Me and Martin Chuzzleclit are not speaking. Moody bastard. We did a gig just outside of Morecambe on Saturday night. For the deaf. Not the best environment for a ventriloquist. I'm sure the bloke signing by the side of the stage was making wanker signs.
I started shouting. Chuzzleclit started shouting. No one could hear us. Someone signed laughter at one stage. Eventually Martin flicked a finger at one of them. "It's the only language they understand" he said. It kicked off. Martin took a belt to the head from a deaf ex-wrestler from Hest Bank.
The manager gave us half the money. He said he hadn't laughed that much since they had Mike Yarwood in here doing impressions. Martin and me walked all the way home to the flat. And not a word was said.
We sat all the way through Sunday lunch and Antiques Roadshow in silence. I may as well been deaf. But the dent in Martin's head will need fixing.
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