Three years, six months and 13 days ago, I tweeted the words “Coleen Rooney: Agatha Christie.” Well, that is not quite what I tweeted. I inserted a “W” before the Agatha, creating a disposable pun that somehow went viral. To my bemusement the joke was emblazoned across countless headlines worldwide. You might be wondering why have I introduced my famous pun in such a tortured fashion. Well, I am trying to avoid getting sued.
Last week the world discovered that Rebekah Vardy has trademarked the phrase-who-shall-not-be-named, meaning that she can make money from using W****** C******* as a brand or unleash cash-thirsty lawyers on anyone else who dares use it.
When I found out, I was initially dumbfounded. I was not even aware it was possible to trademark a joke. If jokes start getting bought up then British humor has a bleak future: Why did the chicken cross the road? I cannot tell you or I will lose my house.
However, my stupefaction was mixed with an unexpected admiration for the sheer chutzpah of Mrs Vardy: Not only did she lose the court case, the joke was not even about her. It was Coleen who was called Stagatha Crispy. (Sorry. I am going to have to be creative if I am going to write about a phrase that I cannot legally commit to print.)
I have read the list of products that are trademarked and she is not messing around. You lucky people can look forward to Wagatha-branded dolls clothes, scented stationery (?), drinking horns (!?), meat tenderizers and Shinto altars.
Given how comprehensive the trademark is, I am already preparing for the emotional torture of watching my throwaway gag mutate into a merchandising empire: at breakfast choosing between Wagaflakes and Rice Christies; picking up dog mess with my Poo Bagatha; reading the latest gossip in my glossy Wagazine... a living hell.
Spurred on by fever dreams of this potential nightmare, I started wondering if this was even legal. Surely I, who wrote the joke first (and can prove it), would have some claim to ownership?
Here is the legal bit: You can trademark anything that does not have copyright. There is a possibility that I do hold the copyright to the phrase “Flabatha Wristie” (this is starting to annoy even me now), but it is also possible that you cannot copyright a short phrase; in which case Mrs Vardy is free to sell all the branded meat tenderizers God sends.
It is a legal gray area. And legal gray areas turn lawyers into panting cartoon dogs with pound signs in their eyes, salivating over potentially years of eye-wateringly expensive arguments about whether or not a pun is copyrightable. You know how explaining a joke renders it unfunny? Try having it picked apart over several years by barristers. I know that is why I got into comedy.
A part of me is tempted to take action. If it kept going to appeal there is a slim chance that Rebekah Vardy could end up back at the high court.
Just imagine. Back where it all started. I have an agreement in principle that if it ever got that far I will dress as Coleen, and my wife will sit in the gallery dressed as Wayne Rooney.
A lot of people have urged me to lawyer up and I understand why; they find it unfair that if you are rich enough, you can buy up whatever you like whether it is for sale or not. Frustratingly, our legal system makes it hard for anyone without deep pockets to fight back.
There is a seductive fantasy where I take this to court, go full-Rumpole and win a historic ruling: tubs are thumped, gavels are banged and jokes are set free to frolic in the hills forever.
However, this is not a charmingly shabby 1980s ITV drama, it is real life. More likely I will end up embroiled in a glutenous legal morass about the semantics of a stupid pun, and in 10 years when the children ask: “Why do we live in a tent?” I will have to say it is because daddy spent all the money trying to end the tyranny of Wagatha-branded drinking horns.
The thing is I never felt like I ever owned “Dragatha Twisty” (last one, I promise) in the first place. At least it had a life before captivity. It was fun while it lasted.
The people who matter will always know the truth: In decades to come one of my grandchildren can look up at the Wagatha-branded Moon Base and say: “My grandpa wrote that.”
Dan Atkinson is a writer, producer and stand-up comedian.
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