The Largest Theatre in the World: Heart to Heart Page #3

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I wasn't a failure before this circus.

Well, you will be after this circus,

if you're go on as you're going.

Well, I have to have a couple of drinks

before I go in front of the cameras.

I've got to.

It's got nothing to do with

nerves or strain.

I could do this job on my head

any night.

And one of these nights you will.

Oh, Jessie, for heaven's sake,

stop this eternal wisecracking.

That's part of the whole thing,

this eternal wisecracking.

It's as if everyone in this profession

has to joke about their work

in order to keep sane.

Other people don't joke about

their jobs, do they?

Farmers do. I know,

I was brought up in the country.

Why do I drink? Oh, why do I drink?

Can you tell me that?

Well, I can give you one good reason.

Because you can afford to.

Farmers usually can't,

except on Saturdays nights.

-Oh, Jess!

-That wasn't a wisecrack, Mr Mann,

it was just a clich.

Look, hadn't we better get out of here

before we get locked in for the night

-and I am fatally compromised?

-You might just get strangled.

-I'd still get compromised.

-Hmm.

And, of course, Mr Weston

wouldn't like that.

-He'd hate it.

-A-ha!

-And so would Mrs Mann.

-Oh!

Sorry, that was the last one

from the flask.

It's the first six from the bottle,

if you ask me.

Do farmers feel ashamed of their jobs?

Now, what makes you feel

ashamed of yours, Mr Mann?

Well, in the first place,

it's grossly overpaid.

(TUTTING) That's a shame I could bear

a fraction of.

Oh, I'm sorry, that was

a wisecrack. Go on, second.

Second place, it's a job that could be

done by any man of fair intelligence,

a modicum of industry and a quick brain.

There must be thousands and thousands

of men who could do this job

happily and well...

-Oh, just leave it at thousands.

-For a tenth of my price.

-Some might stay sober too.

-And I have to get myself

a convertible Bentley

and a flat in Belgravia.

-And for one reason, one reason only.

-What?

-That.

-What?

That.

Apparently it makes a dimple somewhere

when I smile, God knows where.

God and you, Mr Mann.

Ten million morons go for this

every night. Why?

Don't ask me.

I'm not one of the ten million.

First few letters I got were

flattering, I suppose.

The next hundred or so, funny, in a way.

Now? Now, they're just

downright insulting.

Damn it, I used to be one of the best

political economists in the country.

Surely I'm worth more than this.

About 300 more pounds a week more,

I'm told.

Blast you, Mrs Weston. Good night.

-David?

-Yeah?

Hadn't we better go this way, hmm?

Not the front.

Perhaps.

-Are you driving yourself?

-Oh, no. Chauffeur.

-Brand new, 14 a week.

-(TUTTING) Hard luck.

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