Tales from Edinburgh: #3 Arthur Smith

It was a full-fat, hard-drinking festival for me in 2000 when I did a show called Arthur Smith Sings Leonard Cohen. It had a dramatic finale which contained the words  "I am arresting you for breach of the peace and possession of a megaphone." I was in an Edinburgh Police Station at 5am when a police officer spoke this very sentence to me.

How did this unfortunate situation come about? The story starts in the small hours of Sunday, August 27th. A large crowd gathered opposite the Tron church watching a man standing on a wall talking through a megaphone. His underpants were on display and he appeared somewhat the worse for wear. It was me. I was declaring an end to my annual late night tour of the Royal Mile. A couple of policemen arrived on the scene. Unsurprisingly, there was some light jeering from the remaining tourists. Cut suddenly, there were five police cars, a van and an armoured Black Maria. A couple of revellers hustled me round a corner where I put my trousers on, and I returned in time to see my pal, comedian Simon Munnery, being handcuffed and bundled into one of the cars.

Simon had helped me in the improvised promenade, reprising the role of Heinrich, the deranged Nietzschean German tourist. Now a new part was thrust upon him – Arrested Man Sitting In A Cell Feeling Very Pissed Off Indeed. I felt guilty that it had been Simon, and not me, the police had nabbed, so I led a few stragglers to the Police Station to await his release. It was a long, strange night. At around 5am Rich Hall came by, fresh from collecting the Perrier Award, and joined our vigil for as long as his eyes were able to remain open. Not long after he left, I was taken into a room, charged, and immediately released. Later, I was able to laugh at an imaginary conversation between the coppers.

PC: This Arthur Smith is obviously the Mr Big, Sarge.

SARGE: Aye, we’d better arrest him.

PC: I wonder where he could be?

SARGE: Let’s try the waiting room.

At 8am, Simon was released from custody. We repaired to my nearby digs and to a bottle of Asti Spumanti. Sipping it, smoking, dazed at the chaos that had led us here, I grimaced and then laughed at the thought that I was forty-five years old.  "Goodness me," I thought, "I can’t keep going on like this." Turned out I was right.