I have a scroll I figured should be worth a few grand and I need cash bad. So I took it along to a filming of the BBC’s hit show Antiques Roadshow. The place was packed but eventually it’s my turn. We had to wait a bit longer as they wanted the cameras to film us -my balls twitch at this- they don’t just film any old shit. Only the good stuff. Eventually they’re ready and this old guy is looking at my scroll and we’re going through where it came from -great great great granddad yadda yadda yadda- and you know, this old guy is really into it. He’s really digging it and I’m starting to think fucking. Big. Bucks. You know? Pay off the catalogue and, hey, who knows, maybe a Subaru.
Yeah, so this guy who himself is an antique, is practically having a seizure over the history of my scroll and I’m all, like, “yeah, yeah, yeah!” not even listening, just waiting for the money shot. Like Muttley the dog.
He finishes and he goes, “now onto value”, and my heart is going like the clappers. Somehow in my head I’ve got this scroll up to nearly a cool mil in value, just from how excited this old guy is. I’m thinking one of those smart places in Spain with the golfer, laser eye surgery, the works.
“As a historical piece it’s just about priceless,” he goes and I nearly black out. How much is priceless I’m thinking. I’m going to be buying me a football club and a lear jet and and and and.
“For insurance purposes I’d put a figure of £200 on it.”
SOUND OF A NEEDLE BEING TORN OFF A RECORD
“What?” I’m going. I’m just going what?
“These things aren’t tremendously collectable but I’m sure the sentimental value to you is much greater,” the old guy is saying.
“No.” I go.
“Well…” he says
It’s at this point I just get up and start fucking windmilling. I definitely hit Michael Aspel and I think I broke a piano. I am currently hiding in a vintage armoire.
Just appeared on the BBC’s hit show Question Time. After I escaped from the set of The Antiques RoadShow I needed a place to hide -because Aspel was on the warpath- and I just blundered through a door and found myself in the audience. I bet you thought they filmed it live? Sorry to burst your bubbles. They fucking don’t.
They were banging on about Muslims covering their faces or some old bullshit.
The main guy, I forget his name -Dimbleby?- he was asking for more points and a bunch of us put our hands up. I wanted to make the point that these Muslims should accept our rules as we would theirs, if we were ever to find ourselves in wherever it is Muslims come from.
So I’m going to say that and I’ve got my hand up and first he goes to another guy on my row and this fucking guy says that exact thing! Exactly my thought! He said it. About abiding by the law of the land or there’s a boat out in the morning. I’m staring daggers at him and when he finishes the audience go mental with applause and they’re clapping this guy on the back and he’s punching the air and I feel cheated. That should be me getting the praise.
I’ve still got my hand up and I can hear Dimbleby talking but I’m just looking at the guy who stole my thunder.
“You, you in the vintage armoire!” I hear Dimbleby shout and the cameras are on me.
I panic and just say my thing. The exact same thing the guy before me said. Word for word. When I finish nobody claps and cheer, in fact quite a few people boo. I hear Bill Oddie, who is a panelist, screaming , “Oh, for fuckssake.”
So I get up and start fucking windmilling.