Some sort of homage to Barry Cryer (1935-2022)

Teddy Frobisher and Gerry Barrington visited…

Noswaith dda hogiau! Dewch i mewn!

What?

Oh, how demoralising! Now what can I get you to drink?

I’d like some hard liquor and Gerry’s on the rough cider.

Ouzo?

Yes, but it’s ok I’m wearing a hessian thong.

Will this three-litre bottle of White Lightning do, Gerry? It’s 7.5% proof. There’s no need to snatch. Don’t you even want a glass?

Gerry’s not been feeling himself lately. He often comes over a little queer.

Who, that Malaysian waiter?

No, what I mean is he’s got a number of health issues.

I’m so sorry to hear that, what sort of issues?

Do you want the list?

I’ll empty this bag of powder and get my chopper out.

Well, starting at the feet and working upwards: bunions, corns, verrucas, ingrowing toenails, fungal infections, fallen arches, pigeon toes, flat feet, splay feet…

At this rate we’ll be here all night before we get to his knock-knees! I think I get the picture Teddy, the poor sod’s a veritable encyclopedia of ailments. How about you, what have you been up to?

The other day I was doing some shopping when I saw someone who looked exactly like the Archbishop of Wales waiting at a bus-stop. I simply had to ask him if he was the Archbishop, but when I approached him he just told me to fuck off. It’s such a pity – now I’ll never know whether he was or not.

Any luck getting work?

My great passion is the theatre, people still talk in hushed tones about my Coriolanus and my Bottom, so I’m keeping an eye out for openings.

Indeed, you were really fulfilled during your years at the Tivoli going round in the intermission with a little torch selling ice-creams and peanuts. By the way, I’m developing an interest in ornithology and I’ve now got an aviary in the garden. I can’t wait for you to examine my woodcock, pullet and swallow.

I have a new friend who has a collection of vintage wines. He has notable French reds from 1958 and 1977 and next week he’s going to let me try a full-bodied ’69 in his cellar.

I’ve made some new friends too. I’ve met an entomologist with a fascinating collection of moths and beetles who allows me to go through his flies, and a farm-hand who breeds rare animals and shows me his gigantic ox.

As for hobbies, I’ve developed a cigar habit and I do like to get my mouth around 8″ of finest Cuban. I also frequent the pub a lot and enjoy a local inn most nights.

From time to time I do a little caddying on the golf course. Whenever the pro is stuck in an awkward lay, I’m there to pull out his wood and niblet.

I keep a few lobster pots off the coast. I go out in the boat, weigh anchor and toss a large buoy over the side. Back on the beach I like to lick the nuts off a Neapolitan.

A roofer came round last week and I got felt laid down in the loft.

I had to hire a car mechanic to service my dipstick and big end.

I’ve joined a cheese-tasting club and get a regular mouthful of Leicester on Jacob’s. Did I tell you I’ve got a dog? It’s time to let me whippet out.

We’re getting a dog, it’s a shih tzu/poodle cross.

What are they called, tzoodles?

No, shitty-poos.

Teddy, we’ve got to stop this or we’ll get fingered by the fuzz.

Look, Gerry’s finished that cider and wants more. I can tell by the hand gestures and the way he’s foaming at the mouth.

I’m alarmed.

Don’t be – he sobers up after the second flagon.

Isn’t that a sure sign of chronic late-stage alcoholism?

Shh! That word isn’t used anymore, it’s pejorative, judgmental and objectifying. The correct term is Alcohol Use Disorder.

Oh, he’s coming round…

Have you heard the one about the woman who bought a parrot from a brothel for her husband? He had wanted a parrot for years but they were always too expensive. But this one only cost £20 because it had learnt a lot of filthy language and swearwords. As soon as her husband came home from work, the parrot said “Hullo Keith”…