Bigger than Hitler – Better than Christ. Rik Mayall

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       WHY I WAS NEVER IMPRISONED FOR BEATING ESTHER RANTZEN TO DEATH

      My first question to any producer who wants me in his play is, “Does the character smoke?” This is important because I do very powerful acting-smoking. Motivation and character arks (these are technical playrighting terms which mean stuff about the character who is the person that you are pretending to be) are important to me but more important is that I have a packet of fags and that my character has a good bird (NB^*: no clap or syph – and she must bring her own condoms. I can’t be seen wandering around buying condoms. I’m Rik Mayall. It’s also quite handy to find out where she keeps her purse.) I know you think I’m taking the piss but I am the piss and I’ve not been taken anywhere. I go where I want. I am the freedom piss in the toilet of oblivion flushing myself away into the sewer pipe of broken dreams. That’s not bad actually – seems a shame to just read it once. Go on, I’ll wait for you here. Done it? Good. Anyway, what I’m saying is, you tell me one play that I’ve been in when I haven’t smoked and I won’t listen. Probably because I won’t be in the same room as you.

      Being in a play is great for having it off in the afternoons so it pays to have a bed in the dressing room. But don’t install any webcams. Look at what happened to Dirty Dan.

      It’s also very important when you are starting out as a leading acter and comedy giant to get yourself a business partner. This is what is called an agent. This is not a secret agent (although they can be secretive) and they don’t as a rule have guns in their pockets. Although mine does. An agent is a person who finds work for you and makes sure that you’re happy with all the arrangements for things and sometimes even gets you money for what you are doing. They take the lion’s share obviously, which is only fair after all the life-threatening negotiations they have to do.

      I remember it so well, it’s like it was yesterday. I was at a Celebrity Squares aftershow party. All the greats were there: Crowther, Biggins, Cheggers, Hull, De Courcey, Rogers, Lynch, Russell Grant (obviously) and there we were all howling and gibbering and convulsing and spasming and evacuating our bowels with hilarity as Lynchy and I did some of our verbal swordsmanship when Roger Moore took me to one side and said, “Hi Rik, love your work, I hear you’re looking for an agent. I know a guy called Heimi Fingelstein.” The dye was cast (which means that something big was going to happen). My personal favourite 007 gave me the address of a post office box which I wrote to. The following spring I had a phone call from Heimi’s assistant, Big Joan, who arranged for me to come in for a meeting.

      Roger told me something amazing that he had learnt in the secret service but it’s confidential and I can’t tell you what it is. What he did tell me that I can tell you about is that for important meetings it’s always good to wear a wire which means you can record your conversation on a tape recorder which is sellotaped to your chest. Unfortunately, this being the late seventies, the tape machine was quite large and cumbersome and took a lot of sellotape to hold it in place and a lot of baggy jumpers to conceal it satisfactorily. What follows is a transcript of my first meeting with my agent, Heimi Mad Dog Fingelstein^*.

       Tape starts. Sounds of rustling sticky tape and various doors opening. Footsteps on stairs. Sounds of lots of sewing machines in the background and the occasional female scream.