‘I want that figure year by year ongoing, and accurate around the country. As it stands, I believe the disposable income to be in decline.’

  ‘I’m married with two kids, and I have no fucking disposable income at all, I have a credit card!’

  ‘And that’s what I want, the data and the evidence as to how British people live month to month. So if you have a hundred test subjects … get monthly updates from them, and create a graph each month, disposable income going up or down by a fraction.’

  They took notes. ‘That we can do,’ the main man told me. ‘Be interesting to see, and we can sell it to the newspapers as well.’

  ‘Send me a pensioners’ report when you have one, we’ll refine it, then pay for one each month, that prediction.’

  ‘We can call them the Experian/Roskov Analysis Reports?’

  I smiled. ‘You can call them the Roskov/Experian Reports, if we get a good price from you. To start, I want the age charts for the next thirty years, people retiring, then dying - according to the averages and stats that my people come up with.’

  Doc Lepus put in, ‘Our birth rate is falling, so fifty years from now it will be less, and the percent of the population that are retired will grow.’

  ‘Hence the need for the planning,’ I told him. ‘And soon.’

  He added, ‘And fifty thousand middle-class families emigrate each year, so that will have an effect as well. We’re losing the richer people.’

  I nodded. ‘And less tax collected; fewer earners and more takers.’

  Whose dog is that?

  The Experian team were soon on their way with many ideas, some numbers to crunch. I had called Ian Hislop, and I was soon on my way as well, down to London with Bonza, Pat and Dingle.

  At the studios, I sat for make-up, which was never needed, and after a cup of tea I walked out to a loud applause and sat next to Paul Merton in my trademark grey suit. Angus was in the middle again, and next to him was a comedian, then Ian Hislop. No birds were seen flying around the studio nor birdsong heard.

  The applause subsided and the music faded. ‘Welcome audience, and those at home with nothing better to do.’ They laughed. ‘With us tonight we have comedian Toby Scrugs, yes – that’s his real name, and on my left is some common lad from Leicester.’

  He turned his head to me. ‘So what have you been up to?’

  ‘Bungling along, minding my own business.’

  The audience laughed.

  Paul touched my arm. ‘How’s that working out for you?’

  ‘Well I got to have a holiday in Israel, we swam in the Dead Sea, which they say is good for you, the salts. But it was freezing, so you risk a dose of the flu afterwards; I would not recommend it in winter.’

  ‘Anything … happen in Israel?’ Angus asked.

  ‘Nope, not a thing.’

  The audience laughed.

  Ian cut in, ‘Do we now call you Your Grace? Or Cardinal?’

  ‘You can call me Cardinal Roskov, but it’s just an honouree title that allows me to bust the door in on any Catholic building or church around the world and question the staff, and sack them.’

  ‘If they’re having sex with small boys,’ Angus put in.

  ‘Or selling the good candlesticks,’ I told him.

  ‘And how goes the Vatican investigation?’ Ian asked.

  ‘I can honestly say that the choir boys look less worried.’

  The audience laughed loudly.

  ‘Why’d they look less worried?’ Paul quipped.

  ‘Well … probably the lack of dick up their arses I’d guess.’

  The audience laughed loudly, as well as the comedian.

  Toby began, ‘Say it as it is, don’t gloss it over.’

  ‘An Israeli interviewer did suggest that I have some diplomacy lessons, which is rich coming from an Israeli.’

  Ian put in, ‘You make the Israelis look positively diplomatic in comparison.’

  ‘In Jerusalem, I wanted to book a table at a restaurant, and I did, then gave my name, Roskov. The waiter says: how you spelling that?’

  They laughed.

  ‘I had to wonder where the man had been hiding these past few years. And when we get there the manager is shocked and surprised and happy, then I told him that I had booked, so he checked the booking, then hit a waiter with that book.’

  The audience laughed.

  ‘And you were close to the falling rockets…’ Angus began.

  ‘Half a mile away, and I foolishly stood at the window for a better look.’

  Ian put in, ‘I think the rocket crews got some criticism, for hitting the most holy of Islamic shrines.’

  ‘I offered to pay to have it fixed, but then the Saudis said: the hell you will, you atheist pig dog.’

  They laughed.

  ‘You’re not a Muslim, no,’ Ian noted. ‘Now a Catholic Cardinal, the dreaded enemy.’

  ‘Well I don’t aim to be the enemy of any Muslim, anywhere, nor Jew nor Christian nor Moron.’

  ‘Do you mean Mormon?’ Angus asked.

  ‘I know what I meant.’

  They laughed.

  ‘Will you be giving more sermons?’ Ian quipped.

  ‘I don’t do sermons, just the odd motivational speech.’

  ‘And why motivate the Catholic faithful?’

  ‘There’s a bus, there’s a driver, and there are passengers. We look after the passengers not the bus, and we influence the driver as to his planned direction.

  ‘The Vatican as an institution is not being assisted, I’m out to assist the millions that rely upon them and are helped by them. But in order to help those millions I need to fix the Vatican scandals, and we are making good progress.

  ‘I never had a fondness for organised religion in general or the Catholic Church in particular, but I can’t ignore the millions that want - and deserve - a well-run church.’

  ‘Eight hundred million,’ Ian put in.

  ‘A large number, and a good reason to make an effort,’ I noted.

  Paul asked, ‘Will you get a salary?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you get any money from the Israelis?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Nothing at all? When you unearth the world’s most valuable treasures?’

  ‘I didn’t find The Ark, that’s not very accurate. We had some clues, and an Israeli water engineer remembered where floodwater bubbled up in the old City of David, and he found the old ark.

  ‘The Israelis then went looking for the later ark using information that came from Broderic through me, a reported hidden well out in the deserts, and we figured that the poison wells would be a good place to hide something.

  ‘They found the poison wells and a few of Broderic’s men, and I suggested that the cave was a trick and to look for a second cave, as we did in Corsica a few times. And they found some dusty old relic of an ark there.’

  The audience laughed.

  ‘The most priceless object on the planet,’ Ian noted.

  ‘No, that’s your first born child, not wood and metal.’

  The audience applauded me loudly.

  Angus faced me after the applause had subsided. ‘So the Israelis never gave you anything?’

  ‘Nope, and I paid for my police detail there to all be fed. But I did get to see The Ark close up and read the inscriptions. One said: though shalt not take my stapler.’

  The audience and panel laughed.

  Toby put in with a smile, ‘No subject is taboo, no one that can’t be insulted by Ricky.’

  I added, ‘When we found The Ark fragment, Bonza questioned it, saying that in the Harrison Ford movie it was made of stone. An archaeologist called him a peasant.’

  The audience laughed.

  ‘And he speaks some French,’ Ian noted. ‘He has a phrase book.’

  ‘We took the phrase book off him.’

  They laughed.

  ‘And how are your Conservative collaborators?’ Ian asked.

  ‘They’re collaborating, yes, on nursing home stats and costs and the perception of nursing homes in this country.’

  ‘People think Gloria is a model.’

  ‘Yes, she’s too good looking to be a politician.’

  Angus asked, ‘And your spring water cures M.E. sufferers?’

  ‘Some of them, mixed results, but she did well after drinking the water. And now a few French doctors are claiming that it cures cancer, which worries me, because cancer sufferers should not be offered a false hope. It may help some of them.’

  ‘And do your residents in Frances House get some?’ Angus asked.

  ‘They do, and subsidised, because we want them healthy and enjoying the facilities.’

  ‘Is it fully open?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, and almost full of keen residents now. The second place, near it, will be ready in a few months, then a third and fourth behind them.’

  ‘And you just started on a huge site in Paris,’ Ian nudged.

  ‘Yes, to hold twelve thousand residents, with its own hospital with four hundred beds, a nice view of the run-down industrial area.’

  ‘Not a nice view?’ Paul asked.

  ‘Not in Paris, no, the nursing homes in Corsica have the view. And we just started on a hydroelectric dam in Corsica, which will create a lake six miles long, and we’ll build hotels near it, a village of posh villas, as well as a few nursing homes.’

  ‘Is the island short of electricity?’ Ian asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  Toby asked me, ‘Have you explored all the caves yet?’

  ‘No, we keep finding more, could be more stone tablets, and we can’t find the Templars’ ship, not so far.’

  ‘Weighed down with treasure?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, and it probably sunk in over a hundred metres of water.’

  The comedian began, ‘All those plonkers that thought that The Ark was hidden in Europe. They have to scrap a few books now, and you upset Spielberg, his movie wrong now.’

  They laughed.

  ‘I may see him soon, for the Ari Kudulov movie.’

  ‘And will you make another Claudia movie?’ Ian asked.

  ‘If I had the time, which I don’t unfortunately.’

  ‘And how is Claudia?’ Angus asked.

  ‘Busy buying properties, which she rents out, her side line and her retirement plan. She’s now a wealthy lady, Angus, so you’ll need to up your game a little if you want to ask her out.’

  ‘I … would be terrified to approach her.’

  They laughed.

  ‘I always found her very obliging.’ The audience laughed. ‘But then again, I don’t have bird shit on my head.’

  They laughed loudly at Angus.

  ‘Why don’t you piss off, Cardinal.’

  ‘We can edit that out,’ Paul joked.

  ‘Is the studio free of rats and birds this week?’ I asked.

  ‘It better be, or the BBC will be in trouble,’ Ian responded.

  Half the studio fell dark.

  ‘Have you paid the electric bill?’ Toby asked. ‘Is it coin operated?’

  The lights came back up.

  ‘We can edit that out as well,’ Paul suggested, glancing up at the spotlights.

  ‘Ian, you’re a cheapskate when it comes to studios,’ I told him.

  ‘It’s a BBC studio, fully equipped and top of the range – so they promise us.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Paul asked, and we listened. ‘That’s a dog barking. Audience, did anyone tie up a dog outside?’

  They laughed.

  ‘Well done the professional BBC,’ Ian complained.

  ‘Let the dog in,’ I suggested. ‘It will be funny.’

  ‘Whose damn dog is that?’ Ian asked of the floor manager. ‘Open the door and see.’

  The door was opened, and in ran an excited young golden retriever. It ran around as the audience laughed, then stopped in front of the desk.

  ‘Come on, boy!’ I hissed.

  The dog darted for me, it jumped, my eyes widened, and it knocked me backwards off the chair. Paul and Angus lifted me as I moaned, a few bruises in the morning to consider, and I sat back down as the dog ran out.

  ‘Please don’t take us to the High Court,’ Ian urged.

  ‘I’ll be OK in a few days, just some broken ribs I think,’ I joked.

  Angus told Ian, ‘That we leave that in for definite, Roskov knocked on his arse.’

  The audience, and the comedian, laughed loudly.

  I faced Angus. ‘You still mad about that bird shitting on your head?’

  ‘Yep. Hope the ribs hurt.’

  The audience laughed.

  ‘Whose dog was that?’ Ian asked the floor manager.

  ‘Not sure, saw it earlier today, a staff member.’

  ‘Give the dog some treats when you see it,’ Ian told the floor manager.

  I faced Ian. ‘That was mean, I could have been hurt, and hurting a cardinal means that you’ll go to hell for sure.’

  ‘You don’t believe in hell,’ Ian pointed out.

  ‘I believe in it for you. And for Angus.’

  ‘You … called to the dog,’ Angus pointed out.

  ‘I didn’t think it would jump up on the bloody desk. On the way out I’ll have words with it.’

  Angus faced Toby. ‘Do you have a dog?’

  ‘Yes, but not as well kept as that one, that dog’s owner takes it to the vet regular and feeds it properly.’

  The audience laughed.

  ‘You mistreat your dog?’ Angus asked.

  ‘It’s a miserable bastard that ignores me, even when I feed it, and he only chews my shoes and slippers, no one else’s.’ The audience laughed again. ‘And all because I had it neutered.’

  They laughed again.

  ‘Did it not calm down?’ Angus asked.

  ‘Not yet, no, he keeps looking for his knackers.’

  Angus faced me. ‘All set for a June election?’

  ‘Has it been announced?’

  ‘Yes, you must have been abroad and busy.’

  ‘I was, yes, but I get to use the Pope’s sleek jet now and then.’

  ‘A bit ostentatious for the church,’ Ian complained.

  ‘Shhhh … I get to use it.’ They laughed. ‘But we got the Eurostar train back from Paris, which was great, no airport check-in. I think I’ll use Eurostar again in the future, great to just sit and look out the window.’

  Paul put in, ‘You can do that here, it’s only three hundred quid one way to Glasgow.’

  The audience laughed.

  ‘I used to get the train without anyone recognising me, for about a month after leaving school, the good old days when I was young.’

  ‘That was two years ago, and you’re still very young,’ Ian noted.

  ‘It feels like a long time ago, playing soccer on the school pitch.’

  ‘So will you be campaigning for Labour soon?’ Ian asked.

  ‘Yes, of course, a few documentaries maybe, and many a radio broadcast.’

  Angus turned to Toby. ‘And you?’

  ‘I’m a Labour man, aye, be out in my district, but you won’t see a posh Tory wanker up there.’

  The audience laughed.

  ‘Gloria wants to run for Stevenage, and I’ll help her,’ I put in.

  ‘You traitor,’ the comedian joked.

  ‘She can help me when she’s an MP, on nursing home issues, none of this Tory “care in the community” bollocks.’

  They laughed.

  ‘And how much did you give Labour?’ Ian asked.

  ‘Five million quid, and I got a promise that I can dig for treasure in the grounds of Buckingham Palace.’

  They laughed.

  ‘Is there something hidden?’ Ian asked.

  ‘You never know, the corgis may have buried something, so I want to have a look.’

  Angus turned his head to me. ‘I now have one of your devices in my car, the Traffic Jam system.’

  ‘Has it helped you?’ I asked.

  ‘I drove up to Peterborough to see relatives last week, and I wish I hadn’t -’

  ‘Horrible relatives?’ Paul asked, the audience laughing.

  ‘Horrible weather and roads,’ Angus responded. ‘When I first switched it on … it told me to go back to bed.’

  They laughed.

  ‘Then it explained hard rain and slow traffic, which was accurate, then warned of an accident near Peterborough so I came off the motorway early and missed it – a ten mile tailback.

  ‘On the way back south it said: good luck, you sad motorist.’ They laughed. ‘I got off the motorway in time, a huge tailback, and I did the “A” roads, but so did everyone else.

  ‘And when I got near to my house it warned me of an accident and blocked road behind me, so I was very glad to be back home.’

  ‘So it worked well for you…’ I nudged.

  ‘I won’t be going anywhere without it, that’s for certain.’

  Ian cut in, ‘My team have the clever map software on a computer, and we looked at the clever map screen before a court appearance in Birmingham, and it was a red line all the way to Birmingham, so we went by train instead.

  ‘And later we found out that going by car would have taken us just under three days.’ They laughed. ‘Six different accidents on the route, so I won’t be going anywhere without it either.

  ‘Then, a few days later, we saw the blue line for heavy rain and we foolishly ignored it, and wished we hadn’t because the rain slowed everyone down to twenty miles an hour.

  ‘And when we saw the pink line we figured we’d chance it, but then turned off and took a different route, and our legal team were stuck in slow traffic and an hour late getting there, but we had planned for a two-hour lunch there so we finally got to where we wanted to go with five minutes to spare.’

  I told them, ‘I hope that someday every car has one, and that insurance companies offer a discount if someone has the device and gets the warnings; accidents ahead, heavy rain, freezing fog.

  ‘And what most people don’t realise … is that when there’s a smash on the motorway, the motorists on the opposite side of the motorway all slow down to have a look and cause an accident on that side, a huge tailback for nothing.’

  ‘I fricking hate those rubbernecking bastards,’ the comedian put in. ‘I recently sat for four hours in a queue, and the accident was on the other side! My side was clear, they just slowed down for no reason.’