Hello. Hello. Hammersmith Odeon, London. Hello everybody, it's nice... I don't know, I can't really say it's nice to be back, I've been here for a fucking fortnight. It's been good. Because a lot of things have happened, you know, a lot of silly things, as far as I'm concerned, in fact. Like, do you remember, about two weeks ago or something, Doomsday! Astrologers, they say it was like the end of the world. Stay at home. All those limp-wristed guys on television: "Stay at home, it's Doomsday. Because Uranus is in the cusp of Saturn, and Gemini is rising. And it's... the whole fucking thing is in a dreadful state. So, whatever you do, get under the fucking bed, and don't move a muscle, 'cause you are all fucked. Basically." Fucking nothing happened, I was so disappointed! I thought it was the end of the world, I thought, fuck it, I'll just stay in my bed. Not a bloody sausage, I was so bloody dis... And last week, there was a big storm on the sun. Whusshh. It's gonna effect radio, it's gonna effect this, and planes are gonna fall out of the sky. Fuck all! Nothing! So can we put an end to this. Stop heaving experts onto the telly, especially astrologers. I mean, Doomsday! They were back on the following day: "Oh, you're a Gemini, I can tell. [You've got the???] blue eyes." Fuck off! Let's put the [???] to bed, once and for all. Yeah. Tarot cards, they're fucking primitive. No.

Maggie Thatcher. Yeah. She was on telly... Well, Carol stormed out, I hear, y'know. I was broken hearted. It was in the Sun, it must be true. I think she ran up to fuck with Rupert Murdock, and told him all about it. No. Only wish her fucking brother had run a home, but... Maggie was on the telly last night, speaking from Chicago. All the Torys are shitting themselves "You're gonna drop us in it." Shitting themselves "Oh God, she coming back, oh no, she'll spank us." And she said, she's against the single European currency, because she doesn't want an unelected body farting about with the finances of this country. So I can only imagine, she's going to disband the House of Lords.

No, but parliament kills me. I mean... the thing that's been getting me, since I came back - I came back a month ago from America - was this raging thing about Pit Bulls. I mean, it's the same in America, since [???] dogs are biting [???] forget them [???] It's the ugliest looking dog in the world. Them pit bulls are bought by those spectacular tattooed fuckwits, you know. It's a shark on a leash, isn't it, this pointy head, the eyes at the corners, a row of teeth and an arsehole. And Parliament, they were going to kill them all. "Let's shoot the fuckers." "No, let's cut the balls off." "Let's shoot them, and cut the balls off." "No, let's cut the balls off first, then shoot the fuckers." "Shooting's too good for them, let's give them a hefty kick in the balls." And you know what, they sat up till four o'clock in the morning, and they all get pissed and had a sing-song. You see, that's Paliament. You see, they lead you believe that they make decisions in there, and the laws. No they don't. It's a big shockabsorber, Parliament. Good ideas go in and they fucking bash them about, and they fuck them up and doing things... take them to committee, and out of committee and then another wee committee and a subcommittee. And it comes out a shadow of its former self, you know, of use to no bugger. The dogs, will we shoot them, or will we cut their balls off? Decision: We'll make people register them at the post office. Now, that's got the tattooed fuckwits shaking in their shoes. "Oh no, the post office! What're we gonna do? Ooohh. Oh, I don't even know where my savings book is. Oohhh. "

See, I remember those bastards. When I was a child, it was Alsatians, then. You know, there were no such thing as a Pit Bull thing. Spit bu... motherf.. And now big japa... Have you seen the Japanese one? It's like a fucking horse. What do those wee Japanese want with a big fucking dog like that? Maybe they ride it along to the Honda factory, or something. I don't know. I thought a Rottweiler was a fucking running shoe, you know. That's what it sounds like. "A great good pair of Rottweilers." When I was a boy, it was Alsatians. They now call them German Shepherds. Fucking Alsatians, that's what they are. "German Shepherd" gives them that country feel. Bahhhh. Bahhhh. "Here German Shepherd. Mehhh nehhh. (Whistle) German Boy. (Whistle) Come round. (Whistle) Hop, hop, bring them round, past them all, that's a wee dog. (Whistle) Get the big blind one, and put it behind the wall there. That's it. (Whistle)"

Sheep shagging is very good for you, I'm told. I have never done this. It's one of the things I'm keeping for when the doctor tells me, I've got cancer, you know. I've got a list of things I'd like to try, you know. So I'll be behind the farm wall with a syringe with the heroin. "Right we are, bring the fucking sheep over." Apparently you take them to the edge of a mountain for best effect. They push back better, I'm told. We take it very seriously in Scotland, oh yes, you can buy wee suspenders for them and all that, blindfolds. Blindfolds and suspenders. Bahhh. "Oh, I love it when you're moaning like that." Bahhh. "Oh."

You see, a German Shepherd was called a German Shepherd in the first place, and then the first world war came, and it was the least fashionable thing on earth to be German, so they called them Alsatian. But now the people are into having their arse bitten off by Alsatians, it's back to being a German Shepherd again. Rottweilers, I hadn't even heard about them until a couple of years ago, but they have gotten very popular among the tattooed fraternity. I rememeber as a child those guys... the dogs were black, the blacker the better, with big red eyes, slopping at the mouth. "Heel, heel." Grrrrr. "Sultan. Heel Sultan. Easy Gung. Gunga, heel Gunga. It won't bite you, unless you annoy it." they would say, and then they wouldn't tell you, what annoys the fucking maniac. It's got the fixed stare at your balls and the slopper, going "Arrrff." Smiling really fucking annoys it. And then they would say "It can smell fear." "Oho. No surprise, I just shit myself." Dogs, in my opinion, are nice things. They are not all Rottweilers and... All last week, the family wasn't here, I had my dog in the dressing room, 'cause vigilanties have gone round shooting dogs. And the kind of people who do that, don't know anything. They don't know what a Rottweiler looks like, so they'll shoot every fucking... boom! "It's a poodle." "I thought it was a baby Rottweiler." Boom! "I thought it was a gay Pit Bull Terrier."

Dogs are nice. My dog is nice, and she's very clever. Very cl... As a matter of fact all dogs... when did you last see a dog stepping in a human shit? I rest my case. They are good things, and they have some great bits. I envy some doggy things. Like sex. Dogs have a season. And I think that would be good for us. But when they're not in season, they just go on with it, they have a weird life. Sit! Stand up! Go for a walk! Sit! Stand up! Eat your dinner! Lie down! Sit over there! Come here! Go for a fucking walk again! Have a piss! Go for a walk! Here, catch the ball! "Fuck it... " Lie down! Stand up! Eat the ball! Eat your dinner. Go over there! Lie down! Try not to fart! "Oh, fuck." Their lives are all bland, and then one day. Sniff, sniff. Sit! "Fuck you." This ... power from somewhere. Sniff, sniff. Now, I would like that. So, a season would be a good thing for us all. For the chatting-up-inept department. It would be hard, y'know, you would have to maybe spray you wife. Pssssst. And when the time came, the doorstep. Psssst. The garden's full of guys going "whooohoooo". Your daughter locked in a room upstairs. Guys at the door, ding-dong. "Close your door then, the door then. Fuck off, go, don't come at that door, I'll kill you. Fuck off. On your bike."

Life could be quite bad, but for the single guys, it would be such a godsend, I think. You see, it's not easy being a man, and men are under pressure. The dog's sexlife - they just grab the first one they're passing. Sniff. "Yeah, you'll do." It is the women's movement. Women are demanding things. "Give me things! Give things to me! Do exotic things, and plenty of them! Tonight, I think I'll have multiple orgasms, thank you." "Why, what's that?" "Go for it, my boy, plenty of orgasms, I'll tell you when to stop."

No sooner had we found the clitoris, than we were in search of the G-spot. I don't think you can find that with a fucking wetsuit and a divers helmet. I know gynecologists who don't believe in it.

And it is difficult to be a man. I mean, the men's movement in America, has taken the country by storm. People are all meeting and... But you see films of the women's movement: "We want this, and that! We demand a share in that, and most of that! Some of this, and fucking all of that! Less of that, and more of this, and fucking plenty of this. And another thing, we want it now, I want it yesterday, I want fucking more tomorrow, and the demands will all be changed then, so fucking stay awake!" Stay well awake, but you'd probably remain awake, because you'll be fucking sleeping in the wet bed.

Now. The men's movement. The cameras have gone to meetings of the men's movement. They are all crying "My father wouldn't talk to me... (sob sob)" I don't know what the fuck has happened. We used to be hairy hunters. "I am Man the Hunter, therefore I'm going to get pissed." It made sense to us. My wife thought a pint was that size. "I'm away for a pint." "Where have you been?" "I was out for a pint."

But sex and this effect on sex is devastating. Now, the most awfull thing we are subjected to, as men, is this longevity of sex. It's shagging away for a fortnight. That's not the idea, I don't think it was supposed to be like that. Like press-ups, twenty-nine, twenty-eight... forty-seven, forty-eight.. roll on ... morning. You know, thinking about Russian tractors. Who won the Scottish Cup in 1953. Name the team, Henderson, McDonald, McCallum... Twelve condoms on, in case you feel anything. If you are in a hotel room, right, you are in a hotel room, and there's somebody next door banging away, it happens quite a lot. [???] You don't hear a man shouting "Yes! More!" It's the woman. "More! Mooore! More! Oh yes! More! More of that! More! Mooore!" The guy says "What do you think it's a fucking telescope, I've got here? One size fits all, my dear." "Yes! Oh yes! Yes! Oh yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh yes! Yes! Yeees! Yes! Oh yeees!" The guy saying "I don't remember asking you a fucking question." "Faster! Faster, faster!" "Oh, Jesus Christ" "Faster, faster! That's it! Faster, faster!" My arse is just a blur of human... "Faster! Faster! Faster! That's it! Faster! Faster! Faster! Faster!" The fucking sweat is blinding me. "Move your leg. Move your leg. Faster. Move your other leg." I said "[???] that's it." "Up on elbow, one elbow. Faster! Faster!" [???] "Say something, something, something. Say something sexy, something sexy, something sexy! Faster! Something sexy, something sexy. Swear, something fucking sexy." You are now checking the carpet, to see if any of your tattoos has slid off. "Faster! Faster! Something sexy! Something sexy! Something sexy! Move your knee! Move your elbow. Move your [???]." You're loosing the erection. There's too fucking much to remember. It's unfair.

Dogs, on the other hand, they are great at it, you know. They just jump on, they've got no ethnic bar, they've got no colour bar, religious... nothing comes into it, anybody.. "On you go, there you are!" Three legs, a fucking patch over one eye. A Great Dane and a Chihuahua fucking their brains out. They do not care, and they do it with such dedication. They get on there, their arse is tucked in, the [???], the tongue hanging out, the eyes rolling back, the legs going like that. Yees, blelele, fucking... You don't have dogs writing to magazines, saying "I have trouble achieving orgasm." The thing's coming and going like a machine. And all comers, "Come on lads, fucking great." "Urr, urr, urr." Millions of them, a big mountain of dogs. A big hairy mount vibrating. "That's my ear!" "Fuck it! Who cares?" The bitch left fifteen minutes ago. Oh, I'm all for it. Aye, it's a faboulous way to be. "Yes, tonight's the night."

We, on the other hand, have to dress up. I've always had problems in that department. No-one tells you at school, they teach you fucking algebra, of no use to any living being. "Connolly, one A plus one B?" "What? Sorry?" "One A plus one B?" "You're taking the piss..." "I'll ask you again, Connolly. One A plus one B?" "I dont know. Numbers only, I don't know how you add letters. I don't remember the B-times table. Fuck. One B's B, two Bs is a couple of Bs. Three Bs is a couple of Bs and the one we spoke about in the first place. What's that all about?" [???] I mean, I would love to meet somebody, who found a use for the fucking algebra, when they left. It's unreal, isn't it? Now they threw me out at fifteen. The headmaster... on the day I was fifteen the headmaster appeared on the veranda with a loudhailer. "Now hear this. Everyone who has reached the age of fifteen, stand over there. Except for those, who don't know what one A plus one B is. They can fuck off!" They don't tell you how to chat up women, or anything like that. How to make money, there should be a class: "How to make serious dole." And how to chat up women: "How to get laid before you die." You know, that whole courtship thing, and [rabbit, rabbit ???] talk, talk [???].

I'm the wrong fucking shape, or something, modern stuff doesn't sit well on me. A guy gave me a watch, it's my manager, it's a magnificent watch. It's gold and fabbing groovy. A policeman asked me, where I've got it. You know, when you are a handsome guy, and you wear these things, people say "That's a lovely watch." When you are me, they say "Where did you get that?" You buy a new car, and they pull you in, y'know. You look as if you nicked it someplace. You just got that kind of look about you, you know what I mean? But in the clothing sense, I was in Sydney, Australia, that's right, and I saw a man, far, far worse than me. It gave me such hope, I felt like a male model. I followed him for, oh, four blocks. "Look at this man!" I was pointing to him. People were.. a small gang joined, we [???] "Hey, you stupid looking bugger." He had a pale blue crimpolene safari suit. Now, that's enough to get you put away, as far as I'm concerned. Because I am into animal rights, and killing baby crimpols is just fucking not... frankly, it's just not on. And have you any idea, how many crimpols it take to make a safari suit, a fucking lot. Hit them with big sticks and... aw, come on! No, you know, every crimpol that dies, part of me dies. No. But that wasn't all, I mean a crimpo.. a pale blue safari crimpolene suit is bad, it's pretty bad, but... I must tell you, the jacket had short sleeves, right. It's long trousers, but the jacket had short sleeves. And he was wearing a long sleeved shirt. Ha-ha-ha. I followed him [???]. "Come, look at this." It was the best thing I've seen, since I saw a guy once with platform shoes and a kilt. Oh God, it was brill-all.

But my shoes. My mother bought me these... this aunt, she bought me these shoes. And on that first day at school, people thought there must be something wrong with me, I was disabled or something. [??? The fucking soles were knit and bent until I was in third year. ???] Everything they got me was awful. Underpants, I wore... My underpants, they were down to here, they were huge. Fold upon fold, wave upon wave of airtex material. When I took my trousers off at night, I looked like a Greek folkdanser. And there was no like fly, there was just a slit. Your willy just fell out. Flop, flip, flippity-flop. And the most... the single most uncomfortable garment I can remember in my whole life, were a pair of tweed trousers. These trousers thought I was edible, right. I think they had them knitted for me, by some fucking pervert in the highlands. Knitted from barbed wire and camels pubic hair. Jeez. [???] That and my shoes. It was terrible. And my willy would fall out and rub up and down my tweeds. Aw, fucking hell, aw. The thing was red raw. Glowing in the dark. Beep-beep-beep. Teachers saying "Connolly, is that a torch in your pocket?" Unbelievable. My whole life has been like that. It's a very curi.. I'm not complaining, but it's just when you meet people whose life hasn't been like that, you think "Maybe I'm a bit weird or something."

I was in Scotland, just a couple of weeks ago. Before I started... the weekend before I started in here, and my... I met my sister, I went to see my sister, and she gave me some pictures of myself. You know, as a child. I don't have many pictures of myself as a child, for reasons we won't go into. For reasons the Scottish press love fucking going into, but for reason we won't... But I... when I looked at these... I felt a stark... it was frightening... there was me on the beach. Look, if you ask your Scottish friends, or if you are Scottish yourself, you know some Scottish people, you ask them to show you their holiday pictures. And I guarantee that every Scottish pal you have, has a picture of himself, or herself, on the beach in wellies and a raincoat. At an angle like that. Every Scottish child had the same haircut, it's a horisontal mohikan. And this stare, it the same look as we see people coming off after being three days on the north face of the Eiger. That expression of an acid dropper on a skateboard. Weird. I remember the misery of those holidays where your wellies slowly filling with drizzle, although, in a way, they were better than the Spanish cheepo, you know.

I was in Ibiza once. I will never forget it, it's tatooed on the inside of my head. We checked in. I had two children then, I was married before. And I was unpacking, and I'm giving everybody a lecture."Don't drink the water, right? I've got a bottle, your daddy's...I've put the bottle over here, now listen to your dad. The bottle's there. That one says 'Evian', see, E-Ve-E-An, Evian. That's the water. You even brush your teeth with it. Don't drink...OK? That's good." Getting ready for business, so I'm unpacking here. My son drank the water, slaked his thirst as was his want, and then filled the bottle from the tap, unknown to me. A good boy. We all agreed he was a nice boy, when he got out of the hospital. A sound thrashing was delivered. But, I was halfway to God, I could die for a drink, as it was a good way to show the children not to drink... "Right, are you watching children? this is me drinking the water from the bottle" (makes drinking sound). "Oh, nice water". Continued with the unpacking, farting about, mess...well, literally farting about. Not the thing you wish.. "God, I'm gonna fart". You don't want to fart all over your family, you know? I'll go out on the veranda. So I did the man-needing-to-fart-getting-out-of-the-room walk. "So, the view's lovely out here, when you're finished unpacking, you must come out (makes farting sound). Yeah, fabulous out here (fart sound). Yeah, lalalala (fart sound) lalala. (singing) Today, I'm off to Sunny... (fart sound) lalala (fart sound followed by diarrhea sound). My heart stopped, as I felt the fourth fart run behind my knee. Oh my god. And I ran from the knees down into the toilet, and I locked the door behind me. I whipped the tweeds down in mid-run. Sat on the toilet not a second too soon. (diarrhea sounds) (scream) (diarrhea sounds) "Oh, Jesus" (diarrhea sounds) (scream) (diarrhea sounds) It was like sulphuric acid. (Scream) (diarrhea sounds) I was screaming. My arse was red raw, hanging in tatters. "Jesus, I'm going to need a hose-down." (quiet diarrhea sounds) "Oh my god." Oh, jeremy, I went to stand up. (loud diarrhea sounds) Away again. (diarrhea sounds) It was worse. (scream) (diarrhea sounds) The Next thing I hear is my wife has just had a drink. "Open the door." "Fuck off, don't be ridiculous." (diarrhea sounds) "Open the door." "I can't. I'm shitting my brains out." "Will you open this fucking door." "I can't get off the seat." "I'll break the fucking thing down." "The wash-hand basin is on your right as you come in, throw the children into the bath." It was a nightmare. A nightmare. When I came out it was dark. Everybody was asleep. I didn't want to go to bed, in case something awful happened, you know, in the bloody bed, I mean, can you imagine. I paced the room with very short steps, all night.

Don't go. Don't go to Ibiza, stay here. Oh, you mustn't...

When I was twelve... we went to Aberdeen. We went with the school. It was called Fresh Air Fortnight. And it was a brilliant idea. The authorities of Glasgow took Glasgow school children to the countryside. Ostensibly into the clean air, you know, and to make them rosy-cheeked, to make them look like youth hostelers. "Hello! I'm a youth hosteler. I have the anorak, and I look like an apple. Don't I look like an apple? And do you know, what my philosophy is? A stranger's just a friend, I don't know yet. Hahaha." Fuck off! "Oh, is that your attitude?"

So we went to Aberdeen, and we lived in schoolrooms and dormitories, with all these army beds, and we masterbated our brains out for two weeks. That's were wanking got its name. It's those army beds, that's the noise they make. "Wank wank wank wank wank wankwankwankwankwankwankwankwankwank" You can travel the world over, you wil never find a bed that goes "Masterbate ma-ster-bate". So in Scotland we have beds that go "Wank wank wank wank wank" and dogs that goes "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck". A very sexy country.

And during the day, they would take us to factories and stuff, and for, y'know, a wee boy thats good, you know, that's very interesting, but there was a teacher there, that didn't like me, because I couldn't play football. And he... I'm not very good at football, and he would say "Come on, Connolly, you big fucking Jessie" That's what you're called, if you can't play football. "Come on, you big bloody Jessie. Tomorrow we are going swimming in the North Sea." And we did. Now the North Sea... Now Aberdeen is a beach, 'cause it's got sand. There the similarity to beaches ends. That's the North Sea for Christ sake. That's the Arctic Ocean just around the corner. 'Cause the Arctic comes down and then it becomes the Atlantic and splits up into the North Sea. On the horizon there's oil rigs. "Now hear this. All employees must wear survival suits at all times. You wouldn't last two minutes, if you fell into the North Sea. Failure to wear the survival suit will result in instant dismissal." Forty miles away there are women taking their childrens clothes off. "In you go, you big Jessie." I had to get stripped. There was fish looking in the water saying "There's a fucking pale blue guy coming in." Standing there, skinny, muscles like knots in a midgets penis. And my swimming costume, it was that knitted cotton stuff, with a belt and a fucking pocket, the reason for which escapes me completely. None of your Speedo, second skin. This was more your second cardigan. Big wooly number, you know. If you were stupid enough to go in above your waist, they grew, like this. It was absorbent, could drag you to the bottom. You had to grab armfulls, when you were coming out, the crotch was away down here. People could look in and see your willy, if you had one, but in the North Sea, you don't.

I read a magazine. Sumo wrestlers... it was one of those in-flight magazines. Cliff Michelmore, authority on everything, had written it. Sumo wrestlers have such exquisite control of their bodies, they can withdraw their testicles at will. Wuish. So you aim a hefty boot, and they go wuish. Poof. "Is that the best you can do?" I could do it when I was twelve. One foot in and I see the whole fucking lot disappear. An ugly gaping wound. Whole thing shut up to my lungs. I had to get it out with a chimney sweeps brush. This is why Scottish guys don't look sexy on the beach, it's all flopping around here. You go to the Mediteranian or Carrabian people are wandering around with a huge thing... like a baby's arm hanging out of the pram. There's your warm water, lap, lap. The wuish has gone. "Connolly, in the water." "I'm going, I'm going." "Come on, you big bloody Jessie, get in there." I ran down and put my foot in, and my heart stopped. I'd never felt cold like that before, and I heard this weird noise: "Whooouuuiiiiiiii. Whooooouuuuuaaaaiiiiii." "What the fucking hell was that?" It was me! You know the way, when you get a fright. You know, if you go through a dark room, and an icy hand touches you. Inside your leg or something. Nah. You don't go "Oh, what my goodness. Oh, what was that? Oh gosh!" No, you go "Whooooouuuuuaaaaiiiiii." It's something you're not in control of. "Whooouuuiiiiiiii." You can hear it. Normally you can't hear yourself, you kind of feel it, but that you can hear like it's some other bugger. "Whooouuuoooo." It's something deeply primal, something from when we lived up trees, it's stamped in your DNA or something. "Whooooouuuuuaaaaiiiiii." It's closely related to the "Blutherlyooouuuuuhhh." "Oooouuuuoooooo." You know the noise you get, when you shove a new-boiled potato up a donkey's arse. It's exactly the same noise. "Whohohouhohuhu. Ooouuooo." So the other guys are saying "Go in further, you big fucking Jessie." "Oooouuuooooohhh. Ooohhuuuu." And I wandered, up to my knees. I lost the will to live. "Billy!" "Uuhhooop" "Look over there." "Uuuoopp." "Look over there." "Uuoooppp? Uuuhhooo!" There was a guy in a speedboat, a bastard." "Brrrrr." "Uhhooop." Waving. "Uuhooohh." Coming towards me. I didn't want to run, case I fell in. "Uuhooohh." It actually slid in my direction. I hoped it would go away. It got bigger. "Uuhooohh." I will never forget, as long as my arse looks so... I will never forget that wave going up the inside of my thighs. "Uuhooohh." And it kissed the underside of my scrotum. "Aarrrggghhh."

I've never understood it. We don't belong in there. We've no fucking business in the water. The sea's full of shit anyway. I saw it in TV. Malcolm. There's nothing makes me swim faster than pink toilet paper beside me. We've got no fucking business in there. The things that live in there don't like us. They have made it absolutely plain that they don't - they sting us, they fucking... some of them nip us, some of them fucking burn us, some of them like to eat us, or they have arms that stick to us and fucking drown us. When are we going to take the hint, we are not fucking welcome in there. The stones are covered in slippery stuff, you fall and hurt your arse. It's fucking wet and it's uncomfortable and fucking freezing. It's the truth. Our species spent fucking thousands of years getting out, and the first thing we do is run back in. You see them on the [mail???], they are buying that fucking gear, they buy it in the Fulham high street, there are things in the back, and masks, and they get down there, and they see a hole, they go "What's in there?" and they put their hand in. "Oh, yer bastards." they say. That's not a bastard, that's his house. How would you like it, eating your sunday dinner, a big fucking hairy arm come in the window? You'd jab it with the fork. "Fuck off!" you would say, and rightly so. And I'd be the first person to defend you.

What am I talking about?

Ladies and gentlemen of London town, and wherever you come from. It's wonderful talking to you. It's you that causes the atmosphere, it's the sort of commitment from you, you know, you paid money to get in, you phoned your credit card, you got a ticket, bladiladila, you petroled your car, food, drink, you tried to avoid those bastards with the clamps, you tried to find a parking space, tried to find a babysitter for the night, you know, and you can feel that in the room, right. So you go home tonight, live entertainment, you go home to babysitter - you may not have a babysitter. You may not have chidren, you may be a single person. You may go home to your girlfriend's house, your own house, mother's house - you may be gay. You may go home to another wee gay person. Whatever, as you go home tonight, you meet these people, and they say "Hey, how is it g.." and you say "Oh, I laughed, laughed, I fuc... I laughed." "Really, was it that fu...." "It was the funniest.. I laughed." "Really, that's great. What did he say?" "I can't remember." It's like Chinese food, you know, it kind of goes away quickly.

Another thing. Tonight you may find that you say the word "fuck" a little more than you used to. This, too, goes away. When before you would go "Taxi! Ah, they never seem to see me, it's like I'm bloody invisible or something." But tonight you may find you "Taxi! Fuck you!! Why don't you get a fucking job, you like? Wanker!" What's happened to you? Don't worry about it, it goes away. I'm the one who are going to hell, you were only watching. It's been a pleasure talking to you. Goodnight.

Goodnight and thank you.

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