I dreamt of Bruce Forsyth last night.
He was out of his natural habitat.
Some producers had moved him from the studio
To a live link up from a supermarket somewhere in Manchester.
He had to announce to a young boisterous salt-of-the-earth Asian man
That he had won the jackpot of an exciting competition.
The prize was about thirty thousand pounds.
The young boisterous salt-of-the-earth Asian man began hugging Bruce
And in celebration began dragging him by the arm around the shop floor
Unaware of the care one should take with a man well into his eighties.
He felt he should demonstrate as best he could that he was celebrating.
He was after all on live TV.
Bruce tried hard to control the situation by saying things like
"oooh We’ve got a live on ‘ere"
But his focus was keeping his legs moving fast enough
Without falling down.
Eventually Bruce’s voice began to crack
"calm down mate"
By the time Bruce had been released from the celebration
His wires had been scrambled.
His confusion palpable.
He didn’t know where the cameras were but kept talking.
Trying to keep us entertained.
He did one of his tap moves
But didn’t know what he was supposed to say anymore.
Then he swore at the man.
People talked of this moment as the end of his illustrious career.