There is a hilarious visit to the Carver at Marble Arch where a rich aunt eats a mountain of food, then packs away further rolls of meat to take home, relishing "the joy of something for nothing".
"So I'm standing in line at the airport, waitin' in security because of all the freakin' Muslims," he begins, and then, when his fans hoot in joy, he tries for something nastier.
They bring sheets of paper with messages – always shit messages – to be photographed, mistaking the joy of darts for something that can be replicated in Kensington.
I, too, have found it impossible to visit friends or siblings to admire their new baby, but have had to make excuses, as even those close to me will never understand the physical pain it causes me to see the joy and love they feel for something I will never have.
"There is a sort of joy when the whole audience stands up for something," he admits.
Why say sorry for something that brings you joy?
I was hoping for something magnetic, but no joy.
I would, of course, love nothing more than to reach a zenned-out state of pure creativity and joy, but something about paying for what feels like a religious experience, rather than a purely therapeutic one, raises my eyebrows.
And the Budgett's frog, which looks as if it is jumping for joy, laughing at something off-camera.
To my mind, it's a payback for something that has provided so much joy".
