Amock Comedy Compendium
I, ROGER KNIGHTLY
The Introduction and first chapter from the great man’s autobiography.
Oh no, I hear you cry, dear reader, not another celebrity autobiography, replete with tales of a
childhood of grinding poverty before stardom beckons you into its glittering embrace. Well, yes,
my story does have elements of that, but I have attempted to tell a truer story because all things
are relative, and if my childhood was not totally blighted, it was at least different. My rise to
superstardom too did not follow any normal course. Or at least not one that I have read about in
my fellow celebs’ tales, for I too read such revelations voraciously. In the end run only you, dear
readers, can be the judge of my story.
As I began to write this I was reminded of the prologue to Dickie Attenborough’s masterwork
‘Gandhi’, which included some telling stuff such as ‘No man's life can be encompassed in one
telling... there is no way to give each event its allotted weight, to recount the deeds and sacrifices
…what can be done is to be faithful in spirit to the record of his journey, and to try to find one's
way to the heart of the man...’
That is what I have strived for, despite a failing memory.
Incidentally, didn’t little Benny Kingsley give an abolutely scrumptious performance as Mrs Indira
Gandhi, one which must surely rank with Dusty Hoffmann in Tootsie.
In the end I want this little tale to convince you, dear reader, that I am a man, and not just a star.
And so, to the story of my life. I take pen in hand, or rather I begin dictating to my secretary,
Despite the fame and fortune I have accumulated as Roger Knightly, the finest thespian to come
from Caledonia’s rocky shores, I am the first to admit that I come from humble roots.
To be totally open with you, my father was a farter.
Now, before you think I’m being rude, let me explain. In the part of Scotland that I come from,
the western isles, there are many crofters. When and if they are lucky enough to be successful
they expand their croft and become farmers. But between these two stations there is an area
where one is neither really a farmer nor a crofter, one is a farter.