Mr Doubleday Goes to Oregon

HEN I was asked to address the members of the National Cartoonists Society, it was with great excitement - and not a little trepidation - that I accepted. Famously, the American people have little or no sense of humour, so I was intrigued to find out how Viz - Britain’s third or fourth funniest magazine, possibly fifth, would be received.

Following a misunderstanding at Atlanta Airport, which resulted in an intimate body cavity search, I eventually boarded a plane for Portland with seconds to spare. Three hours later, I arrived in Maine, and following a further minor misunderstanding and yet another intimate body cavity search, I finally managed to buy a ticket to Portland, Oregon. Settling back in my seat, I looked forward to what I hoped

Wwould be a short hop between the two similarly named cities.

However, I had underestimated quite how big America is. After five days on the Greyhound bus with no change of underwear, I finally disembarked in “downtown” Portland and headed to the Hilton to freshen up a little.

I’m afraid I didn’t sleep particularly well on my first night. The combination of twelve hours in a pressurised aircraft cabin, two intimate body cavity searches at the (rather large and clumsy) hands of the TSA, and five days on a hard bus seat had aggravated a longstanding medical condition, the ointment for which had unfortunately been seized at Atlanta Customs.

The next morning I gingerly made my way down for breakfast, where I met my hosts for the weekendSteve McGarrett, Bill Morris and Rick Stromboli.

Throughout the meal, Mr McGarrett made fun of me by affecting a very unconvincing English accent. Indeed, he continued this “joke” throughout the whole of my stay, even to the extent of encouraging his wife and children to join in.