SPASM UPDATE Q BENADRYL DRIP

A STATEMENT BY SIR JOHN FURTERSPLATTER, CHIEF MEDICAL OFFICER AT ST JUST'S HOSPITAL, EAST FENWICK (AS TRANSCRIBED FROM THE EAST FENWICK BELCHER NEWSPAPER)

I regret to inform you that on the morning of the 17th of April, in the year of our Lord 2007, the universally abhorred comedian Mr Bird was admitted to St Just's Hospital East Fenwick suffering from a throbbing badger in his pantaloons. Sorry, let me regurgitate. In laymen's speak, the avian patient was suffering from a spasm of the lower placenta which meant he was unable to sit straight, talk straight or bend over without requesting assistance from a nurse with a potty handy. Or a handy potty. Same difference, rarely.

The appropriate treatments were subsequently applied according to the medical code. They involved steam cleaning the rogerer, massaging the todgerer, and creaming the frotherer. Unfortunately, Mr Bird responded badly to the first treatment, slightly warmed to the second treatment, and was positively impressed and thoroughly irrigated by the third treatment.

However, overnight, the patient took a turn for the wurst and ended up wandering down an unmarked corridor whereuon he impaled his upper teater on a passing gurney. He was consequentially operated on immediately to remove excess fluid and stray shrapnel.

I am elated to announce that this morning Mr Bird has regained conscientiousness and is sat up in his hospital bed playing with his Benadryl drip and entertaining the nurses in the way he knows best. It is the considered opinion of a hastily arranged panel of cardio-thoracical experts that the patient will make a full recovery, eventually, undoubtedly, possibly within the coming weeks and months. In the meantime, I would ask you, the assembled media of various blood types and feral orientations to please give the sickly tweeter some privacy and understanding whilst he embarks on this troublesome road to a full recovery of his limited assets. Naturally, we will update you on any further envelopments as and when they recur. I'm sure that all our thoughts and the thoughts of udders are with Mr Bird on this uncommonly sunny day in April. Thank you.

THE GREATEST JOKE NEVER TOLD

WATSON: I say, Holmes...

HOLMES: What now, Watson?

WATSON: Says here the greatest joke never told has just been found in the vault at the Bank of England.

HOLMES: Oh, really. And you're telling me this because...

WATSON: Look, I'm sorry, old man, that you lost your life savings on that damnable pyramid scheme that came highly recommended by Patrick Shortfartering, who happens to be a long-running associate and croquet buddy of mine, but well, past is past. A fool and his money are easily parted what what what.

HOLMES: Don't speak too soon, you abominable quack. You lost all YOUR life savings too AND Hudders' inheritance from her great-great grandmother's beauty salon.

WATSON: Indeed. Which is why I think we are all in need of a jolly good belly laugh.

HOLMES: Get to the point, will you, before I get to YOUR point.

WATSON: Well, I was thinking why don't we all take a stroll down to the Bank and er... have a peep. I'm sure it will do us all the world of good.

HOLMES: Firstly, who says it's the greatest joke never told? Secondly, how can a joke be funny if it's never been told? Thirdly, who says it's in the vault at the Bank of England? Fourthly, who says that you and I and sweet Hudders share the same sense of humour? Fifthly, what guarantee is there that even if it does make us all laugh that it won't merely provide a temporary respite from this unending gloom? Sixthly... well, I'm sure five considerations are more than enough for your less than satisfactory bonce.

WATSON: I say, Holmes, I take exception to that last remark. If you are hoping to incur my wrath, I can tell you I shall not give you the satisfaction.

HOLMES: My dear Watson, it is quite clear to me that you and I do not share the same sense of humour. Indeed, your sense of humour is so coarse that one wonders that if baked beans and flatulence were banned whether you would ever laugh again.

WATSON: Confound it, Holmes. You're pushing my ire here. I'm warning you! Anyway, aren't you curious to know what the greatest joke never told is?

HOLMES: Why should I be when I already know it?

WATSON: What?

HOLMES: Yes, it is true. It is no mystery to the great Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street, because I penned it.

WATSON: You? But that's preposterous! You've never told a joke in your life.

HOLMES: On the contrary, Watty Botty. Under my pseudonym, I have penned the top 300 greatest jokes ever!

WATSON: But but but but... and more buts.

HOLMES: It is a welcome distraction from the chemistry set and wayward waifs on Hampstead Heath.

WATSON: It's not April 1st, this isn't a dream and you are Holmes. I don't believe you.

HOLMES: That is y0ur prerogative.

WATSON: Prove it.

HOLMES: Ricky Gervais, Larry Sanders, Billy Crystal, John Cleese & co, they all come to me. Why do you think the greatest joke never told is under lock and key at the Bank of England?

WATSON: I haven't the foggiest.

HOLMES: To prove that it was I that was the funniest comedian of them all. Because I am weary of propping up the careers of these comedians that in modern parlance have been "milking me for all they can get". And also because I've just signed an exclusive multi-million-squillion deal with National Lampoon.

WATSON: But that's insatiable.

HOLMES: Quite.

WATSON: What about the detective work? What about making old Albion a safer place for people to live in?

HOLMES: There won't be any time for that, old chum. That's why I'm handing the reins over to you.

WATSON: To me?! But... we're a team, a double act. Without you...

HOLMES: You'll be fine. Stiff upper lip, walk tall and proud, God save the Empire.

WATSON: Oh, well, I suppose I could possibly surely definitely keep fighting the good fight what what what.

HOLMES: That's the spirit!

WATSON: Just one last thing, Holmes.

HOLMES: Certainly.

WATSON: What is the greatest joke never told?

HOLMES: You'll soon find out, old chap. Suffice it to say that it involves a cabbage, a vestal virgin and a fishing rod.

WATSON: (chuckles) But Holmes... that's... a cabbage... a vestal... virgin... and a fishing rod... (guffaws, farts loudly before falling off armchair and rolling around on floor)

HOLMES: That is precisely why I didn't want to say anything to you. Hudders!

MRS HUDSON: Yes, Mr Sherlock?

HOLMES: The lavender and aloe vera spray, quick!

MRS HUDSON: Coming right up, sir. Filter at eleven!

HOLMES: Oh, I do hope so!