Roskov book 14, p.11
Roskov, Book 14, page 11
‘Respect your wife, listen to her, look after your parents, plan the village crops for a bad day. What the hell is there not to like about it?’
The audience applauded.
Angus asked, ‘Have the Vatican commented yet?’
‘I spoke to them today, and they accept it as fact.’
The MP put in, ‘It doesn’t change that much in the Bible, just a slight emphasis away from a few old attitudes, and it could be interpreted as more political because it doesn’t say: just sit and pray and everything will be fine.’
‘Where will the tablets be kept?’ Ian asked.
‘At the pilgrim site, it’s my land and they’re my tablets technically. But it would be OK if they did a tour and scholars checked them.’
‘Nothing to check,’ the MP put in. ‘Clearly not fakes by the wording. And we know that James landed there, so there’s a clear link.’
Angus asked me, ‘How many pilgrims visit now?’
‘Anything up to five thousand a day, special ferries running from Italy, and we just started building hotels for them, swimming pools, and they can ride on donkeys.
‘There’ll be tents in the summer, like genuine First Century Bedouin tents, and we planted more palm trees, so it should look a little like First Century Israel.’
‘Christian Disneyworld?’ Paul asked, the audience laughing.
I faced him. ‘We may well have characters dressed up like Jesus and his apostles, yes, and Minnie Mouse, because she was there.’
‘Swimming pools for priests and nuns?’ Angus asked.
‘A hotel and pool for ladies, one for men,’ I told him. ‘No hanky-panky amongst the faithful. But there will be a hotel for families as well.’
Angus asked, ‘And how are the IRA lads doing?’
‘The Derry lads – not the IRA lads, there’re about six hundred of them now in Corsica, not being understood by those locals that claim they speak English, on account of the fact the Derry Catholics speak with a slight accent.’
‘More than a slight accent,’ Paul quipped.
I added, ‘The two nursing home complexes in Corsica, being built by the Irish, are coming along.’
Up came an image of a bottle of Mandoch Spring Water. ‘And this is…’
‘A bottle,’ I responded, the audience laughing.
‘Can you expand upon that helpful description?’
‘A bottle of my spring water, which is selling like hot cakes.’
‘How many have you sold?’ Angus asked.
‘Since we started, three days ago, ten thousand bottles a day.’
Ian asked, ‘So are you making a few quid?’
‘My model agency gets thirty percent of the profit, so I get a cut of that, and some tea bags. But I was just paid seventeen million quid, so I’m OK for rent this week.’
‘Will the Express Newspaper question your accounts next year?’ Ian asked.
‘If they do they’ll face High Court Legal action, but I will be due to pay a load of tax I think, unless I donate it all to charity.’
‘Will you?’ Paul asked.
‘A big chunk of it, yes. And the taxpayers of Britain can rest easy knowing that I pay the hotel bills and meals for my security detail.’
‘The public wanted to pay you back but you didn’t take it!’ Ian complained.
‘Yeah, but I got a nice handout from the nice chaps at Met Police.’
‘That was not a handout,’ the MP pointed out. ‘It was a penalty, for them trying hard to kill you, and a life of stress – and paying your bodyguards’ damn hotel rooms!’
‘Well I’m quids-in at the moment, I can pay my rent.’
‘How much investor money sits waiting for your nursing homes?’ Angus asked.
‘On paper there’s three billion quid, and I hope to spend half of that this year, many nursing homes built in Britain and Corsica.’
‘And in an old power station,’ Angus noted.
‘If they award it to us, yes.’
‘Is that in doubt?’ Ian asked.
‘No, because Wandsworth Council want me to buy it and so does the Government, and to build a pensioners’ village – and then fill it. They doubt anyone else could.’
‘And they’d be right,’ the MP put in. ‘All people hate the idea of going into a nursing home, they cry on the way there.’
‘My nursing homes will have so many fun activities that pensioners will want to be back home for a damn rest! They’ll have dancing, swimming pools, a café, a pet centre, a cinema, card games…’
The MP noted, ‘As it should be, our pensioners should not be left to just sit in a chair all day.’
The audience applauded him.
‘And this film in Northern Ireland?’ Angus asked.
‘That was fast,’ I noted.
‘It was on BBC Northern Ireland today.’
‘I’ll fund the film, which is brilliant, and then plug it around Britain and America, Australia, Canada -’
‘So the English speaking countries then,’ Ian quipped.
‘Mostly, yes, because it’s a play on wards in English, be hard for foreigners, not so much the visual gags.’
‘And what will you build in Manchester?’ Angus asked.
‘When I met some ladies from Manchester recently they said: please drop a bomb on the damn place and start over.’
The audience laughed.
‘But that would be cruel, so I’ll build a huge pensioners’ village for up to twenty thousand pensioners, work for many local builders for many years to come, then jobs for locals.
‘And we’ll pull down some old mills and build apartment blocks as well, some regeneration, which we’ve already started in Leicester. You may have seen the article, the death of the British High Street…’
‘I did,’ the MP cut in. ‘And it’s a serious issue thanks to modern out-of-town shopping, our High Streets left to rot.’
‘Well in Leicester I told the council that I would buy-up every single vacant building and convert them to apartments, and one large vacant building will become a Phase Zero for pensioners, right in the town centre.’
‘And Phase Zero is…’ Angus floated.
‘Protected environment housing for elderly and disabled people, a group of apartments with independent people yet a communal area, some activities, good security.
‘It’s not a nursing home, and people could leave or retire abroad, but when they’re in the building they’re safe - and surrounded by other pensioners.’
‘So you’ll buy up the entire street?’ Ian asked.
‘Not all buildings are empty, maybe a third it looks like, but the buildings – which are turn of the century or older – have shops on the ground floor, and above them it’s empty. And above them is often four floors of empty space.
‘By building apartments we’ll attract two demographics, pensioners … and young people working or studying in the city centre. People with families and cars won’t want to be there.
‘So the idea is that the new residents shop local, use the local coffee shops and bars, and regenerate the good old British High Street.’
‘Damned excellent idea,’ the MP put in, the audience applauding.
Ian asked the MP, ‘So remind me, why do we pay taxes to you lot and the Government and not to Roskov directly?’
The audience laughed.
‘Thatcher never cared,’ the MP complained. ‘She lived in her ivory tower, detached from reality.’
Up came an image of the Coventry holiday camp. ‘And this is?’
‘A former holiday camp, which we’ll turn into a soft prison for about six hundred men, and after much debate we decided that we’d call it: The Holiday Camp.’
The audience laughed.
‘Catchy name,’ Paul suggested. ‘Will put the prisoners at ease. Mister Smith, you are hereby sentenced to six months at the holiday camp, get a tan and read a book.’
The audience laughed.
‘My soft prison in Leicester is called The Grafton Road Hotel, full board available. It’s on a sign outside, and some smartarse gave us a review in some hotel brochure. Quiet at night, secure, food is passable, no swimming pool, close to the local amenities.’
The audience and panel laughed.
Ian asked, ‘So what will it be called?’
‘The Coventry Holiday Camp.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yes.’
‘You can’t call it that.’
‘It’s mine, it’s private, so I’ll call it whatever I want.’
‘And the Nottingham prison?’ Angus asked.
‘Already a nickname, The Fish Pond Rooms. It has a fish pond.’
‘I would have never have guessed.’
‘Actual name is Shortlands Soft Prison, because of the village of Shortlands nearby.’
‘And what will your nursing homes be called?’ Angus asked.
‘Those in Corsica all have names, of wives of men involved, first house is Frances House. There’ll be a Rita House and a Frieda House.’
‘And here?’ Ian asked.
‘We haven’t decided yet. But you can be sure that none will be named after Thatcher. I may name the first one The Groovy Disco House.’
The audience laughed.
Ian began, ‘Many of the residents used to be groovy disco people, in the sixties, so why not.’
Paul put in, ‘If they’re eighty now, they were fifty in the sixties, a bit old to be groovy. They would have been the war generation.’
‘So maybe we’ll name it Vera Lynne House,’ I suggested.
‘There is one,’ Paul put in. ‘In London.’
‘So it’ll be Vera Lynne’s Poor Cousins’ House,’ Ian suggested, the audience laughing.
‘I’ll find some Leicester heroes from the war and name it after them, us poor cousins in Lee-eye-kester,’ I suggested.
‘So it could be Roskov House then,’ Ian quipped, making me smile.
‘That was the First World War,’ Angus corrected him.
‘For all you know I was German in the Second World War,’ I told them.
‘Unlikely, to be reincarnated as a Nazi,’ Ian suggested. ‘And why are you now only 95% atheist?’
‘Because … I know things that you don’t, not yet, and the evidence is hard to ignore by a sane person.’
‘He’s identical to you, has your name, even your handwriting, and you inherited his house,’ Ian quipped. ‘Mere coincidence.’
‘Are you atheist?’ I asked him.
‘Yes.’
‘But you are trying hard to prove that God reincarnates people, so are you sure … that you’re 100% atheist?’
‘I choose to be, yes, because as with you … if I met God I’d have some awkward questions for him about the state of this planet.’
Angus faced me. ‘And if someday they prove that you were reincarnated, would you start going to church?’
‘No, because I would still have some awkward questions for God, us rats in the maze down here. I mean, God creates mankind, we have free will, God goes away and is never seen, ever, so … what the hell is the point of even discussing him?
‘Never seen him, never will, he doesn’t get involved, but we’re supposed to thank him for creating us and never guiding us or sending a postcard, it’s just us slaughtering ourselves as we over-populate and pollute the planet and fight wars.’
The audience applauded.
I continued, ‘It’s us looking after us, so we need to accept that and get on with and cooperate with each other, to save the planet before it’s too late.’
Again they applauded.
I finished, ‘We don’t need God, and I think that’s the message - not to rely on anyone but ourselves, all branches of mankind working together and cooperating for the greater good.
‘And a smart person might be forgiven for thinking that we’re better off with no contact from God, because if we did have that contact then people would stop worrying about the planet and the future.
‘At the risk of contradicting myself, he’s staying away and rightly so, for our benefit, because if he appeared to us then a lot of people would give up even making an effort to get out of bed.
‘If I was a religious person I might be angry at God for staying away, but then I might also recognise that it’s the right thing to do, so that we do work hard and rely on each other and not trust to hope alone.’
Ian asked, ‘And if you met him, what would you say?’
‘Stay away, yes, for our benefit, and … thanks for 70s disco music, pine trees, sandy beaches and cheesecake.’
The audience laughed.
The MP put in, ‘Maybe he works behind the scenes, through people like you.’
‘A postcard now and then might be nice,’ I quipped. ‘Watch out for the assassins tomorrow lunchtime, hope the family are well.’
‘You did get tip-offs though,’ Ian pointed out.
‘From mere mortals, yes, perhaps guided by a mighty hand. We’ll never know.’
Angus faced me. ‘You’re just twenty years old and with a few billion quid in your account, the world’s best ladies on your arm. So yeah, God really hates you.’
The audience laughed as I smiled.
‘OK, so I have a few things to be grateful for. Thanks mum and dad for my genes and my good looks.’
Angus began, ‘You’re also now involved in burglar alarms…’
‘Yes, specially designed for pensioners and the vulnerable, an automated system that can send a message to my charity - for someone to rush around, or call the police.
‘We hope to mass-produce them cheaply and put them in the homes of all pensioners who wish to have one, or disabled people.
‘We also have a wristband with a small device the size of a watch, and if you fall down or feel very sick you press the watch for three seconds and it links to a device in your house.
‘That device sends a message to our carers, or it will in the near future, and help can rush around. Everyone in our nursing homes will be offered one, and people in Phase Two will be mandated to have one, to call for assistance.’
‘What’s that?’ Paul asked as he looked left. ‘Not another rat!’
I looked. ‘A sparrow. Come here little sparrow…’
We all faced the bird. It flew across the studio, flew back and landed on a camera, then landed right in front of me.
‘Is that a sign from God?’ Paul asked. ‘Because the Health and Safety people will go nuts. So please let it be a sign from God instead! Quick, ask it some philosophical questions.’
The audience laughed loudly as I extended a finger, the sparrow hopping onto my hand. I lifted it up. ‘No good you hanging around, you can’t read the news … not without weeks of training that is, and look at those skinny legs.’
The audience laughed loudly.
I put it on my shoulder. ‘Stay there, we’ll get you out safely, you need to avoid the traps they laid for the rats.’
‘We can’t do a show with a sparrow sat on your bloody shoulder!’ Ian complained.
‘Why not?’ I argued.
Angus glanced at the sparrow as it glanced back at him. ‘So, Ricky, what’s next for you?’
‘Labour Party Conference in a few days, but for that I’ll have a stuffed parrot on my shoulder as usual. Tomorrow I have a big pow-wow about nursing homes, and how we’ll run them.’
Angus glanced at the sparrow again. ‘Just to be clear, the sparrow doesn’t get paid.’
‘I don’t get paid. Am I supposed to be paid?’
‘No, you’re a guest,’ Ian told me.
I faced the sparrow. ‘Tough luck, little fella, we don’t get paid for this gig. Go shit on someone’s head.’
Ian asked, ‘Is your house full of animals?’
‘No, not a one. We did rescue a baby squirrel, fed him, then he just went, not so much as a thank-you, no postcard. Kids, eh, ungrateful little sods.’
‘You don’t have a cat or a dog?’ Angus asked me.
‘If I did they’d starve, I’m away a great deal.’
‘And Bonza is living with you now…’
‘Sorry, I do I have a child at home, yes, a big one that eats a lot.’ They laughed. ‘His lovely girlfriend kicked him out, something about him being a fat drunk that farts a lot.’ The audience laughed. ‘I mean, that’s no reason to kick a man out.’
Paul began, ‘Thankfully, no.’
The audience laughed as I stared at him.
Paul added, ‘What? I’m just saying … that’s not a reason to kick a man out.’
I began, ‘Anyway, Bonza is now working with me on projects, and he’s way smarter than his ex believes, and he wants to be a Labour MP like our friend here.’
Angus faced the MP. ‘And if you could go back and start over?’
‘I’d start the politics earlier. It’s a wretched job in a wretched system, hard to get anything done, but that’s no reason not to try and make things better.’
The sparrow flew onto Angus’s head, the audience laughing.
Without moving his head, and glancing up under his eyebrows, Angus began, ‘Well that’s all we have time for tonight as I struggle to maintain some semblance of professionalism and dignity, so it’s thank you from Paul and Ian, and thank you not to Leicester Boy for putting a bird on my head. Goodnight.’
I laughed at Angus as he tried to maintain some dignity, and failed.
Angus noted, ‘I can feel something wet on my head.’
I leant in. ‘That’s bird shit.’
The audience and panel laughed loudly, apart from Angus, who sat looking peeved.
Angus began, ‘Never work with kids or animals, or Roskov. Does anyone have some tissue please?’
I leant in. ‘You’re thinning a bit on top.’
Without turning his head, Angus replied, ‘Why don’t you fuck off!’
‘Oh gawd,’ Paul let out. ‘I need a few beers and a loud fart.’
‘Cut!’ came from the floor manager.
At 9pm on BBC2 the programme aired, plugged heavily on BBC1 first. At the end, the lads in my lounge all laughed loudly at Angus’s image, and the BBC had bleeped over him telling me to fuck off.
Switching to the BBC1 news, they were soon showing the sparrow, and mildly criticising me, as if the bird has been my fault. They then showed many real clips of presenters from around the world being attacked by animals.
