Bigger than Hitler – Better than Christ. Rik Mayall

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       MY GREAT LIFE

      “Fucking hell, look at the size of his cock!” said the mid-wife who delivered me. “It looks like he’s got three legs. Perhaps he should be called The Tripod.” This is true. She really said this. But I was called Richard instead and the rest is history.

      I went to school at the local primary school, right? That’s where I went to school. I didn’t have to pay anyone, I just got in. No questions, no bodies. I was in. The infants. I don’t want to talk too much about it because it was like sucking shit through a shoot. But I tell you what. And I’ll tell it you now. It was a Tuesday night, 17^th December 1968. Choir concert. Got that? Me too. All the infants were there. All the parents were there. This is true, this. My fucking class teacher, Mrs “please kick me in the face violently” Andrews lined up all the tables against the wall and told us all to stand on them facing the audience.

      “Call that a stage?” I thought, “I’d rather slam my bollocks in the fridge door.” But I got on the stage and I was right, it was a shit stage. And that bitch Andrews stuck me right up at the left hand side of it, right at the edge and at the back. I was practically off stage (which means not on stage). And I’m never off stage. I’m always on. I’m on now, look. And guess what. No but really, guess what. No don’t actually, I’ll tell you. I’m doing it right now or I will after I’ve done this sentence. And I’m getting there now. Right here we are, I’m there. Told you I would be. So shit off if you don’t believe me. Right what was I going to say? Bollocks. Oh I know, shut up and listen. New paragraph—this is good.

      Mrs Andrews said to me—and get this because this is true—“Now Richard, pay attention and stop doing that to Penelope. I have something important to say to you. The success of the whole of this evening’s concert depends on it. So pay attention, it’s very very important. Now Richard, I don’t want you to sing this evening. Not at all. Not one note. I want all of the other children to sing but not you. Because you’ve got a horrible voice. So what I want you to do is just move your mouth as if you’re singing but not actually sing. If you sing, you’ll spoil the whole evening’s entertainment. Have you got that?” she said rather too emphatically an inch from my face. What do you think of that? Me too. I wasn’t going to take that. Me neither. Or me. She was dealing with Rik Mayall (i.e.^* me). That’s what she didn’t know. She used to call me Richard. Bitch. I wasn’t going to take that lying down. “Right, Richard,” I said to myself. “What are we going to do? I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to steal the show. Let’s do it. (Like a firestorm, obviously.)” So, what I did was just that. Fantastically too. I pulled faces at the audience while I was mouthing the wrong words to Away in a Manger, made extremely vulgar gesticulations and upstaged the entire cast (there were about thirty opponents up there, don’t forget. This was thirty to one.) I transformed the whole evening into a breakthruough comedy entertainment format. You should have heard them laugh when Annette Jennings’ knickers and tights suddenly came shooting down her legs, tangling up her shoes and she fell into the front row. It was all going on. Hilarity prevailed. Quite a few people had a good time until suddenly, the Headmaster grabbed me by the ear, pulled me off the stage onto the floor of the auditorium (form 3B) and marched me to the corner of the room and made me stand face to the wall in FULL FUCKING VIEW OF MY AUDIENCE thinking it would humiliate me. Like fuck. That’s when it all kicked off big style. So the Headmaster ordered me out of the hall. And that’s when I threw my first really good tantrum. I bit Mrs Andrews in the face, ran a mock with my matches in the cloakroom causing over eight thousands pounds worth of damage, flooded the girls’ toilets, and shat in the gym master’s holdall^*. As a seven year old, you can only take so much.

      The thing is, I was very misunderstood at school. Quite often, when the other children were playing kiss chase in the playground, I was tied up in the toilets with my pants stuffed into my mouth. Even the teachers used to spit on me as they passed me in the play ground.

      I’m putting all this in the book, viewer, because I want to show you what a hard life I’ve had and how I rose above it. It’s really very Jesusy when you think about it. I remember as though it was yesterday when the Headmaster was beating me in his study one day and I looked up at him and said, “Judge not lest ye be judged you fat motherfucker.” He just went on beating me. His house burnt down shortly afterwards. I had nothing to do with this.

      Picture the scene: Spring 1967. Got it? Everyone else was on the Isle of White watching Jimmy Hendrix burning his guitar but I was at school. They had decided to change the state school system so that no one would be equal anymore. The rich would go to one sort of school and the poor would be put in holding pens before they were taken off to factories. It was different in those days. We had factories and people went there and made things. They were called jobs. You don’t have them now. There was still a Labour Party in those days. Nowadays there are just slaves on the other side of the world that make stuff for us. Unless we bring them over here to do it. Then we call them immigrants and pay them fuck all and make them live in the old holding pens that the white working class used to have. Until they’re fucked up and knackered and useless and then we send them home again. Or to somewhere in Croatia where they’re made into dog food.

      Now, it’s worth knowing, viewer, that the old education system was governed by an exam called the Eleven Plus. This was an exam which separated the creepy frightened kids that behaved themselves at school and managed to learn something from the stupid kids who didn’t give a shit and were happy. You took it when you were eleven and, rich or poor, you were divided into two groups and “educated” in one of two separate schools depending on your ability. But the rich who were in control of the state at the time decided that they were going to destroy this system and replace it with two different kinds of schools—good well-equipped schools for the children of the wealthy, and sad empty blank voids for the children of the poor. So, I was in the shit. Big time. Lots and lots of shit. You had to be eleven to take the Eleven Plus, you see. It was the last year they were doing it before they scrapped it forever and I was only nine! Plus my mum and dad weren’t rich so I had no chance of an education. Fucky-fuck-fuck, shitty pants and deary me, I’m bollocksed, СКАЧАТЬ