Cult of Grott

Much later on, someone would describe me as looking like a young Al Murray, but all I knew when I entered the stifling church hall last Sunday, was that I had come home to my people, to bring to them the four gospels, of Benny, Anni-Frid, Agnetha, and Bjorn.

Settled in my make-shift throne, next to the door with the cool breeze, I sat back as the launch party for the Holy Ladders to Heaven choir's difficult third album got under way.

Pictured on throne, wearing authentic leopard skin headband and holding bashing stick

What followed was a smorgasbord of Malawian entertainment, featuring - amongst others - renowned gospel crooner, Thoko Katimba.

Before I was really ready - before the world was really ready - it was my turn to entertain the assembled masses. Wielding an absurdly over-sized shield, I did my best thriller dance - drawing real hard moolah from the crowd, like some sort of sweaty tribal stripper.

My next duty was to cut the ceremonial ribbon, before entering into a one-man auction against myself to have the honour of buying the first CD. Despite a MK 20,000 (£30) limit being agreed with the organisers several days before, the MC took his chances and opened the bidding at MK 1,000,000 (£1,500)...

'Mm, no, not a million...'

'OK, what's the best you can do? MK 750,000?'

'No, probably not 750'

'600?'

'No, I don't think 600'

'Well what's the best you can do?'

'I can do 20'

At this point he looks at me like I've just cracked open a can of surströmming. Clearly there's been some breakdown in communication, and the message hasn't reached him that I'm not the Prime Minister of England.

Turning to the crowds he says, with a hint of disdain: 'He can do 20. Is 20 enough?'

'NOOOOOO', roars the crowd - the Malawian equivalent of Emperor Commodus giving you the thumbs down.

He turns back.

I point out that I only have 28 in my wallet, but I'm willing to push to 25 (£40).

Now I see him realise the enormity of his mistake. I'm not the Prime Minister after all. I didn't bring the suitcase necessary to carry a thousand MK 1000 notes with me. I haven't even ironed my shirt. I'm only going to give him 25,000. He and I are both going to be dragged from this hall and burnt alive.

I have a speech I say. No time for the speech he says. But it's got an ABBA quote in it, and I've spent all morning memorising the Chichewa bit. No time for the speech. Turning to the crowd, he announces the paltry sum and before they can get really angry, thanks them for their attendance and scuttles off stage.

The unread speech