Bigger than Hitler – Better than Christ. Rik Mayall

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ back to Manchester a few years later and performed in a play called Man Equals Man by Berthold Brecht who is probably the worst playwriter who has ever been allowed near a type-righter. No one even knew he was a German until I “let it out of the bag”, and the play has never been performed since. I managed to expose how bad his play was. I realised it for the audience. It was a definitive performance. Up until then, everyone had enjoyed his plays, but during that run, I managed to alienate the audience so much that by the end of some of the performances there was no one left in the theatre. Even some of the cast had left by the time I had delivered all of my five lines. Beat that Paul Bradley.

      The Man Booker Foundation

      Equity House

      Irthlingborough Road

      Wellingborough NN8 1LT

      February 15th 2005

      Dear The Man,

      

      Re (means regarding) your Booker Prize thing

      

      The Rik Mayall here—yes that’s right—Rik Fucking Mayall in your letter, in your hands. Read it and weep. Well, not weep really, more like, rush around the office with tears of joy streaming down your face shouting about me. All right, that’s enough, let’s be sensible.

      

      Now the thing is, I’m writing a book. Yes, go back and read that line again. You don’t need to bother with the “now the thing is,” bit. That’s not important. Just the bit about writing the book. That’s the meat of it. Which means that that is the important bit. The bit about writing the book. Anyway, just concentrate and we’ll move on.

      

      I am writing a book. I’m just taking a brake from it to write you a letter to tell you about it because it’s kind of important that people like you are aware of what is going on in the white hot raging furnace of bang-up-to-date Eng Lit. Now some bloke that I met the other day at the market on the end of our road told me that your prize is the really top prize to win if you’ve written a book. So, already you’re probably beginning to get a sense of what kind of shit I’m going to throw down for you. This is media speak for what ideas I’m going to tell you about. It has nothing to do with fouling the carpet.

      

      I’d only gone down for a few vegetables. I could have said I’d gone for a leak but that’s just a really unfunny play on words that one of those oldtime comedians might have come out with in a northern working class working men’s club in the mid-seventies and been thanked for it. (Although I’m down with the working classes—which means I like them and empathighs with them—I’ve always been a socialist.) Besides, they might not have had any. Anyway, this guy came up to me and we got to talking, you know, like “Hello, are you Rik Mayall?” “Yes.” “Oh Crikey, I’m a really big fan, I think you’re probably the best acter working in Britain or indeed any English speaking country etc.” And I told him about my edge cutting new book. And that’s when he said that I should try and win your prize because it helps to sell lots more copies.

      

      So, here I am. And let me tell you that the book I’m writing is shaping up to be a total cock-ripper (which means it will be very amusing and interesting in every respec). So what I want to suggest is that if we agree that I can have the prize here and now then I’ll split the prize money with you. I know it’s only fifty grand and I get that for taking a piss in a commercial voice-over studio toilets as a rule but it’s the kudos that I’m looking for as much as anything else. And it will be a win win situation for you because once you’ve decided to give the prize to me, you won’t have to read all the other pretentious nob-dribble that gets sent to you. Everyone’s happy—we’re all floating around on big inflatable lilo things in sun-drenched swimming pools with fabulous topless birds fighting over which one of them is going to blow us off first. I’m speaking hypo-allegorically of course.

      

      So, please let me know when the ceremony is and I’ll make sure that my agent, Heimi Fingelstein (you never read that), can get it in my diary and I can think about my acceptance speech. Let me know if you would like a mench (this is showbusiness for mention) and if I should give a mench (see last set of brackets) to any other products you might want me to plug. I can also do this on any daytime chat show you like—or onstage at the Olivier. I see that your company is something to do with food so perhaps I could let people know if you’ve got any special offers on at the moment—frozen peas half price—that sort of thing.

      

      So there we go. Letter written. Job done. Please get back to me soon.

      

      Regards,

      

      Rik. The.

       CONQUERING AMERICA

      I woke up this morning and I thought “New Chapter” so I wrote it but I’m not going to put it in the book for personal reasons. I’ll keep it here though, so if you want to see it please forward some cash and I’ll send it to you although it’ll only be a copy because I’m keeping these “lost” chapters for a book of outtakes from this book. It’ll be like a book version of one of those Denis Norden bloopers shows, only thrusting and vital and like viral media anthrax, of course. Interested publishers, please get in touch. I feel another fat advance coming on and I’m not talking about an overweight predatory homersexual. Which reminds me of a story.

      It was the 11th of October 1992 and the first Tuesday in the month. And as I always do on the first Tuesday of every month, I decided to do something special. So I thought I’d telephone Christopher Biggins and invite him around for elevenses. Now, the telephone is next to the fruit bowl in my house—you probably have different arrangements in your house—so I approached the fruit bowl with my hand extended and although I was reaching for the telephone receiver, I actually grabbed hold of a banana. Now, the banana is the quintessence

      It was the first Tuesday in the month and I decided to do something special. Christopher Biggins I thought for elevenses. Cups of coffee and rich T biscuits. Showbusiness gossip. So, I reached for the fruit bowl. Now, as everyone knows, the banana is the quintessence

      It was October 1992. It was a Tuesday. It was the first Tuesday in the month. So what did I do? I thought Christopher Biggins for elevenses. Sponge fancies, chocolate fingers and a big fat pot of tea. I approached the telephone. I don’t know about you but in my house that’s where I keep the bananas. Now, the banana. Is the quintessence

      The first Tuesday in the month. Sponge fancies, pots of tea and approaching telephones. I don’t know about you but I thought “Christopher Biggins”. Elevenses in a fruit bowl in my house. Chocolate fingers and something special. Now, the banana is the quintessence

      Oh sod this, abandon anecdote.

      [Note to editor: I’ll right some stuff that can go here about when I went to America after I’d left college and toured around in a big bus on the wrong side of the road with loads of other acters. I can mention about all the burning theatres, police car chases, drugs (that I never took), helicopter incidents, speedboat getaways, shoot outs with real guns, explosives, breaking Jon Plowman’s arm etc. Don’t worry, it’ll be great.]

СКАЧАТЬ