The Fry Chronicles Part 17

Sunday was the taping night, the night we performed the show in front of an audience. Ben would act as warm-up man, introducing the characters and setting the series in context. This was important, for there was always a detectable air of disappointment emanating from the audience. No part of the current series would yet have been broadcast, so they would be staring at an unfamiliar set and fretting at the absence of the characters they had known from the previous series. When they came to Blackadder II Blackadder II they were sorry not to have Brian Blessed there as the King; when they came to they were sorry not to have Brian Blessed there as the King; when they came to Blackadder the Third Blackadder the Third recordings they missed Queenie; and when they arrived for recordings of recordings they missed Queenie; and when they arrived for recordings of Blackadder Goes Forth Blackadder Goes Forth they wanted to see Prince George and Mrs Miggins. they wanted to see Prince George and Mrs Miggins.

For all that, it was a happy experience. The Sat.u.r.day after the taping of the last episode of Blackadder II Blackadder II Richard Curtis held a party at his house in Oxfordshire. It was a glorious summer's day, and, as we all wanted to watch television, Richard unwound an extension cord and put the set on a wooden chair in the shade of an apple tree. We sat on the gra.s.s and watched Richard Curtis held a party at his house in Oxfordshire. It was a glorious summer's day, and, as we all wanted to watch television, Richard unwound an extension cord and put the set on a wooden chair in the shade of an apple tree. We sat on the gra.s.s and watched Live Aid Live Aid all the way through to the end of the American broadcast from Philadelphia. all the way through to the end of the American broadcast from Philadelphia.

'We should do something similar,' Richard said.

'How's that?' I wasn't sure what he could mean.

'Comedians can raise money too. Look at what John Cleese did for Amnesty with those Secret Policeman's b.a.l.l.s.'

'So you mean a Comedians' Live Aid show?'

Richard nodded. He had already been germinating Comic Relief in his head for some time. Now, almost twenty-five years later, he has devoted six or seven months of his time every other year to an organization that, love or loathe the enforced custardy jollities of its biennial television pratfest, has raised hundreds of millions of pounds to comfort those who have sorely needed it.

Coral Christmas, Ca.s.sidy, C4, Clapless Clapham, Cheeky Chappies and Coltrane's c.o.c.k With Blackadder II Blackadder II in the can, I was called up by Richard Armitage. in the can, I was called up by Richard Armitage.

'Happy to say that they want to put on Me and My Girl Me and My Girl in Australia. Mike will need you there to help with changes that we can try out for Broadway.' in Australia. Mike will need you there to help with changes that we can try out for Broadway.'

I didn't really believe that Broadway would happen. How could Americans possibly respond to c.o.c.kney capers and rhyming slang with anything other than blank stares and fidgety coughs? Australia seemed like a wonderful idea, however, and Mike and I flew out with the rest of the core production team to rehea.r.s.e an Australian cast in the Melbourne Arts Centre. I wish I remembered more about the production. I think I fiddled about with the lyrics a little and changed one or two scenes, but that is all that springs to mind. It was towards the end of the year, and Mike and I decided that it would be fun to stay on and Christmas up in Queensland. He chose Hamilton, one of the Whitsunday Islands of the Coral Reef. I spent almost all of Christmas Day in my hotel room shivering, throbbing and shaking with sunstroke and sunburn, much to the amus.e.m.e.nt of Billy Connolly and Pamela Stephenson, who were staying in the same hotel.

Back in England Hugh and I turned our minds to the Channel 4 show that Paul Jackson had mentioned to us. Seamus Ca.s.sidy, the young commissioner at C4, was anxious for something akin to America's long-running Sat.u.r.day Night Live. Sat.u.r.day Night Live. Our show, he decided, was to be called Our show, he decided, was to be called Sat.u.r.day Live Sat.u.r.day Live. I thought of him ever after, not unaffectionately, as Shameless Ca.s.sidy.

Stand-up was taking over the world. Our brand of sketch comedy, it seemed to Hugh and me, was in danger of looking more and more dated as each month pa.s.sed, certainly as far as the prospect of live TV was concerned. The problem with being a duo rather than a solo performer is that you speak to each other, rather than out front to the audience. We had in the past written a certain number of sketches, the Shakespeare Mastercla.s.s for example, in which the audience could be directly addressed, but for much of our time we played characters locked in mini-dramas with a fourth wall between us and the watching world. Out of some act of rare reckless abandonment we decided that before putting ourselves in front of the cameras for this new show we should practise by performing in a comedy club. One of the premiere venues at that time was Jongleurs in Clapham, and thither we went for one night, sandwiched between a young Julian Clary and Lenny Henry. Julian performed as 'The Joan Collins Fan Club' in those days and shared the stage with his little terrier 'f.a.n.n.y the Wonderdog'. He did very well, I recall. When Hugh and I left the stage after our fifteen minutes and puffed out our usual 'Christ they hated us' (Hugh) and 'It wasn't so bad' (me), we stayed back to watch Lenny. I remember thinking how wonderful it must be to be known and loved by an audience. All your work is done before you go on stage. Lenny entered to an enormous cheer and, or at least so it seemed to me, only had to open his mouth to have the audience writhing with joy and drumming their feet on the floor with approval. Hugh and I were unknown, Blackadder II Blackadder II hadn't aired yet, and hadn't aired yet, and The The Crystal Cube Crystal Cube and and Alfresco Alfresco had been watched by seven people, all of whom wanted to kill us. That night at Jongleurs we sweated blood as we treated the audience to our exquisitely wrought phrases, cunning jokes and deft characterizations only to be rewarded with vague t.i.tters and polite but sporadic applause. Lenny came on, did a bird call, boomed a h.e.l.lo and the building almost collapsed. This is to take nothing away from him at all. He had built up a rapport over the years and he had the gift that can guarantee a good time in a comedy club. He was relaxed and he made the audience relax. Hugh and I might have hidden our nerves and anxiety as best we could, but from the beginning we were had been watched by seven people, all of whom wanted to kill us. That night at Jongleurs we sweated blood as we treated the audience to our exquisitely wrought phrases, cunning jokes and deft characterizations only to be rewarded with vague t.i.tters and polite but sporadic applause. Lenny came on, did a bird call, boomed a h.e.l.lo and the building almost collapsed. This is to take nothing away from him at all. He had built up a rapport over the years and he had the gift that can guarantee a good time in a comedy club. He was relaxed and he made the audience relax. Hugh and I might have hidden our nerves and anxiety as best we could, but from the beginning we were working working the audience rather than welcoming them with any confidence into our world. A tense audience might admire our writing and performing, but they are never going to give us the great rolling waves of love they sent out to Lenny. Later, when we were familiar figures and went on stage to gusts of welcome, I would remember that night at Clapless Clapham, as I always thought of it, and thank my lucky stars that I no longer had to prove myself in quite the same way. Yet, having said that, there came an evening some years later where I was able clearly to witness the reverse effect. I directed a number of 'Hysteria' benefit shows for the Terrence Higgins Trust in the late eighties and early nineties. For the third one I had the duty of welcoming on to the stage a very well-known comic. He entered to a thunderous ovation they were the audience rather than welcoming them with any confidence into our world. A tense audience might admire our writing and performing, but they are never going to give us the great rolling waves of love they sent out to Lenny. Later, when we were familiar figures and went on stage to gusts of welcome, I would remember that night at Clapless Clapham, as I always thought of it, and thank my lucky stars that I no longer had to prove myself in quite the same way. Yet, having said that, there came an evening some years later where I was able clearly to witness the reverse effect. I directed a number of 'Hysteria' benefit shows for the Terrence Higgins Trust in the late eighties and early nineties. For the third one I had the duty of welcoming on to the stage a very well-known comic. He entered to a thunderous ovation they were so so pleased to see him. He exited to only a ... pleased to see him. He exited to only a ... respectable respectable level of applause. The next act was new. No one out there had any idea who he was or what they might expect. I did my best as compere to get the audience on his side. level of applause. The next act was new. No one out there had any idea who he was or what they might expect. I did my best as compere to get the audience on his side.

'Dear ladies, darling gentlemen, I have no doubt in the world that you will give the next artist your warmest and wildest welcome. He is a brilliant young comic, I know you'll adore him please greet the wonderful Eddie Izzard!' They were polite and they did their best, but they would so much rather have screamed a John Cleese or Billy Connolly on to the stage.

I stood in the wings and watched as Eddie left the stage to a gigantic gigantic round of applause. How much better to go on to polite clapping and off to roars than, as the established comic had, to go on to roars and off to polite clapping. round of applause. How much better to go on to polite clapping and off to roars than, as the established comic had, to go on to roars and off to polite clapping.

Sat.u.r.day Live was a bear garden: transmitted live from the biggest studio in London Weekend Television's South Bank studios, it featured a large central stage, side stages for the bands, random giant inflatables floating above and a vast arena for the audience of groundlings, mostly young fashion-conscious people who milled about getting in the way of the cameras and hara.s.sed floor managers in a style that was becoming the established fashion in hip youth TV, a style that veered between sulky disaffection and hysterical whooping adulation. Hugh was convinced that they were more interested in how their hair looked on screen than in anything we might be saying or doing to try and amuse them. was a bear garden: transmitted live from the biggest studio in London Weekend Television's South Bank studios, it featured a large central stage, side stages for the bands, random giant inflatables floating above and a vast arena for the audience of groundlings, mostly young fashion-conscious people who milled about getting in the way of the cameras and hara.s.sed floor managers in a style that was becoming the established fashion in hip youth TV, a style that veered between sulky disaffection and hysterical whooping adulation. Hugh was convinced that they were more interested in how their hair looked on screen than in anything we might be saying or doing to try and amuse them.

The man who put the t.u.r.d in Sat.u.r.day Live. Sat.u.r.day Live. I cannot recall a single thing about that sketch. Why the rolled-up trouser leg? I cannot recall a single thing about that sketch. Why the rolled-up trouser leg?

A month or so earlier we had gone to the Comedy Store to see a new comedian about whom we had heard great things. His name was Harry Enfield and he performed a stand-up routine as a most marvellously curmudgeonly and perverse old gentleman, a character he had consciously modelled on the persona Gerard Hoffnung adopted in his legendary interviews with Charles Richardson. Harry worked on Spitting Image Spitting Image as an impressionist and had, like us, been booked for as an impressionist and had, like us, been booked for Sat.u.r.day Live. Sat.u.r.day Live.

He had b.u.mped into and become friends with Paul Whitehouse and Charlie Higson, our painter-decorators, and together Harry and Paul had developed a character based on Adam, Paul's Graeco-c.o.c.kney kebab-shop owner. Now named Stavros, he was working well as a puppet on Spitting Image Spitting Image, and Harry fancied the idea of trying him out in the flesh for Sat.u.r.day Live. Sat.u.r.day Live. Hugh and I rather envied Harry the stability of having one returning character. Each week for the twelve of the first run of Hugh and I rather envied Harry the stability of having one returning character. Each week for the twelve of the first run of Sat.u.r.day Live Sat.u.r.day Live we had to think of something new to do. Each week the blank sheet of paper and accusatory pen, or rather the blank screen, flashing cursor and accusatory keyboard. The sketches that seemed to work best in the insanely hot, loud and unstable atmosphere of the studio were the ones, as we had imagined, where Hugh and I talked out to the audience. We developed a line of talk-show parodies where Hugh played a character called Peter Mostyn, who interviewed me in increasingly strange formats. we had to think of something new to do. Each week the blank sheet of paper and accusatory pen, or rather the blank screen, flashing cursor and accusatory keyboard. The sketches that seemed to work best in the insanely hot, loud and unstable atmosphere of the studio were the ones, as we had imagined, where Hugh and I talked out to the audience. We developed a line of talk-show parodies where Hugh played a character called Peter Mostyn, who interviewed me in increasingly strange formats.

More Sat.u.r.day Live Sat.u.r.day Live: with Hugh, Harry Enfield and Ben Elton. Why the electric carving knife, if that's what it is? I remember nothing nothing of this moment. of this moment.

'h.e.l.lo and welcome to Stealing a Car Stereo With Stealing a Car Stereo With. I'm Peter Mostyn and tonight I'll be stealing a car stereo with Nigel Davenant, Shadow Home Secretary and Member of Parliament for South Reason. Nigel, h.e.l.lo and welcome to Stealing a Car Stereo With Stealing a Car Stereo With ...' and so on. ...' and so on.

I remember that Mostyn sketch with especial clarity (most of our Sat.u.r.day Live Sat.u.r.day Live experiences are a blur of jumbled memories: the brain can be kind that way) because it allowed us to film away from the feared studio audience and down in the LWT underground car park. With the show being live it was rather tense. We had some sort of iron punch with which to smash the nearside window of a car and pull out the radio. Rather than using the friable and safe sugar gla.s.s usually favoured as a prop we were going to do it on the real thing, a car belonging to someone in the production crew. experiences are a blur of jumbled memories: the brain can be kind that way) because it allowed us to film away from the feared studio audience and down in the LWT underground car park. With the show being live it was rather tense. We had some sort of iron punch with which to smash the nearside window of a car and pull out the radio. Rather than using the friable and safe sugar gla.s.s usually favoured as a prop we were going to do it on the real thing, a car belonging to someone in the production crew.

'Right so, Shadow Home Secretary, have you ever stolen a car stereo before?'

'Ooh, not since I was a young parliamentary a.s.sistant.'

'Feeling confident?'

'Give it a d.a.m.ned good go, anyway ...'

'That's the spirit! This is the kind of tool most car thieves use. One firm blow and then, quick as you can, out with the stereo. But while you're doing that, let me ask you, was politics always your first love?'

'Oh, no, Susanna was my first love, then a boy called Tony and then then politics.' politics.'

'Right, has politics changed much since you first entered the house as a young man after that by-election in 1977?'

And, which was the purpose of these sketches, Hugh would continue an earnest and commonplace interview as if we were doing the most normal thing in the world. Later scenarios included 'Introducing My Grandfather To', 'Photocopying My Genitals With' and 'Flying a Light Aircraft Without Having Had Any Formal Instruction With'.

It took about six heavy bangs on the gla.s.s to smash the window that night, I recall. I could clearly hear the alarmed voice of Geoff Posner, the director, in the earpieces of the two cameramen and a.s.sistant floor manager each time the punch bounced harmlessly off the window. 'Jesus! h.e.l.l! Oh, for f.u.c.k's sake!'

Hugh improvised n.o.bly. 'Would you say, Nigel, that new European lamination standards have succeeded in toughening gla.s.s since your early days stealing car stereos?'

'That's ... bang bang ... right, Peter. I would ... ... right, Peter. I would ... bang bang ... say ... exactly ... ... say ... exactly ... bang bang ... that. Plus I've lost a lot of strength in my arms due to ... that. Plus I've lost a lot of strength in my arms due to bang ... Crash!! bang ... Crash!! ... ah, that's got it ...' What I had lost a lot of strength in my arms due to I fortunately never had to declare. ... ah, that's got it ...' What I had lost a lot of strength in my arms due to I fortunately never had to declare.

The only other sketch I remember with any clarity is seared into my memory like a brand because it necessitated a visit to a hypnotist.

I am not able, as I have discussed before, to sing. By which I mean I am really really not able to sing, much as I am not able to fly through the air by flapping my arms. not able to sing, much as I am not able to fly through the air by flapping my arms. Not Not. Able Able. It is not a question of me doing it badly badly but a question of me not being able to do it but a question of me not being able to do it at all at all. I have told you what my singing voice does to those c.o.c.ky and wrong-headed fools who have skipped about the place proclaiming, 'Why, that's nonsense! Everyone Everyone can sing ...' Hugh, as we know, sings marvellously, as he does most things marvellously, but Stephen just plain doesn't. I can sing ...' Hugh, as we know, sings marvellously, as he does most things marvellously, but Stephen just plain doesn't. I think think I can sing when I'm on my own, in the shower for instance, but there is no way of testing it. If I imagine for a second that there is anybody in the house, or in the garden, or within a hundred yards of me, I freeze up. And that would include a microphone, so my singing is like a physicist's quantum event: any observation fatally alters its outcome. I can sing when I'm on my own, in the shower for instance, but there is no way of testing it. If I imagine for a second that there is anybody in the house, or in the garden, or within a hundred yards of me, I freeze up. And that would include a microphone, so my singing is like a physicist's quantum event: any observation fatally alters its outcome.

Well, came the day in the middle of the second series of Sat.u.r.day Live Sat.u.r.day Live that I found that Hugh had painted me, or I had painted myself, into a dreadful corner. Somehow a routine had been written in which it was essential for me to sing. Hugh was performing some other crucial function in the sketch, and I could not but accept that I was going to have to sing. Live. On television. that I found that Hugh had painted me, or I had painted myself, into a dreadful corner. Somehow a routine had been written in which it was essential for me to sing. Hugh was performing some other crucial function in the sketch, and I could not but accept that I was going to have to sing. Live. On television.

For three days I was in a complete panic, trembling, sweating, moaning, yawning, needing a pee every ten minutes all the symptoms of extreme nervous tension. At last Hugh could take it no more.

'All right then. We'll just have to write another sketch.'

'No, no! I'll be fine.' Annoyingly it was a good sketch. Much as I dreaded the prospect of its approach, I knew that we should should do it. 'Really. I'll be fine.' do it. 'Really. I'll be fine.'

Hugh took in my quaking knees, ashen complexion and terrified countenance. 'You won't be fine,' he said. 'I can see that. Look, it's obviously psychological. You can hammer out a tune on a piano, you can tell one song from another. You're obviously not tone deaf.'

'No,' I said, 'the problem is I am tone dumb. dumb.'

'Psychological. What you should do is see a hypnotist.'

At three o'clock next afternoon I rang the doorbell of the Maddox Street consulting rooms of one Michael Joseph, Clinical Hypnotist.

He turned out to be Hungarian by birth. Hungarian, I suppose because of my grandfather, is my favourite accent in all the world. I shan't attempt to write 'Vot' for 'What' and 'deh' for 'the', you will just have to imagine a voice like George Solti's weaving its way into my brain.

'Tell me the issue that brings you here,' he asked, expecting, I imagine, smoking or weight control or something along those lines.

'I have to sing tomorrow night.'

'Excuse me?'

'Tomorrow night I have to sing. Live on television.'

I outlined the nature of the problem. 'You say you can never sing, you have never sung?'

'Well, I think it must be a mental block. I have a good enough ear to be able usually to recognize some keys. E flat major, C minor and D major, for instance. But the moment I have to sing in front of anybody else I just get a hammering in my ears, my throat constricts, my mouth goes dry and the most tuneless, arrhythmic horror comes out.'

'I see, I see. Perhaps you should put the palms of your hands on your knees, that would be pleasantly comfortable, I think. You know, if you feel your hands on your legs, it is amazing how they seem almost to melt into the flesh, is it not? Soon it is hard to tell which is your hands and which is your legs, don't they? They are as one. And as this is happening it now feels as if you are being lowered down a well, haven't you? Down into the dark. But my voice is like the rope that keeps you confident that you will not be lost. My voice will be able to pull you back up, but for the moment it is dropping you down and down and until you are in the warm and in the dark. Yes? No?'

'Mm ...' I felt myself slipping into a state not of unconsciousness, for I was fully awake and aware of willing relaxation and contented stupor. Light closed around me until I was snug and securely held in the well of darkness and warmth that he had described.

'Tell me when it was that you decided that you could not sing?'

And now, quite unexpectedly, there popped fully formed into my head a perfectly clear memory of cong. prac.

Congregational practice is held every Sat.u.r.day morning in the prep school gym/chapel/a.s.sembly hall. The music master, Mr Hemuss, takes us through the hymns that will be sung in tomorrow's service. It is my first term. I am seven years old and just getting used to boarding 200 miles from home. I stand at the end of a row with a hymnbook in my hand joining in as the school sings its way through the first verse of 'Jerusalem the Golden'. Kirk, the duty prefect, saunters up and down the aisles, making sure everyone is behaving. Suddenly he stops right next to me and holds up his hand.

'Sir, sir ... Fry is singing flat!'

There is t.i.ttering. Mr Hemuss calls for hush. 'On your own then, Fry.'

I don't know what singing flat means, but I know it must be terrible.

'Come on,' Hemuss strikes his hand down on the keyboard to sound a chord and belts out the opening line in a strong tenor, 'Jerusalem the golden ...'

I try to pick it up from there. 'With milk and honey blest ...' The school erupts with hoots of derisive laughter as a husky tuneless squeak emerges from me.

'Yes, well. In future I think it would be better if you mimed,' says Mr Hemuss. Kirk grins triumphantly and moves on, and I am left alone, hot, pink and quaking with humiliation, shame and terror.

The memory shrinks and moves away as Michael Joseph's rea.s.suring Magyar tones continue to solace me. 'It has been a painful memory, but now it is one that makes you smile. For you can see that this is what has been locking up the music inside you all these years. Tomorrow evening you have to sing, yes?'

'Yes.' My voice seeming to come from a long way away.

'When you have to sing, is there a ... how you say ... a cue cue? Is there some cue for you to sing?'

'Yes. My friend Hugh turns to me and says, "Hit it, b.i.t.c.h."'

'"Hit it, b.i.t.c.h?"'

'"Hit it, b.i.t.c.h."'

'Very good. "Hit it, b.i.t.c.h." So. Tomorrow, when you stand before the audience you will feel confident, happy and filled with belief in your ability to triumph in this moment. And when you hear the words "Hit it, b.i.t.c.h" all tensions and fears will melt away. This is the signal for you to be able easily to sing the song you need to sing. No fear, no tightness in the throat. Ease, confidence, a.s.surance. Repeat that to me.'

'When I hear the words "Hit it, b.i.t.c.h" all tensions and fears will melt away. It is the signal for me to be able to sing the song I need to sing. No fear. No tightness in the throat. Ease. Confidence. a.s.surance.'

'Excellent. And now I shall pull on the rope and bring you up to the surface. As I pull I count down from twenty. When I reach "ten" you will begin to awaken, refreshed and happy, quite able to remember our conversation and all its details. At "five" your eyes will begin to open. So. Twenty, nineteen ...'

I stumbled away, rather amazed that this memory of cong. prac. had been revealed and fully confident that I would indeed be able to sing when the moment came. I believe I even hummed to myself as I walked from Maddox Street to the Oxford Street tube station.

The following evening I told Hugh that, if he m.u.f.fed his cue and said 'Hit it, baby,' or 'Cue it, b.i.t.c.h,' or anything like that, then our whole enterprise would fail. All was well, the moment came, Hugh delivered the line correctly, and sounds came out of my mouth in more or less the right order and employing more or less the correct musical pitches.

Did the experience unlock singing for me? Absolutely not. I am as hopeless as ever I was. At weddings and funerals I still prefer to mime. At John Schlesinger's funeral at a synagogue in St John's Wood some years ago the person I stood next to said to me encouragingly, 'Come on, Stephen you're not singing. Have a go!'

'Believe me, Paul, you don't want me to,' I said. Besides, I was having a much better time listening to him him.

'No. Go on!'

So I joined in the chorus.

'You're right,' Paul McCartney conceded. 'You can't sing.'

I suppose, in career terms, Sat.u.r.day Live Sat.u.r.day Live was a good move. It was watched by a large audience and generally went down well. It was especially successful for Ben, who moved from being a regular contributor to permanent host. His sign-off, 'My name's Ben Elton, good night!', became the catchphrase of the show until Harry and Paul, tiring of the very successful Stavros, devised a new character for Harry to play. They came up with a loud-mouthed Sarf London plasterer who fanned his wad of dosh at the audience and shouted 'Loadsamoney!' with gleeful, exultant braggadocio. He seemed to symbolize the second act of the Thatcher play, an era of materialism, greed and contempt for those left behind. As with Johnny Speight and Warren Mitch.e.l.l's Alf Garnett, much of the audience seemed either to be deaf to or chose to disregard Paul and Harry's satirical intent, raising Loadsamoney to almost folk-heroic status. was a good move. It was watched by a large audience and generally went down well. It was especially successful for Ben, who moved from being a regular contributor to permanent host. His sign-off, 'My name's Ben Elton, good night!', became the catchphrase of the show until Harry and Paul, tiring of the very successful Stavros, devised a new character for Harry to play. They came up with a loud-mouthed Sarf London plasterer who fanned his wad of dosh at the audience and shouted 'Loadsamoney!' with gleeful, exultant braggadocio. He seemed to symbolize the second act of the Thatcher play, an era of materialism, greed and contempt for those left behind. As with Johnny Speight and Warren Mitch.e.l.l's Alf Garnett, much of the audience seemed either to be deaf to or chose to disregard Paul and Harry's satirical intent, raising Loadsamoney to almost folk-heroic status.

Ben, Harry, Hugh and I fell into the habit of winding down, after the recordings, in a Covent Garden club called the Zanzibar, usually bringing with us the guest comedians or musicians of the week.

Wedged in a semicircle of banquette one night, I had the opportunity of observing Robbie Coltrane's romantic and poetic seduction technique. He picked up the hand of the girl sitting next to him.

'What fine, delicate hands you have,' he said.

'Why thank you,' said the girl.

'I love women with small hands.'

'You do?'

'I do. They make my c.o.c.k look so much bigger.'

The Zanzibar swarmed with media people. Jimmy Mulville was often there. This sharp, witty, fast-brained Liverpudlian had been something of a legend in Cambridge, having left the year I arrived. He had gone up to read Latin and Ancient Greek, and a less likely Cambridge cla.s.sicist you could never hope to meet. The rumour was that his father, a docker from Walton, had come home one night when Jimmy was seventeen and said, 'You'd better do well in your A levels and that, son, because I've just been to the bookies and put down a bet on you getting all A grades and a scholarship to Cambridge. Got a good price too.'

'Christ, Dad!' Jimmy is reported to have said in shock. 'How much did you bet?'

'Everything,' came the reply. 'So get studying.'

They say that today's schoolchildren now suffer more exam pressure than my generation ever did, and generally I have no doubt that this is true, but I don't suppose many have had to endure pressure of the kind Jimmy did that year. He duly obliged with the straight As and the scholarship.

It is too good a story for me to check up and risk the disappointment of it being proved a distortion or exaggeration. What is certainly true is that, when Jimmy arrived at Jesus in 1975, he brought a wife with him. It is not uncommon for people of a working-cla.s.s background to wed before they are twenty, but it is very uncommon for students to be married, and how the young Mrs Mulville coped at Cambridge I do not know. Jimmy became President of the Footlights in 1977 and by the time I am writing about he was starring in and writing the Channel 4 comedy Who Dares Wins Who Dares Wins with his Cambridge contemporary Rory McGrath. He would go on to found Hat Trick, one of the first independent television production companies, famous for bringing shows like with his Cambridge contemporary Rory McGrath. He would go on to found Hat Trick, one of the first independent television production companies, famous for bringing shows like Have I Got News for You Have I Got News for You to television and slightly less famous for giving shows like my own to television and slightly less famous for giving shows like my own This Is David Lander This Is David Lander an airing. an airing.

Who Dares Wins had established itself as something of a cult, singled out as being responsible for the post-closing-time scheduling slot that Channel 4 made its own. Its beery style was not very close to the kind of thing Hugh and I did, but for me the flashes of brilliance in the writing more than made up for its laddish manner. It gave the world one of my favourite jokes. There is something very pleasing about one-word punchlines. had established itself as something of a cult, singled out as being responsible for the post-closing-time scheduling slot that Channel 4 made its own. Its beery style was not very close to the kind of thing Hugh and I did, but for me the flashes of brilliance in the writing more than made up for its laddish manner. It gave the world one of my favourite jokes. There is something very pleasing about one-word punchlines.

The show nearly always ended with a long, complex party scene, shot in a one-camera single take. In one of these episodes Jimmy approaches Rory and picks up a can of beer. Just as he's bringing it up to his lips, Rory warns him, 'Um, I've been using that as an ashtray actually.' Jimmy gives him a hard look, says, 'Tough,' and swigs.

Another occasional habitue of the Zanzibar was the remarkable Peter Bennett-Jones, also a Cambridge graduate, and now one of the most powerful managers, agents and producers in British television and film. I remember helping to give him the b.u.mps outside the club at half past two on the morning of his thirtieth birthday and watching in alarm as he dropped to the pavement and announced that he would now do thirty press-ups.

'You're an old man!' I said. 'You'll give yourself a heart attack.'

P B-J, as he is universally known, did the thirty and then another twenty, just because.

A friend of mine claims that he was at a loose end in Hong Kong years ago. A hotel concierge recommended a restaurant.

'Go Kowloonside and ask for Chou Lai's.'

On the quay at Kowloon he was pointed to a junk that was just leaving. He leapt aboard.