The theatre is packed with people. Absolutely heaving with them. I mean, honestly...there are hundreds and hundreds of people in here. Packed out. Chock-a-block. There are even people standing at the back.
The applause that was at a peak a moment ago, dies down as The Memory Man takes the stage. This is what the bulk of the people have come to see. He is meant to be the very best in the world.
He is wasted on crap questions.
- Who won the FA Cup in 1936?
- Who came third in the Grand National in 1953?
- Who was the second person to swim the channel?
See what I mean? Crap Questions.
There is a very pretty lady sitting next to me. She raises her hand and asks - What is your National Insurance Number?
The Memory Man is perplexed. He doesn't know. Some people laugh.
- What is the registration number of your car?
- What is your passport number?
- What is your wife's name?
The man is utterly embarrassed and doesn't have an idea where to look. The crowd carry on, sensing their victory.
- Do you have any children?
- What colour are your wife's eyes?
The man shifts from foot to foot in a state of acute nervous stupidity.
It was then that I noticed the faintly falling snow drifting down in front of me. It is curious stuff, being light and delicate. It lands on the aisle and doesn't melt. I look up to see a dwarf throwing handfuls of the snow from a bucket he carries under his arm. I am relieved to see there is no hole in the roof.
- Who won the Schweppes County Championship in 1951? asks one man.
- Bolton Wanderers! says the Memory Man. It's at this point that we realise that he isn't the Memory Man at all, but the stand-up comic.
How embarrassing for all of us.