LETTER TO A YOUNG COMEDIAN No Sub-head available The Stage 18/01/2001 ARTHUR SMITH The Scottish justice system is the finest in the world. I say this not because I have done an extensive survey of the judicious goings-on from every country, but because last week they found Simon Munnery not guilty on all counts. The story starts on the Royal Mile last year in the small hours of Sunday, August 27, m'lud. A large crowd is gathered opposite the Tron church watching a man standing on a wall talking through a megaphone. His underpants are on display and he seems somewhat the worse for wear. It is myself. I am declaring that the Annual Traditional Alternative Tour of the Royal Mile is at an end. It is the last day of the Edinburgh Festival and my audience drift off home or to some other, even later, bacchanal. Suddenly a couple of policemen appear on the scene. Not surprisingly there is some light jeering from the people who haven't gone. Then it all turns a bit nasty as they clap handcuffs onto Munnery and bundle him into a police car. At the time Simon had just taken the sacred megaphone from me, which he was perfectly entitled to do, since he had taken hilarious part in the improvised promenade. He had reprised the role of Heinrich, the deranged Nietzschean German tourist. Now a new part was thrust on to him - arrested man sitting in a cell feeling very pissed-off indeed. A number of us went to the police station to await Simon's release. It was a long strange night, which one day I shall write about. At around 5am Rich Hall came by, fresh from collecting the award from the fizzy water company. He and Kathryn, his beautiful young girlfriend, shared solidarity and joined our vigil. Not long after, I was taken into a room and charged with 'breach of the peace and having a megaphone'. Later, when I was less angry, 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 can be? Sarge: Let's try the waiting room. Me: They seek him here, they seek him there. . . At approximately 8am, your honour, Simon (whose new show starts on BBC2 in February) was released from custody. We went to my nearby digs where I knew I had an unlikely bottle of Asti Spumanti. It was a beautiful sunny summer morning. It was a dark afternoon last week when various of us gathered for Simon's trial in front of the Sheriff of Edinburgh. Annoyingly, as a witness, I was unable to watch proceedings but things didn't look promising when the estimable comic Kevin Eldon was ejected from the court for sighing in what may have been a meaningful way. He joined me pacing up and down the marble corridor with the other witnesses. I was the last one called, and, of course I had no knowledge of what had gone before. I'd like to say that my testimony, with its brilliant recall of every detail and its eloquent demolition of the opposing counsel, transformed the case. The whole trial hinged on whether Simon had punched a policeman on the chest. Since I hadn't been looking at Simon at that point, I wasn't really a lot of use. But I was able to be wildly inaccurate about events preceding the event. It started at 3am I declared (it was 2am apparently). There were about 20 people left (more like 100). Simon was put into a police van (car) etc. I was able to say with truth though that the crowd were good-natured and dispersing as the police arrived. Everyone else had also said that though. The truth did out and we repaired to the Greyfriars Bobby for a celebratory drink. Two hours later we noticed a picture of the two of us on the front of the Edinburgh Evening News announcing our victory. My own summons has not appeared yet and I'm rather hoping that it won't. I'm looking forward to ringing up Simon soon and saying: "The Leith police dismisseth us."