Comedy of the Week - The Island

Episode Date: February 24, 2025

Fresh from his appearance on Radio 4's Desert Island Discs, actor Stephen Mangan finds himself in the kind of trouble where the Bible, the Complete Works of Shakespeare, and his luxury item will be no help whatsoever.From Bill Dare (Dead Ringers), Jon Holmes (The Skewer) and writers Tom Oxenham and Simon Alcock, actor Stephen Mangan washes up on the actual island from Desert Island Discs, only to discover that he is not alone.Living among the palms and rocky outcrops and thousands of copies of the Bible lying in the sand are every former guest of the show - and it’s all gone a bit Lord of the Flies.Through Stephen’s audio diary, we learn that all TV chef Nadiya Hussain wants to do is hunt, that Richard Madeley’s gone feral, and that Sandi Toksvig has the Conch. But there’s something lurking in the forest, and when Stephen suspects foul play in the power struggle to be chief, he soon finds himself making a dangerous enemy.Can he win over his fellow islanders before it’s too late? What lengths will he go to to survive? And what the hell is he going to do with this useless coffee machine he chose as his luxury item?Written by Tom Oxenham and Simon Alcock Starring Stephen Mangan as himselfSound Design: Tony Churnside Executive Producer: Jon Holmes Producer: Bill DareAn unusual production for BBC Radio 4

BBC Sounds music radio podcasts. The Island Part 1 by Simon Alcock and Tom Oxenham with Stephen Mangan as Stephen Mangan. I fell to my knees, dropped my things on the sand, and scanned the horizon in the vain hope of rescue. But out there was only the white of the surf which flinked on the reef, and beyond that the deep blue of the open ocean. Exhausted, I slumped onto my back. How long I was out cold I couldn't be sure. I stirred only as a result of my parched throat, as well as several sharp jabs to my groin, face, armpit and buttock. Half opening my eyes, I could see a dark shape looming over me. This was it. Death come at last. The shape moved closer, blocking out

the glare of the sun so I could see it distinctly for the first time, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight. There, towering over me in the visible heat of the mid-afternoon, was Delia Smith, and she was holding a large stick. He's alive, said Delia. Oh well, let's see what he's got anyway. No, Delia, said another voice behind me. Oh, don't be such a drip, Tony, he's as good as. And with that, she legged it over to my things,

kicking sand up into my face as she went. Cocksey, over here, she shouted. New fish on the block. I turned my bewildered head to the side to see Professor Brian Cox sprinting down the beach. Don't mind them, said the other voice. It belonged to actor turned guerrilla archaeologist Tony Robinson, who was now crouching down beside me.

It's just because you're new, he said. I'm Tony. I stared at him blankly. He was wearing only the bodice of a red north face windbreaker and some sandals fashioned from pliable bark. I wanted to ask what was going on, whether I'd stumbled upon filming for I'm a Celebrity, or the one where the SAS helped D-listers overcome their personal issues by treating them like garbage, but

the words wouldn't form. "'Look at this piece of trash!' Delia blurted out, now standing with one foot on top of my Nespresso Creatista coffee machine. "'Another sudden coffee maker! Just what we need, eh, Coxie? Don't worry, said Tony. Lots of people go wrong on the luxury. He gestured to the plug and shrugged. Why on earth I'd kept this coffee machine with me I couldn't say. But it was all I had, along with a Bible, the complete works of Shakespeare, one additional book and eight final records of biographical significance.

And I was damned if I was going to... It was then I began to remember something. I'd had a conversation with someone recently about this exact selection of items. It had been an interview, a nice interview with a nice lady. And then I couldn't remember anything after that. But no. I looked at Tony Robinson, who seemed to have been waiting for this moment, but before I could say a word a piercing scream rang out from the forest at the top of the beach.

It's him! shrieked Delia, and without hesitation the three of them picked up their sticks and turned to rush off in the direction of the noise. Wait! I shouted, spitting sand everywhere. You have to take me with you, I don't want to die! When I caught up with them, they were standing at the edge of a small clearing. On the ground in front of them, a man sat with his back against a tree. He rubbed his eyes and I could see that he had been crying.

It was former England forward Ian Wright. He'sbed his eyes and I could see that he had been crying. It was former England forward Ian Wright. He's bloody done it again! His voice broke as he gestured to the clutter of fruit peel that lay strewn about. Where is he now? Tony asked. Out there! He responded with an aimless sweep of the arm in the direction of the lagoon. Curious, I peered through a gap in the foliage which gave onto the sands. Squatting at the water's edge, his great salty body glistening in the sun

as he chomped on an abundance of ripe papayas clutched to his chest was Downton Abbey's Hugh Bonneville. He looked around between mouthfuls but ate quickly like one anticipating interruption. That's it! Delia spat. I've had it up to here with that bandit Bonneville. By the time I looked back onto the beach, Bonneville had gone. MUSIC The dense tract of jungle opened up into what appeared to be an established encampment.

Around the perimeter, there were timber shelters with roofs of what looked like black slate tiles, but which I later realised were actually thousands of seven inch singles. In one corner, Paralympic swimmer Ellie Simmons was mending a bamboo rain gutter, while in the centre, money saving expert Martin Lewis blew on a stack of kindling, coaxing the embers with torn-out pages from Henry IV Part 1. They went about their work in silence. The atmosphere fraught with tension. Which way did he go, Tony? asked a voice from the nearest shelter. Rolling up the sleeves of a faded pink pantsuit was Sandy Toxtvig. Made off down the beach, replied Tony.

Hmm. Tell Malala I want her guarding the chicken coop tonight. Morale's already at rock bottom. We can't risk another raid. Yes, Chief. And he scurried off. Seeing Sandy, I was cock a god damn hoop. Finally someone I knew.

Sandy! Sandy, it's me, Stephen Mangan! I said, pointing to my own face. Yes, hello Stephen, she said. Sandy, you have to help me. What is going on? I don't know where I am or how I got here, don't you? She interjected curtly.

What have you got there? Let me guess, eight records, three books and oh, good, I see another coffee machine. I looked down at my Nespresso and felt my face turn red. So wait, you're saying this is really happening? This really happens? In fairness, they do tell you they're going to maroon you with only this stuff. Now if you'll excuse me. But, but Sandy, I begged.

What is it, Stephen? Stephen wants to know if he can join the camp, Delia said, putting my name in air quotes. Sandy smiled. I'm afraid that won't be possible, but thank you so much for coming in and do keep in touch. She turned on her heel, the others falling in behind. As they went into the shelter, Delia looked back over her shoulder and raised her fingers in an L shape to her forehead. Loser. With nowhere to go I'd spent a fitful night beneath the roots of an upturned tree, struggling to digest what I'd learned yesterday. Good morning Stephen.

Sandy stood above me on the tree trunk. I'm afraid we've made you feel a little unwelcome. No hard feelings I hope. You see every new campmate is a strain on resources, and right now resources are more limited than ever. Understand?" I said nothing. We stood for a moment, watching Gok Wan stalking a cormorant at the water's edge. But I suppose I could help you, if that is, you were to help me." She turned to look at me. Hugh Bonneville has become a problem. Now we're all terribly fond of Hugh, of course,

but his persistent pillaging of our food reserves has people at the end of their tethers, and if it goes on any longer, questions might be asked about my ability to lead. He must be dealt with. I froze. Surely she didn't mean… The cormorant's neck was now firmly in Gock's grasp. There's an outcrop, Sandy went on, where the land rises higher north-east of the camp. She removed her hand from her jacket, clasping an egg. This will be enough to get him there. And say he were to lose his footing on the rocks. It's unlikely he'd survive the fall.

So I'd become ensnared in a plot. I'd never been in a plot before. I mean the scheming kind, not the what happens in a TV programme kind, I've been in loads of those. But here I was, in one. I felt like Guy Fawkes on the eve of the 5th of November, the 4th of November. I waded up in my mind, staring at a large boulder opposite my burrow. It had been turned into a memorial to Bear Grylls, who, the inscription read, had tragically died after just two days on the island. The titles of his record choices had been engraved beneath. I felt a sudden chill.

That could be me. If I was going to survive, I needed their help. I had to do it. Bonneville crouched near the shallows, his back to me, concentrating on some intricate task. The white noise of the waves drowned out my approach. All right there, Hugh. Suddenly he was on his feet. I raised my arms in a non-threatening gesture and smiled, again

non-threateningly. Stephen Mangan, he said. I didn't know you were here. Yeah, I just got here. Well I don't know where Sandy is if you're looking for her. Actually, I replied. It was you I wanted to talk to. Say, what are you working on there?' Oh, it's nothing really, my luxury item." Sitting on the sand behind him was a Lego model of Bilbo's hobbit-hole, Bag End, from

the Lord of the Rings book and film franchise. Actually, it's my only item now that I can't go back to camp any more. Oh, sorry to hear that, mate.. You know they didn't want me either. Really? He said. His eyes lit up momentarily before turning distant and reflective. He looked down at his salt-stained brogues. Sensing this was the moment I reached into my pocket and felt the egg. Was I actually going to go through with this?

My breathing became shallow but not wanting to let the moment slip away, I brought the egg out into the sunlight. I don't suppose this would cheer you up, I said. Bonneville gasped, snatching it. Where did you get this? Oh, I found it. Up there on the cliff. Yeah, yeah, there's loads up there. You should come with me."

Hugh's eyes brimmed with tears. Really? He looked down at his model. An adventure? Like Frodo and Samwise? I swallowed. Just like Frodo and Samwise. The sun was high now, and my shirt clung to me as we stood on the clifftop. 40 feet below us the waves dashed against the cliffs,

churning white, pulling back to reveal an elevated platform of exposed rock. Out there! I said, pointing a finger towards the furthest point of the outcrop. Hugh smiled, put down his Lego and with an accustomed sure-footedness gambled across the rocks. Blood roared in my ears. I stepped out to block his only means of escape. Too late he turned, his eyes suddenly full of fear. I'm sorry, Hugh. You have to understand. It's you or me. I don't have a choice. He stepped back from me, moving only closer towards the drop. But then remembering he fished something from his pocket and held it towards me, nestled

in his great palm were two Lego minifigures, Frodo and Sam. A lump rose in my throat and before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped to one side. Go! Just get out of here Hugh and don't come back! I watched him as he followed the animal tracks zigzagging down the ridge. Then I picked up the Lego bag end and training my sights on the platform below, frisbeeted out over the rock. Sandy stepped back from the cliff edge, the last of the plastic bricks now having been swilled into the sea.

Finally she spoke. Impressive work, Stephen. Didn't think you had it in you. And with that she offered me her hand. I've since realised that she was going for a handshake, but at the time I could only think to stoop and kiss it like a feudal idiot. Oh come, Stephen, there's no need for that. We're all equal here. Thank you, Sandy, thank you. Please, call me Chief.

A few days had passed and I was beginning to adjust to life in camp. I was bunking with tennis mother, Judy Murray, and had impressed Lawrence DeLaglia with my early attempts at basket weaving. But then, one morning, I spotted my book had been left out on my bunk. I knew I hadn't got it out, as it was an edition of collected poems by W.H. Auden, which I'd picked in order to appear complex but really didn't want to read.

It had been open to one of the blank pages at the beginning, except it wasn't blank. There, written in charcoal charcoal in block capitals, was a message that made my blood run cold. It read simply, I know what you did. How, I thought, panicking. And more importantly, who? You've been listening to Part One of the Island

by Simon Alcock and Tom Oxenham, with me Stephen Mangan. Sound design was by Tony Chernside, it was produced by Build Air and it was an unusual production for BBC Radio 4. Hello, I'm Robin Ince. And I'm Brian Cox and we would like to tell you about the new series of The Infinite Monkey Cage. In this series we're going to have a planet off. We decided it was time to go cosmic so we we are going to do Jupiter versus Sefton! Well, it's very well done that, because in the script it does say in square brackets

wrestling voice question mark. And once we touch back down on this planet, we're going to go deep. Really deep. Yes, we're journeying to the centre of the Earth with guests Phil Wang, Chris Jackson and Anna Ferreira. And after all of that intense heat and pressure, we're just going to kind of chill out a bit and talk about ice. And also in this series, we're discussing altruism. We'll find out what it is, exploring the history of music, recording with Brian Eno and looking at nature's shapes. So if that sounds like your kind of thing, you can listen to the Infinite Monkey Cage first on BBC Sounds.