Between the Mines

That night was a special one. Firstly, I got a very nice 'thank you' kiss from Amy Wednesbury (I didn't hide anything – I told Penny the story and showed her the photo of it!), then, with the place packed to the gunnels with both British and American servicemen, the show seemed better than ever.

Cosmo Clatter got more cheers than ever before, the musicians sang and played their hearts out, and I got the kind of laughter that inspires me and makes my profession the only one I've ever wanted. Even gags as corny as:

"I asked my boss if I could start working from home. He said, 'No, you can't! 'So how come Janet in accounts can?' I asked. 'She doesn't drive a fuckin' truck,' he said."

Then came the 'piece de resistance.' I introduced Pte First Class Pete Clancy – wearing an outfit and wig that made him look a lot like Brian May – while I donned a costume that (vaguely) resembled Freddie Mercury. I told them the truth, that the song I was about to sing had been stolen off the Internet, that I didn't know the author – but it was an Indian Curry House version of Bohemian Rhapsody.

My voice isn't brilliant – but I was inspired for that performance – and I strutted around the stage just as Freddie used to do as I sang:

"Naan-aa just killed a man... Poppadum against his head... Ate lime pickle now he's dead.

Naan-aa, dinners just begun... But now I'm going to crap it all away.

Naan-aa, ooh-ooh... Didn't mean to make you cry,

Seen nothin' yet just see the loo tomorrow

Curry on, Curry on, 'cause nothin really matters.

Too late, my dinners gone... Sending shivers down my spine... Rectum aching all the time.

Goodbye every bhaji, I've got to go... Gotta leave you all behind and use the loo.

Naan-aa, ooh ooh... This Dopiaza's mild,

I sometimes wish we'd never come here at all...."

Then Pete came in with a guitar solo that simply blew everyone away! Until I took up the strains again with:

"I see a little chicken tikka on the side.

Rogan Josh, Rogan Josh pass the chutney made of mango.

Vindaloo does nicely... Very very spicey... ME!

Biryani (Biryani), Biryani and a naan.

(A vindaloo loo looooooo...)

I've eaten Balti, somebody help me

He's eaten Balti, get him to the lavatory

Stand you well back, 'Cause this loo is quarantined.

Here it comes... There it goes... Technicolor yawn... I chunder

No! It's coming up again

(There he goes) I chunder it's coming up again

(There he goes) It's coming up again, (up again)

Coming up again (up again)

Here it comes again.

(No no no no no non o no no NO)

On my knees, I'm on my knees, I'm on my knees

Oh there he goes

This Vindaloo... Is about to wreck my guts

Poor me...Poor me...Poor me!"

Another break for some fantastic guitar while I did a freddie Mercury air-guitar with the microphone stand, and then:

"So you think you can chunder and still it's alright? So you want to eat curry and drink beer all night?

"Ooooh maybe, now you'll puke like a baby.

Just had to come out, Just had to come right out in here....

Korma, saag or bhuna

Balti, Naan, Bhaji.

Nothing makes a difference

Nothing makes a difference to meeeeeeeeeee."

And then it was the final, breathy, line that really brought the house down:

"Anyway my wind blows!"

Standing ovations are not exactly something I'm accustomed to, and that one took me by surprise. I brought Pete Clancy to the front of the stage and made him take a special bow, all on his own, because he deserved it. One brief rehearsal and he'd got the whole thing spot on. Talk about an emotional high – believe me, those are the kind of moments that any entertainer lives for!

A day and a half or so later, I cleared customs a Brize Norton and went out to get into the car – driven by my friends and employees, Eric and Ernie who were still miffed that they hadn't been allowed to provide 'security' for me on the trip, and I was confronted by a reporter with a small camera crew. A microphone was shoved near my mouth as he asked:

"So... Jack de Ladd... what d'you think of the war in Afghanistan? Do you think it can be won? Do you approve of it?"

I held the mike so he couldn't withdraw it and, without thinking, I said:

"To be honest, I don't care about all the political stuff. What I do care about is that there are thousands of our people out there... regular servicemen, part-timers, volunteers and civilians... and while we're safely at home, going about our daily routines and grumbling about traffic, weather and the horrible jobs we have to do... they're putting their lives on the line on a daily basis. They're not doing it for financial reward... they're doing it because they see it as their duty... and the best and finest from all of our countries are the ones who are out there... serving us... serving the governments that we, all of us, elected.

"It's called democracy, friend... and they're in the front line to protect it."

Then I released the microphone and said: "And if you edit a single word out of that statement, I swear I'll tell the Taliban you draw pictures of Mohammed for a hobby... and let them know where you fuckin' well live!"

I think it was Ernie who bundled me into the car. I know both of them were chuckling, but I was asleep before we'd covered the first mile – exhausted, but incredibly contented.