“Yes, of course. Not forgetting Dan’s book. I don’t know if you call it an autobiography, but it had massive sales a few Christmases back. And the book’s called – inevitably – A Poke in the Eye! So, as I say, you’ll be able to buy all that stuff at the table over there. And in fact, halfway through Dan’s set there’ll be a break to give you an opportunity to charge up your glasses – and also buy some of the merchandise. So…” Ted Crisp looked off into the murk. “Anything else I’ve forgotten, Dan?”
“No just introduce me and get off the bloody stage!”
The audience was rendered ecstatic by this charming shaft of wit, and the humiliated landlord continued, “Right…Ladies and gentlemen, will you give a big hand for one of the original naughty boys of stand-up comedy – Mr…Dan…Poke!”
Ted Crisp scuttled back into the darkness like a rabbit relieved to escape the headlights, and Dan Poke slowly moved into the glare. His lip curled into his trademark sneer, and the audience erupted into screams of ecstatic recognition. At the back of the crowd, caught up in the communal excitement, Zosia had her mobile phone to her eye in photographic mode. She may not have known who Dan Poke was before that evening, but she wasn’t going to miss getting a shot of him. Round the room other mobiles flashed.
Jude looked at Ray and saw the gleam of fanatical devotion in his eyes. He grinned at her and said in awed tones, “Dan Poke. Dan Poke from off the telly.”
The comedian swept his hands slowly apart as if smoothing down a duvet and the crowd was obediently silent. “Don’t waste it, don’t waste it. I don’t want you lot to peak too early. It’s a bad thing, peaking too early…as many of my girlfriends have told me. Quite a common bloke’s problem, actually. We think about it so much of the time, that when we actually get to the point we’re more than ready. Tend to jump the gun. Women complain men don’t do foreplay – it’s only because we’ve already done it in our heads so many times before we even meet the girl.” He grinned, so that no one should miss any of the innuendos.
“Anyway, enough about masculine inadequacy. And, talking of masculine inadequacy, you may have gathered from that crap introduction I was given by Ted Crisp that I am Dan Poke. Poke by name…” he leered “…and if any of you fit young chicks’d like to put it to the test by coming round the back afterwards you’ll find out I’m also Poke by nature. So anyone…” he timed the pause expertly “‘…Fancy a Poke’?”
The catchphrase brought in its predictable harvest of delirious recognition. Jude, as the recipient of one of his come-on cards, wondered whether he did actually get many offers of sex backstage after gigs. Comedy had been described as ‘the new rock ‘n’ roll’, so maybe it had its groupies too.
As the laughter and applause began to die, the comedian went on, “It’s no fun, you know, being born with a name that’s a four-letter word.” His face took on an expression of piety. “Now I hope nobody out here is offended by four-letter words…” Then looked round at his audience in dismay and said, “Oh, fuck!” The younger and more drunken contingent gave an automatic laugh at the word. The older Crown and Anchor regulars were silent.
Carole and Jude exchanged looks. Carole was trying not to look shocked, but she couldn’t help herself looking disapproving. Jude, who wasn’t particularly bothered by the language, found herself musing on the development of comedy, and how endlessly it could regenerate itself. The ‘alternative’ comedians of the nineteen seventies, though seeming revolutionary with their political stances, their four-letter words and their opening-up of taboo subject matter, were in a direct line of descent from the music-hall comics they so derided. When young, many of that new wave had studiously removed the traditional element of charm from their acts, but with age most of them softened into lovable quiz-show hosts. Someone like Dan Poke traded on his reputation as an enfant terrible, in just the same way that Max Miller had done for an earlier generation. Any affront that he caused was now a very safe kind of affront.
Jude recognized exactly the kind of man Dan Poke was, brash on the exterior, a mass of anxieties and paranoia inside. She had once had a long relationship with a comedian. It had been the most dispiriting part of what had been generally speaking an upbeat life.
“Actually,” the comedian went on, “I was talking to my old mate Ted Crisp about this gig earlier this evening, and he asked me if I could moderate my language for the fine folk of Fethering. He said, ‘Dan, Dan, cut out all the four-letter words.’ I said to him, ‘Ted, if I cut out all the four-letter words, I won’t have any fucking act left!’” Another knee-jerk laugh from the young.
“You all know Ted Crisp, don’t you? He’s the guy who gave me that crap introduction – you know, looks like a brush that’s been down the toilet a few times too often. Last time I saw something that furry round the edges, it was bit of cheese I’d left in the fridge for a month.
“I’ve known Ted since we were on the stand-up circuit together. He saw the light, mind you, and gave it up – good thing too. God, you think my act’s crap – you should have heard Ted’s. There’ve been funnier lines than his queuing up in chapels of rest.
“So Ted became a publican – here in the Crown and Anchor, in Fethering – the Jewel of the Costa Geriatrica. Do you know, there’s only one day of the week when you can tell if a resident of Fethering is alive. Thursday – yeah, some of them move then. And if one doesn’t go and collect his pension, then you know he’s snuffed it.
“Still, Ted’s done wonders with this pub. He’s made it one of the premier tourist destinations on the south coast – ’ Dan Poke paused and grinned wickedly – ’ …for people who want to get food poisoning…”
Carole and Jude glanced nervously across to the landlord. He looked as if he’d been slapped in the face.
“Actually,” Dan Poke continued, “I haven’t had food poisoning for a long time – not since I last had a meal cooked by Ted Crisp, as it happens. Ooh, how embarrassing that was. ‘Cause I got lucky that night and I got this girl in bed with me…like I said, ladies, Poke by name and…Anyway, I was at it with this chick and suddenly…the food poisoning hit me! Honestly, I didn’t know whether I was coming or going!
“Tell you, it’s hard to maintain the old romantic atmosphere when you’ve got this great spout of shit coming out your arse. Also it was in her bed. Dead embarrassing. I always like to feel I’ve left my mark on a woman, but not like that. I met the same girl again at a club quite recently. I said, ‘Do you remember me?’ She said, ‘Oh yes. I may not be any good with names, but I never forget faeces!’”
This joke was a bit too subtle for the younger audience. The older ones, who got it, didn’t laugh. But that didn’t slow down the irrepressible Dan Poke. He was into his riff about the poisoned scallops, and nothing was going to deflect him from it. “Nasty business, food poisoning, though, isn’t it? Like a seriously unfunny version of a woman-in-bed-with-two-men sandwich – getting it both ends. The shits and the vomiting. You have to be a bloody contortionist to sit on the lav and bend over it at the same time!
“Ooh – bit of advice about vomiting. Serious bit – ‘author’s message’.” He paused and took on an expression of mock-seriousness. “‘Never throw up into the wind…’ though, mind you, it is a way of getting your own back!
“Anyway, enough about food poisoning…” Thank God, thought Carole and Jude. But, of course, he couldn’t leave it there. “Food poisoning – which is of course the Crown and Anchor’s signature dish – followed of course by a signature dash to the loo!”
Under his beard Ted Crisp’s face was contorted with fury.