Sweep Tells It Like It Is

Warning - May Contain Hot Takes

“What’s Sooty like, then?” is the question I get most of the time. If the truth be

told, we never mix, apart from the odd drink after the show. There are many

reasons why this is so: the fact we’re totally different people being one; and

secondly, the fact he’s a massive showbusiness arsehole with this – “this” much

talent. The fucker doesn’t even speak, and he gets paid double the rest of the

cast. This much talent. You’ll have to excuse me, I had a bottle of wine with my

dinner earlier on, and I went on somewhere afterwards. Fuck it.

My downtime is very important to me. I have many hobbies which help me

unwind when I’m not being squirted by that furry yellow cunt with a water

pistol. I’m a big wrestling fan – if Wrestlemania’s in town – I’m ON it. The way

they chuck themselves around the ring reminds me of the way Harry Corbett

used to deal with producers who dared question his piss-poor, Sooty-heavy

scripts.

Many of my showbiz colleagues such as Jamie Redknapp, Chris Evans and

Sooty spend their spare time on the golf course. It’s birdie this, bogey that and

19th hole for a cheeky pint. Absolute wankers, the lot of them. “A good walk

spoilt”, said Mark Twain. Fucking too right. If I had my way all golf courses

would be mined.

Oh, and please, enough of all the “these pro-celebrity golf tournaments do a lot

for charity”. Just set up a direct debit for the charity or put your hand in your

pocket and put the money in a tin. That way we don’t have to endure Tony

Jacklin and what’s his name off the Onedin Line having a laugh and joke on the

11th green. Sooty was always getting asked to appear in these things – fuck

sakes, even Butch got asked to do one. They must’ve been desperate. One

moment Butch is drinking light bitter with all the hairy arsed bastards in the local boozer, the next he’s on the golf course dressed like a white pimp,

and swapping quips with Tom O’Connor. The fucking sell-out. As a result of this

fall from grace, I gave all those Sham 69 albums Butch lent me to a jumble sale.

The twat.

However, there are some people in the business I do have a good relationship

with. I have a lot in common with Ramsbottom – we spend a lot of time

together pursuing our passion for real ale. We’ve both been members of

CAMRA for over thirty years. The best thing about attending beer festivals is

the fact no matter how many people are queuing to get served, the moment they see Ramsbottom, they disappear in a flash. The fact he’s a scary looking fuck does help sometimes.

Ramsbottom isn’t poisonous in the traditional sense of the word. What you see

is what you get with Ramsbottom (a scary 9-foot Python). He can hurt people’s

feelings, not to mention crush your windpipe in 15 seconds. During the show’s

production, he’s been known to make grown techs cry. In one take, our last

sound man didn’t pick out his trademark “SSSSsssssssssssSSSSSSSSS!”, and

the poor lad got a proper bollocking from him. But for all the stories

surrounding Ramsbottom such as the time he got drunk in the French House and

called Lucian Freud a “cunt” for “doing my head in with those horrible

paintings of old geezer’s saggy balls”, he’s a good snake - a snake with

principles. Which ironically isn’t what I can say for some bears who are fucking

snakes. Mentioning no names.

I got wind of the fact that Soo and her partner had thrown one of her

“legendary” dinner parties the other day. I can safely say it wasn’t as

“legendary” as the time I was invited around a couple of years ago. I turned up

with a young lady friend (Candy) who’s a dancer in a club Ramsbottom and

myself used to frequent. I was a bit worse for wear, it must be said. It didn’t

help that His Highness was sat at the head of the table, with his stuck-up missus

(a New York performance artist). I went to see one of her shows once (on

sufferance). It consisted of her sitting on her head, humming the Stars & Stripes whilst footage of the Vietnam War played in a loop on a screen in the

background. Time Out gave it Five Stars, I gave it a swerve and buggered off to

The Coach & Horses after 25 minutes (the fucking thing went on for 4 hours).

To cut a long story short, the dinner party came to a premature end when Butch

threw up over Sooty’s Pound Shop Yoko (Saki and Pedigree Chum do not mix).

Of course, Soo goes totally ape and chucks us all out, even poor old

Ramsbottom who was busy taking a crap and had nothing to do with the resulting

melee.

Showbusiness, hey – dontcha just love it.

- Sweep is currently appearing in Run for Your Wife at the Battersea Arts

Hut.

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