This monologue is made up of a selection of Chic’s best jokes which I stitched together to give a flavour of what the great man was about.
I’m Chic Murray. I want to tell you a bit about myself.
I was born in Greenock in very hard times. We were so poor it was all the wolf could do to keep us from the door. A luxury meal was a prairie sandwich – two slices of bread with wide open spaces between them. There were so many holes in my socks I could put them on seventeen different ways. However, my father, who was from Aberdeen, was a very generous man. I have a gold watch he sold me on his deathbed. I wrote him a cheque for it – post-dated of course. My mother was so houseproud that when my father got up to sleepwalk she had made the bed by the time he got back. But my parents were wonderful, always there with a ready compromise. My sister wanted a cat for a pet and I wanted a dog, so they bought a cat and taught it to bark.
I didn’t excel at school. I wouldn’t say I was a slow developer but the teacher was quite pleased to have someone her own age in the class. So I ended up working in the shipyards.
Soon after that I met my wife. I met her in the Tunnel of Love actually – she was digging it at the time. She’s a redhead you know – no hair, just a red head. She went to a beauty parlour once for a mudpack. For two days she looked great, then the mud fell off. She’s a classy girl though, at least all her tattoos are spelt right. I told her once that black underwear turned me on so she didn’t wash my Y-fronts for a month.
But I’ve always liked to travel. I was down in London just the other week. A man came up to me in the street. “Do you know the Battersea Dogs Home”? he asked me. I said, “I didn’t even know it was away.” But he was very helpful. He directed me to the nearest Bed and Breakfast establishment. So as he left I gave him a wave. Well, it was only half a wave really. I only half knew him.
Eventually I found the Bed and Breakfast. I went up and knocked on the door. The landlady appeared at the upstairs window. “What do you want”? she asked. I said, “I want to stay here.” “Well stay there then”, she said and closed the window.
Finally she opened the door in her dressing-gown. Funny place to keep a door I thought, but I stepped in. I looked so hungry she took pity on me and cooked me a leg of lamb. “Is it Scotch”, I said. “Why?” she asked, “Are you going to eat it or talk to it”?
So when I got up in the morning (I like to get up in the morning, it gives me the rest of the day to myself) I crossed the landing and went downstairs. Mind you if there had been no stairs I wouldn’t even have attempted it. Breakfast was nice. She had these lovely little pots of honey on the table. “I see you keep a bee”, I said.
But it’s a dangerous place London. I was walking along minding my own business when a man approached and asked me for money. When I refused he drew a gun. I drew a gun. He drew another gun. Soon we were surrounded by lovely drawings of guns.
But I was glad to be home. It’s a small world, but I wouldn’t want to have to paint it And I’ve been quite lucky. A friend of mine went to the doctor the other day there and the doctor said, “You’ve got three minutes to live.” “Oh dear”, he said, “is there anything you can do for me?” “Well”, said the doctor, “I could boil you an egg.”
So all in all, I would say I’ve had quite a happy life. But let’s face it. What good’s happiness, it can’t buy you money.