The Fethering Mysteries 10; The Poisoning in the Pub

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 led 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.

Dan Poke looked around at his audience as if for the first time. “So who’ve we got in tonight? Well, I know we’ve got some people from Fethering, I can recognize them by that look on their faces – it’s called rigor mortis. You know how you can tell the corpse from the guests at a Fethering funeral? The answer is: you can’t.

“And I know we’ve got some people from Portsmouth in tonight.” His words were greeted by a raucous roar from the leather-clad brigade. “Bloody Middy crowd. I used to drink there. Used to be very rough – tell you, the tarts were so dirty they didn’t carry condoms for their punters – just masks. And God knows what the landlord did to the beer, but you’d get waterlogged there before you got drunk.”

The bikers continued to guffaw as the comedian went on. “Ah. Portsmouth. Happy times. You know, I lost my virginity in Portsmouth…Well, I say ‘lost it’ – I think, being Portsmouth, it got nicked. Of course, Portsmouth is a naval town. Funny word, isn’t it? When you hear it, you think of belly buttons. Mind you, I’ve never heard Portsmouth described as the navel of the world…though I have heard it described as the arsehole of the world!” Those members of the audience for whom rude words didn’t need to have jokes attached roared their appreciation. “Actually, that’s not my view, it was said to me by some git I met at a gig in Portsmouth. He said, “Portsmouth is the arsehole of the world.” I said to him, “Oh yes, and are you just passing through?””

It took some of the crowd a moment or two to get that one, but when they did, they screamed and burst into applause. Jude, who’d heard the line many times before, reflected again on comedy as the perfect examplar of recycling. No joke was too old to be pressed into service. Dusted down, freshened up with a topical reference, given extra punch by a four-letter word, and there was still going to be someone out there who hadn’t heard it before. Anyway, for fans of comedy, originality is often less important than familiarity. Many school playgrounds have echoed to bad impersonations and lines from The Goon Show, Monty Python, Blackadder, The Office or whatever the hit of the moment happened to be. And the people who buy all those comedy CDs and DVDs clearly have a taste for endlessly rewatching their favourites.

So Jude wasn’t at all surprised when at one point in his set, Dan Poke did a riff on dogs that could have been delivered by any comedian of the past fifty years – and probably longer. “I had a dog once,” he began. “Not a complete dog, you understand. No, he’d been neutered. Oh, come on, I believe in calling a spayed a spayed. And I took my dog for a walk in the woods – stopped between four trees. He was so confused he didn’t have a leg to stand on. But my dog liked walks – nothing he enjoyed better than going for a tramp in the woods. Made all the tramps bloody furious, though.”

And so Dan Poke’s gig at the Crown and Anchor, Fethering, continued.