"When I did Art in the West End," remembers Frank, "I got to the end of a long monologue and heard a cry of 'Skinn-er, Skinn-er'. It was a fat bloke in a football shirt, pointing, and I thought, 'Yes, I do bring my audience with me'. I was in a car one night at three in the morning and we passed a bloke sitting in the gutter being sick on his trainers, making no attempt to move his feet. He was wearing a Fantasy Football T-shirt. I said to the driver, 'There you have my fan base'."