And Now The End Is Near...

Reality struck me hard yesterday. Real hard. Hard like Judy’s elbow on a cold Monday morning. It left me so that I couldn’t cope. Couldn’t post. Couldn’t even function as the normal warm caring human being you’ve come to know and, I hope, love. Then it got worse. Dr. Raj wouldn’t answer my calls. He’s apparently still upset about my change of heart about paying for the psychotherapy sessions for all our mice. He’d planned to use the millions in fees to open his own private hospital. Judy wasn’t interested either. She thinks I’ve been a fool right from the beginning. Whisky was the only thing that could ease the pain on a Wednesday morning.

Having been in the public eye for so long, I’m somewhat use to having my own way. The best seats in restaurants, tickets for all the new West End shows, speeding tickets disappearing like an Amazonian’s leafy back garden. There’s not been a thing in my life at which I’ve failed. Until now.

What is this terrible failure, do I hear you ask? I did a foolish thing yesterday morning. I looked at the statistics for this blog.

I don’t know what made me do it. I imagine it was boredom. It’s always been my great nemesis. Nor do I know what I expected to see. I thought my readers might be in the thousands. Perhaps even tens of thousands once I took into account all the millions of housewives we get watching the Channel 4 show. I just wasn’t prepared for what I did see. It wasn’t tens of thousands. Wasn’t even thousands. It wasn’t even hundreds. It was fifty three. Fifty three people bothered to read this blog on Tuesday! We employ more people to produce the trailers for our show.

Things got worse when I looked at the statistics in detail. Seventeen of those people had arrived here from Google after searching for the phrase ‘Richard Madeley is a tw*t’. Hard to believe, I know, but true. Nineteen people came from other blogs where I’ve left some of my typically forthright comments. When I came down to counting the repeat visitors who clearly didn’t hate me, I counted seven. Think about it. That’s seven people who actually enjoy… Hang on, let’s not get carried away. That’s seven people who read this blog every day. And I know that one of them is Judy and another is me. In other words: I have five regular readers.

Once the tears began to flow, the bottle ran dry. I had no option but to ring up my old friend Phillip Schofield. Between you and me, Phil’s an unacknowledged expert on the web. If you can do it virtually, you can bet your bottom dollar that Schofield’s tried it. Hair extensions, penile products, Thai brides, commando holidays in North Korea…

‘Fifty three readers?’ he repeated. Then he laughed, a braying laughter like somebody had just inserted a red hot poker up the non-carrot eating end of a donkey. ‘You’re having a laugh, aren’t you? Gordon the Gopher’s website has ten times that number of hits each day and he’s been dead for ten years. You must be doing something to put people off!’

‘I’m just being myself,’ I said.

The phone went silent.

‘Well I think we can see your problem, Dick,’ he said.

‘I don’t have a problem dick, thank you very much,’ I said, indignant. That kind of loose talk was how the rumours began about Forsyth.

‘No, no, your website. You shouldn’t be yourself. You’ll be telling me that you’re as abrasive on there as you are in real life.’

‘Sod off,’ I said, perhaps a bit abrasively. ‘If telling the truth is abrasive, then I’m abrasive. I admit that I seem to offend a few people here or there. I can’t stick a mouse down a garbage disposal unit without somebody thinking I’ve killed their childhood pet. As for my problem with polygamists, I think it’s only reasonable to upset them. And as for the homeless…’

He gasped. ‘The homeless?’

‘Well, not technically the homeless, per se,’ I explained. ‘There are apparently many different types of vagrant in the city, many different levels. Some with homes, some without. It caused a bit of a stink when I lumped them all together. Though, if you ask me, lumping homeless men together has to be a recipe for something a bit pungent.’

‘There you go again, Dick,’ said Phil. ‘You open your mouth before you realise what you’re saying. That’s why people don’t read your blog. You are incapable of speaking without being deeply offensive.’

‘Yes, well,’ I mumbled. ‘It won’t be a problem for much longer.’

‘What do you mean?’ he asked in that sycophantic tone he has whenever somebody rings up This Morning and sounds a bit suicidal. I don’t know why he can’t just be more like me. I'd cut straight to a break so I could tell them to pull themselves together and do a jigsaw or go read the Guardian.

‘I’m thinking of closing down my Appreciation Society,’ I explained. ‘Do I really want to waste thirty minutes of my day writing a thousand words to an almost non-existent audience of five people? I might as well go work on the BBC if I wanted that kind of exposure.’

I shouldn’t have mentioned the BBC in Phil’s company, not after the way they treated Gordon the Gopher’s funeral. It took six flushes before they could get rid of his corpse. It was no surprise when Phil made an excuse to hang up, though he hadn’t had any useful suggestions other than I should let Judy write the blog and I should be happy nicking suitable photos from other websites like every other blogger does. Only, I’m not happy being like every other blogger. I want to be a shining star among blogs. I want every post to have ninety comments, watch small rivalries develop between groups of readers all vying for my attention. And if I can’t have that, I’m not going to play. I’m thinking of giving up unless somebody can come along and give me a good reason to stay. Any reason. Any reason whatsoever.

Please.

Frank Carson in a Post Office

No facts for you today. Instead, it’s going to be a bit like ‘Points of View’ where you have a chance to comment on the recent programming on this blog. I’ve had a few emails from concerned readers (and a few viewers) who have expressed their disappointment in what they describe as ‘the trivial nature’ of The Richard Madeley Appreciation Society. Says one reader who calls themselves Gretna Green:

Why do you talk so much trivial rubbish? Are you really Richard Madeley? If you are then you’re really funny but if you’re not then your just a sad man and I won’t be reading you anymore. My advice to you is to look at Iain Dale’s blog, which is the biggest in the country. He knows how to blog. You’ll never get onto his list of the top 1000 UK blogs with your attitude, so grow up Richard. Talk some sense for a change.

‘Trivial rubbish’? I hardly see what’s trivial or rubbish about my life. Do you? Cycling accidents with Bill Bryson, the condition of Bill Oddie’s feet and Jeremy Paxman’s toenails… Only last week, I gave you an exclusive look at the poem I’d written to my darling wife, Judy, and before that I was posting about my holiday to America. I might have upset a polygamists along the way but they can handle it. They’ve certainly got enough shoulders to cry on.

The letter is typical of the hate mail I receive. The single most popular phrase in search engines that bring people here is ‘I hate Richard Madeley’. Another reader writes:

I appreciate what you’re doing Richard, but its [sic] making your TV show look dull. Why can’t you talk about these things on air? I’d love to see you go biking with Bryson. Can’t you make it into a series? It would be fantastic.

And then I get emails such as this one:

Hello Richard. Love your blog. You are the funniest writer in the world and I can’t believe that more people don’t know about your blog. I think it’s the best blog I’ve ever read. I read it every day and I just love love love it! PS. Can I have a job on your show?

Can you now see that I cannot possibly win?

I suppose if there has been a marked decline in the quality of this blog, it has come as a result of my being taken off a few blogrolls. Technorati say that fifteen blogs link to me. That’s pitiful. I don’t know why I bother. But I take insults and praise in my stride. People have a strange relationship to fame which makes them do funny things when they believe they’re in contract with a celebrity. They want to make contact with you, but as soon as they realise that the contact is only limited, they shun you like you’ve caught bluetongue fever.

Is a story inherently funny or is a story only funny if it’s told from the stage by somebody with ‘fame’? Frank Carson is one of the funniest men I’ve ever met. In real life, he’s exactly as you see him on TV. It’s a tragedy. Fame didn’t make him funny. It’s actually a medical condition which means he can only express himself through jokes. The sad truth of it is that the man finds it hard to cope with everyday life. I was saw him in a post office where he needed stamps.

Cashier: ‘Yes sir? Can I help you?’

Carson: ‘A man walks into a post office to buy some stamps.’

Cashier [now smiling]: ‘Yes? Go on…’

Carson: ‘A man walks into a post office to buy some stamps. He says, “I’d like to buy a book of stamps please…”’

Cashier [now laughing]: ‘Happens all the time…’

Carson [now crying]: ‘He says, “I’d like to buy a book of stamps please but I want you to lick them for me…”’

Cashier: ‘…’

Carson: ‘The woman at the counter says, “We can certainly lick them for you, sir, but would you like first class or second class stamps?” The man replies, “it doesn’t really matter just as long as they’re in my pocket and you’ve got a very long tongue.”’

The silence was like a scalpel drawn across the poor man’s confidence. Unable to explain what he wanted, Frank had to make a punch-line up on the spot. Carson was lost without his writers. It was a pitiful sight.

Which is the point of what I’m trying to say. On TV, everything is scripted. Here, I’m being myself. I'll leave it to you to decide which is more real.

Thank You Very Much...

America. Land of the Free. Home of the Brave. And country of the quickie divorce. Actually, fourteen of them. Then I realised they’d included Judy in the deal so that’s why we’re now in Las Vegas. This morning, we were re-married by a Chinese Elvis Presley impersonator.

I'm just glad to be out of Utah. The holiday was becoming quite the social event. After getting my wives out of jail and ringing the show's producers to cancel the sofa for fifteen, I told the gathered Mrs. Madeleys that I intended to divorce them. They had a few things to say, so I told them a few facts of life. I explained how the wives of Richard Madeley would be under constant press scrutiny. They didn’t seem to mind that, so I told them of the heavy workload they’d be expected to undertake. They didn’t mind that either. So, I told them if they were all that happy with the arrangements as they stood, then we’d go ahead with this polyamous marriage. I got straight onto the phone with the producers to cancel the cancellation for the sofa for fifteen and to find out about the guest list for next season. The words ‘Elton John’s latest’ had barely crossed my lips before all fourteen wives started to demand a divorce. I didn't mind that but I was a bit put out that Judy was the most vocal. She just shrugged and reminded me about her allergic reaction to 'Rocket Man'.

Tomorrow we’re heading out into the desert so I might have some facts about sand lizards and peyote for you then. Today, it’s some little known Elvis facts. Did you know that Elvis was an expert in karate and often practised on any tramps who had accidentally wandered onto his Graceland estate? He once broke the collar bone of his great friend Howard Hughes, who his mistook for a tramp during a night-time walk around the grounds. Hughes was never the same again and became a recluse, with guards stationed 24 hours to protect him from Presley's deadly fingers. Did you also know that Elvis owned many animals? Visitors would often be greeted by a baboon swinging from the chandelier in the hall. When the baboon died, Elvis had it turned into a pair of shoes and often sang about his baboon suede shoes.

The Wisdom of Wynette

I had step in a stop a fight between wives Eight and Fourteen and received a black eye in the process. It wouldn’t have been too bad if it had happened back at the hotel but it occurred at the check-out desk at Salt Lake’s airport. Judy was a model of calm and, as any Wife Number One should, she gave me every encouragement as I dragged Eight off the still kicking figure of Fourteen. I thought I had it sorted out but then the American airport police got involved. Hearing my accent and seeing the colour of my tan, I suppose they immediately thought ‘Saudi’ and had me pinned to the deck. It was a mistake. It set all fourteen of my wives off and what followed is said to have been the biggest riot in Salt Lake history,

The upshot of this is that we’re still in Utah, with half of my wives facing trial and me stuck with their legal bill. In a quiet few moments, Judy took me aside, popped a Tammy Wynette tape into the player, and politely suggested that fourteen wives might be thirteen too many. I’m beginning to see her point. This afternoon, I’m going to hire the best legal team that Channel 4 can afford and see what can be done about divorcing the lot.

D.I.V.O.R.C.E. Tammy not only knew how to spell it but she sang song about it too. All I know is it can be a painful business when you’ve one wife but insufferable with fourteen. Did you know that polygamy explains the odd statistic that suggests that more men get divorced each year than get married? A failed marriage has been proved to be the top reason why men grow mustaches and that 75% of men with facial hair are divorced. Divorcees are also three times more likely to go to Yoga classes, which explains why they are the most flexible sector of the American keep fit market.

Richard & Judy's Great American Adventure Part 2

Despite my best laid plans, we’re still in Salt Lake City on account of my nine wives (yes, I’ve married a few more fine Utah women since yesterday) who can’t agree on what to pack for the rest of the holiday. I’m beginning to see the down side to this polygamy, one being the number of hotel rooms I’ve been trying to book at our next stop out in California. Angela (she’s my eighth wife) mentioned that she has relatives out there so we’re going to see if they have room for us but it might be the case that I’ll have to spend the rest of my holiday with wives spread out all about all over the city. As for Judy (you might remember her as my first wife, though I’m already finding it terribly easy to lose her in the crush), she’s coping quite well and I think she’s enjoying having some other women to chat to about my many (supposed) deficiencies.

Oh, now wife number four is calling me. That’s either Kerry or Tabitha. But before I go, I have more Utah facts for you. Did you know that Utah is owned by the Osmonds? They’re big in the local council and each have special responsibilities. Donny is in charge of local sanitation department and we’ve already spotted him climbing out of the drains. Marie runs the police, we I discovered when she pulled us over this morning in her role as deputy sheriff. She wanted to be sure our marriage licenses were in order which, in this country, you have to carry with you at all times. Anybody found without a valid marriage license will be escorted to the local church and issued with one, whether they have a wife or not. Finally, did you know that Utah sits on the largest natural deposit of salt in the world, yet the locals boast of having the lowest blood pressure in the whole of the United States?

Richard & Judy's Great American Adventure Part 1

We landed in America in the early hours yesterday and took another plane straight over to Salt Lake City, here in Utah, where we’ll be staying for a night or two. I thought it would be a different kind of holiday, travelling across America, but now I’m here, I don’t want to move on. Utah is my kind of town with my kind of people. I’ve done so much since I got here that I doubt if you’d recognise me.

Judy isn’t too impressed but she wasn’t that excited when I told her that I was becoming a Mormon. The Richard & Judy & Ruth & Tabitha & Kerry & Rachael & Mary Show perhaps doesn’t have the same ring to it but I say that we should bother about how it looks in the TV listings when a man is sticking to his religious principals. The girls are all lovely and I hope you’ll get to know them (and the few more I hope to marry before I leave) when we have the super-wide sofa installed in the studio. I don’t know what the TV chiefs will make of it but I think Judy is resigned to the fact that we’ll be able to introduce a rotation policy, with Judy only presenting one show in seven or eight.

Polygamy has got a bad name to people who don’t understand it. They think it demeans the woman because the relationship is usually one man to many women. But I say what better way is there of celebrating womanhood than by allowing six women to be married to a man like me? In fact, there are some polygamy facts which some people don’t want you to know about. Did you know, for example, that polygamy is illegal in the UK except in Kent where it is protected by bylaws? Did you also know that the first evidence of polygamy was found by antropologists researching the earliest civilization in Africa? They posit that primitive pigmy polygamy began with a progenitor practising polymorphous perversity but I don’t think it’s as simple as that.