Frankie, Dick, and Benny…

It seems that the blue cheese, or whatever it is that makes my dreams, wasn’t content with a single comedy actor starring in my sleeping fantasies. Last night that cheeky Somnus decided to present me with a trio of fine funny fellows. Frankie Howard was there again, this time dressed in his toga from Up Pompeii, and alongside him was not also Dick Emery but also Benny Hill.

Serial dreaming - whatever next? Yes, Frankie, Benny AND Dick - that sounds like a meal at a juicy burger joint followed by a big fat sausage. And yes, I am awful, but I like me.

Of course, Benny as always spent most of his time rushing around in that speeded up stop-start motion way he has. Obviously he was dressed as a milkman, hat all askew, alternately chasing or being chased by a posse of rather scantily clad young ladies. Dick kept appearing in different costumes; a toothy vicar, a buxom blonde, a flamboyantly dressed chap with a floppy hat who insisted on calling me Honky-Tonk. So just another day at the office really.

At first it was all rather jolly, but then it took on a more sombre tone. Benny exited a sharp left running into a spooky graveyard followed by Frankie, who meandered across with that famous hound dog look on his face. Dick glanced my way, flicked his feather boa, tilting his hat to shade his eyes, and minced across to stand next to the pair of them. It was like something out of the ghost of Christmas yet to come scene in ‘A Christmas Carol’ with me as Alistair Sim. A cloud passed across the moon leaving the trio in semi-darkness, an owl hooted, the church clock struck one.

Frankie beckoned me across with a bent finger. ‘Infamy, infamy, they’ve all got it infamy’ he spluttered. Benny blew a raspberry; ‘ Ppzzz’, and Dick just smiled and fluttered his eyelashes.

They turned as one, as Frankie pointed to a single gravestone illuminated in the moonlight. The three comedians, who didn’t seem that funny at that moment, shook their heads in grave sadness. I looked at the gravestone. It bore the legend ‘What a palaver!’ and underneath my name, followed by (1957 - ?) They turned and then all joined hands, and skipped away into the distance.

It was not quite three o’clock when I sleepily glanced at the clock. Knowing that I’d never remember it in the morning, I grabbed my pen and scribbled down the outline of my dream. As I drifted off a few minutes later, I distinctly heard someone say ‘If you need another thespian- I’m Free!’

Whoever next?