Part 30 (1/2)

'We?' asked the heavy.

'I'm down here,' said Tuppe.

'p.i.s.s off,' said the heavy.

'But we're friends of Andy.'

'Well he is,' said Tuppe. 'I haven't been introduced yet. Would it be OK if we came inside and had some group s.e.x?'

The heavy scratched his head. 'If you promise you'll take me to dinner afterwards. Or maybe to a show.'

'What? Just for letting us in?'

'No, for the group s.e.x. There's only me here. But I'm quite versatile. Who wants to be the parson?'

'Cor look,' said Tuppe. 'Here comes a helicopter.'

And here it did come. Caught to perfection in the searchlights. It dropped down on to the hill. That Holiday Inn can't have been very far away then!

If you're going to be a famous superstar - and let's face it, which of us who've ever played the tennis racket and stood in front of a bedroom mirror, isn't going to be? - you have to do it right. Your helicopter has to land at exactly the correct moment.

The Hairdryer's did. Just as the Cardinal and his band were leaving the stage to Olympic Stadiumapplause. Guitars held high. Fists up. Victory signs.

It's all like that when you're rich and famous. You can't go wrong.

'I am Prince Charles,' said Prince Charles. 'I'm supposed to host the concert. I would have been here earlier but...' He grinned foolishly back at Polly. 'Should I explain why we're late?'

'Certainly not.'

'Back up and p.i.s.s off,' said the fellow. He was still wearing the same T-s.h.i.+rt.

'What's going on here?' asked Polly's mum. Who just happened to be pa.s.sing.

'Chap in the T-s.h.i.+rt won't let me up to the stage.'

'Leave it to me, dear.' Polly's mum took the T-s.h.i.+rt wearer away to one side and spoke urgently into his ear. The T-s.h.i.+rt wearer came back over to the prince's car and gave the prince a big long stare.

'Blimey,' said he. 'It's really him. Sony, mate. Go right on up.'

'Many thanks.' The prince drove on.

'Never recognized him,' said the wearer of the T-s.h.i.+rt, as the limo departed. 'Fancy that!'

'He's lost a lot of hair,' said Polly's mum, 'but I knew him by his ears.'

'Jeff Beck,' quoth he-that-did-the-T-s.h.i.+rt-wear. 'And I never got his autograph.'

'I could get it for you, if you'll give me that T-s.h.i.+rt.'

'More than my job's worth. p.i.s.s off.'

Gandhi's Hairdryer - the band, the legend, and the official World Tour T-s.h.i.+rt - hit the stage. The crowd erupted as they strapped on their guitars, gestured rudely at their audience, grinned at one another, went 'one two' into the microphones and pansied about generally.

Arthur Kobold had a good view from the side of the stage. He had lately emerged from one of those secret pa.s.sageways, like the ones they always have in Rupert Bear that come up in the middle of gorse bushes. Arthur was very impressed by the sheer scale of the entire enterprise.

'It must have a very big plug,' said Arthur.

'One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four,' went Vain Glory. They were going to start off with a fast one. 'Let me hear you say- But that was as far as he got. There was a brief moment of feedback and then all sound died on the stage. Vain Glory lashed out at his guitar and cried unheard into his microphone. The drummer went b.u.mp b.u.mp b.u.mp. Band members stared lamely at one another. The crowd began to boo.

Arthur Kobold looked on. He hadn't done any-thing.

'We will have to take a short break there,' came a voice n.o.body knew. It was the voice of a media bigwig. It came full blast through the sound system. It came from the control box where the bigwig sat.

'A word from Her Majesty the Queen,' it continued, as a big screen rose above the HOLLYWOOD letters. 'Live from the balcony of Buckingham Palace.'

'Booooooooo!' went the crowd. 'Boo. Boo. Boo.'

'That's not very nice,' said Prince Charles to Polly, as they mounted the steps to the stage. An enraged Vain Glory was just coming down them.

'Char-lee,' said the lead singer, wringing the prince's hand. 'You got here in the nick of time, Big Boy. Sort this s.h.i.+t out, will you?'

'The peasants are booing the mater,' said Prince Charles.

'b.l.o.o.d.y helicopter pilot's fault,' moaned Vain. 'We weren't supposed to arrive until the speech was over. 'I told my manager, If we don't headline above the Queen, we do not appear.'

'Should I go up and have a word with everybody?' the prince asked.

'The Queen's special unofficial people's birthday speech,' boomed the voice of the big-wig.

'b.o.l.l.o.c.ks!' cried b.o.l.l.o.c.ks and pretty much every-body else.

'Best do it now then,' said Vain. 'Before they storm the stage.'

'I'll have a go.' Prince Charles smiled at Polly. 'Wish me luck.'

'Good luck.' Polly kissed him on the cheek. Now, the prince had made many speeches before in his life. But never to a mob like this. They saw him stroll onto the stage, with his hands behind his back. And they knew he wasn't Jeff Beck.

'BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! ! !!!' they went.

'Applause please,' said the voice of the bigwig. 'Or I regret I shall be forced to pull the plug on this gig.'

'Now, where is that voice coming from?' Arthur asked himself.

Pull the plug? The travellers became silent. But this was not a peaceful silence. This was a silence which carried about itself such an air of menace, that you could almost cut this silence into strips with a knife and use it to frighten Pit Bull Terriers with.

The bigwig in the control box felt it. He saw his whole life pa.s.sing right before his eyes.

Prince Charles waved and said h.e.l.lo. But the centre-stage microphone was still switched off.