Just a brief sketch featuring our favourite comedic duo Ted and Spike.


Another grey day dawned at Maplin's, the air thick and heavy with the threat of another rainstorm. Ted woke to the rumble of thunder (or, to be truthful, Spike shaking him and shouting 'wake up, Ted, just listen to that thunder!') and sat up, glaring at his roommate through a cracked eyelid. Spike had used the dreary weather as his creative inspiration, and was dressed in a blue leotard, surrounded by what appeared to be the lining of several pillows painted grey.

'And what are you supposed to be?' It was obvious enough to the Camp Host, but after waking him up at the crack of dawn (the clock on his bedside table read seven o'clock; Gladys hadn't even made her morning announcement yet), he was just in the mood to nitpick.

'I'm a funny thunderstorm!' Spike looked indignant, then rallied. 'What d'you think?'

'Yer clouds are the wrong texture,' Ted began, heaving himself into a sitting position and crossing his arms.

The hopeful smile fell from Spike's face. 'Well, what texture are clouds supposed to be? They're fluffy! Cotton wool is fluffy!'

'White clouds are fluffy,' Ted corrected. 'Nice, lovely little clouds that waft about a blue sky on a summer's day are fluffy. Storm clouds are thick and angry-looking.'

'Well forgive me for not knowing how to make clouds angry-looking,' Spike huffed, his face reddening as his temper rose. 'If you're such an expert on storms…'

'Not on storms, on comedy!'

'If you're such an expert on comedy, then, how do you make cotton wool look angry?!'

Ted hesitated for just a moment, deciding to change the subject before Spike could point out that he couldn't answer the question put to him.

'And another thing—rain is not blue. Have you ever looked at rain? First rule of comedy—you must have reality. Rain is clear, Spike.' He surveyed Spike's leotard and snorted. 'Mind you, if you did decide to do clear rain, you'd better watch it when you try it out on the campers… '

'Oh, shut up, Ted!' Spike harrumphed, but his colleague was not finished yet.

'And while we're on the subject of the First Rule of Comedy, you've flouted it again—where's the lightning?! You can't be a thunderstorm without lightning! It's part of the package, Spike! The campers will expect to see it!'

'Ah,' the smile was back. Ted dreaded to see whatever excuse for a lightning bolt he'd come up with, and so he leaned back against the wall, assuming his best 'show me what you've got' face, expecting to find something he could easily tear apart.

He wasn't disappointed.

'Adds to the effect, doesn't it?' Spike held aloft a cardboard lightning bolt painted in canary yellow, and, to the Camp Host's surprise, began to wave it around above his head. 'Psssht! Psssht! Pssht!'

'What's that noise?'

'I'm doin' the sound effects for the lightning!'

'I have to stop you again, Spike. Lightning doesn't make noises. Thunder does!'

'Well, all right. I'm doin' the sound effects for the thunder.'

'It's still not quite right. For one thing—and this is important—lightning, Spike, is not yellow!'

'Oh, I don't wanna hear about how—'

'Lightning is white. Just look at it sometime, Spike. First rule of comedy: do yer research! That's the way you make sure all the little details are right, and you can be sure to follow the first rule of comedy: you must have reality!'

'They can't both be the first rule!' Spike snapped. 'I'm going to breakfast, where I'm sure the campers will laugh at my costume, not criticise it!'

'Don't get your hopes up!' Ted hollered back, and was answered with a resounding slam of the chalet door.