Steve Harris

 

 

We know now that as other comics busied themselves about their various preparations they were scrutinized and studied, perhaps almost as a desperate man with an upcoming tour might scrutinize the sets of their hapless comedic ‘friends’ in a vain search for ‘material’.

 

With infinite complacence Bishop and Bigpig went to and fro walking their dogs up and down hill, thinking that helping the kids learn to ride might constitute a work-out.

 

Campbell and Fulton went about their little affairs, carrying felled trees long distances and boosting themselves with health products (steroids), serene in the self-assurance of their dominion over this small, foolhardy, charity event which, by chance or design, improbably fat comedians had mysteriously and drunkenly agreed to enter.

 

Yet across an immense ethereal gulf, a mind that is to their minds as Neanderthal man’s is to Turquoise and Attas, an intellect vast, cool and unsympathetic, regarded this event with an envious eye and slowly and surely drew his plans against them.