if they worked together as a team and with a little more Zen, success was there for the taking. “I’ll drink to that,” said Betsy.

“Me too,” added Norman. After a rather sober late lunch the three agreed, rest was the priority. Doc settled the bill and gave the waiter a tip, ‘Ugly women are best cause they’re grateful for it.’ He then ordered a minicab and left his close friends. Betsy suggested to Norman a walk along the riverside followed by some sleep at her place. Darkness fell over the Thames as they strolled the long way back to Betsy’s apartment. The central heating welcomed them. Betsy turned to Norman as he closed the door, “I really want you to move in here with me Zen Warwickshire,” she announced nervously.

Norman bowed his head as he took her in his arms and answered, “I do.” They showered together and then slept together.

Next morning with February upon him Doc changed up a gear, knocking at Betsy’s door first-thing. He was the boss, which suited the other two, “O.K. let’s get going,” he shouted as Norman answered the door.

“Who is it Norman enquired Betsy from under her duvet?”

“It’s the Fucking Police, with a Fucking Ticket.”

“Piss off,” she replied.

“What’s with you two,” Doc butted in.

“Just a private joke dear,” Betsy was now red-faced. 

“We got a venue to get re-open on Valentine’s Day, or did we forget? And you two are now officially working with me for Spin Doctor Comedy Consultants, as well as your duties for Paddy.” On hearing the news of Norman moving in with Betsy, Doc replied, “It’ll at least give you both some ideas for new material, great. But Betsy it’s not quite what I meant by a little more Zen.”

They headed off by bus to the Two Buttocks. Doc reminding them to keep the ex’s down now. They put in a long hard first day back at work. Norman left the others at 5 o’clock to meet his Aunt Katie from work. She was pleased to see him they walked home together as he explained he was off to stay with Betsy, Ernest greeted them at the door, he was off work sick. “Baby that’s what he is Norman,” joked Katie. Norman broke his news to Ernest over a cup of tea. The three of them were still close but all agreed Norman’s news was to be toasted.

Ernest pretended to help Norman down the narrow staircase with his suitcase. They all agreed to meet up for a drink at the Prince before the week was out.

The sight of Norman, pulling his huge suitcase on wheels through the doors of the Two Buttocks was too funny for Doc, “Fucking hell Norman,” he screamed. “I thought you were a comedian, not a magician. We could be onto something new here,” he laughed, “how you going to get that over to Betsy’s? I don’t think it will fit in a taxi.”

“Rise above it Zen,” Shouted Betsy from a distance. “I like a man with big luggage.” They all laughed. Doc was noticing the real comedy magic that was developing between them and needed to harness it. He had declared the week should be, ‘Sober-ish.’ They worked through till 10 o’clock allowing themselves only one drink. Doc had ordered a black cab for the three of them and the suitcase. He got out at the tube station.

“Well here we are,” said Betsy, “Joking apart; I do admire you having all your gear in one suit case Norman even if it is not the biggest,” she started to laugh, “Suitcase I have ever seen. No really, people take more stuff than that on holiday, so I’ve heard.”

“I am on holiday,” he replied.

“Well it’s not a free one matey, I’ll have that fuck tonight that I would have had this morning, if Doc hadn’t wet his bed and disturbed us.”

“Shall I unpack then?”

“Sure, I’ll put pizzas in the oven.”

Norman unpacked, they showered, ate, watched tele on the big screen and Betsy got her fuck.

Doc woke them by phone the next morning and from then on he was considerate and allowed them their privacy. For the rest of the week they all met up at the venue. Doc was involved in all sorts and their days were busy. They worked till late on the Saturday. Norman took Betsy along for a drink with Ernest and Katie at the Prince. Doc declined the, ‘It’s a Family Affair,’ as he referred to it. The drink went well, leaving Norman feeling good about life.

The following week, was even busier, auditions added to the workload. Valentine’s night would fall on the Saturday. Doc had not named the stand-ups for the big night. The press deadline for adverts was Wednesday 9am. Betsy would E-mail the details through. She and Norman sat beside the computer in the venue office. Just minutes before nine Doc wandered in, he sat down.

“Please take down the following Miss. Norfolk,” he said. “Headlining, probably the funniest woman in the East End at the moment, Betsy (shall I get my tits out) Norfolk. Introducing, a bloke from the Midlands, Zen Warwickshire. With full supporting cast and of course all this and more under the strict supervision of The Spin Doctor.” Betsy typed the E-mail, “This P.C. has Windows Extinguisher soft-ware Doc it’s fucking chronic; right that’s sent now so I hope it wasn’t a wind up dear.” She and Norman awaited an explanation.

“Wind up, why?” asked Doc, “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought since Brighton and it feels right.”

“Seems like a good idea to me,” added Norman.

“O.K. all agreed then, so let’s just get on with it,” suggested Doc getting up and heading off to purchase their take away breakfast rolls. Norman and Betsy somewhat stunned shared a cigarette, their attempt to cut down. Doc soon returned with the food. He had no interest in further discussions right then; so another hard day got going followed by another and another and then it was Valentine’s Day. Doc had dropped into their conversations throughout the week that he expected his two partners to produce their goods on the night. 

They saw nothing of Paddy before the re-opening. His wife was now clinging onto life, he trusted Norman. The Two Buttocks was ready for Valentine’s night, by mid-day. The three locked up and went off to their homes to prepare themselves. Doc said he would walk for a couple of hours on Hampstead Heath, then take tea in the village to relax.

Betsy and Norman were soon lazing in their now shared apartment. They had about six hours before they would return to work. Betsy went off to shower and do her hair. Norman sunk further into an easy chair. After some time referring to Nigel’s book he meditated for a couple of hours till Betsy returned to disturb him. “Pizza darling,” she asked. He nodded, and then returned to his deep thoughts. Betsy prepared all for their meal of the day, just calling Norman when it was ready. He jumped up, “I’m ready for this and for that he shouted,” slapping his face in his hands. He hugged and danced Betsy round the room. Pulled out the chair, seated her at the table and poured them wine.

“We just up it, from Brighton really,” said Norman, “we were all good enough there.”

“That easy then!”

“Yep, why not. Doc is right, we work well together, that could set us above the rest and we are in charge of a fucking comedy venue. If we can’t crack it, then who can? ”

“Yeah I’ll drink to that. The press will be in tonight, let’s do it right.”

“If we believe in ourselves and each other we will do it right,” concluded Norman.

After eating they left the table in a total mess and went to bed. Betsy fucked Norman then fell into a deep sleep. He remained in a deep thought mode only interrupted by moments of total blankness. Having disturbed Betsy before heading off to the shower he found on his return, she was now rushing round on a domestic mission. “I can’t come home to this mess later,” she said in an apologetic tone.

“I could, it’s easy,” he mumbled. 

The apartment bell rang at 6 o’clock, “Taxi,” said the voice on the intercom.

“Let’s go do it,” said Norman taking the nervous Betsy by the hand. It was he who had to lock the door of the apartment behind them. 

Doc was stood outside the Two Buttocks when the taxi drew up. “Here’s the old married couple then,” he shouted, “been digging the garden have we?” The three embraced. Norman unlocked the pub the others followed him inside. Over the next couple of hours staff drifted in, including Lottery Lenny moaning how skint he was. Before the doors were opened customers could be heard meeting up outside the venue.

Doc had booked D.J. Ed Nolmans Fiasco. However the public were let into the music of Dr. Hook, the only romantic music Doc could stand. It was Norman in fact that the crowd swarmed over. Few of them realised he was in fact now Zen Warwickshire they shook his hand as they wished him a belated happy new year. He was still best known as Norman the doorman the friendly giant with no hidden agenda or so they had thought.

The Two Buttocks was packed within an hour of opening. Lottery Lenny was turning people away and trying to convince them to visit the Prince; “You should try their Cats Piss,” he was heard suggesting to all those he had to disappoint.