Diaries 1969-1979_ The Python Years - Michael Palin [131]
I suppose this could be said to be the day on which Python finally died. Obviously only time will tell whether this is a hopelessly over-dramatic reaction – but at the time of writing it does feel as though the group has breathed its last after nearly six years of increasingly doddery life.
The conditions of its demise were quite unspectacular. We ate lunch in my sunny work-room and afterwards I took Thomas, Holly and Willy to Little Venice, where, on a housing estate bordering the M4 elevated section, I had seen a big galleon-shaped climbing frame, which I thought they would like. They clambered on it and Tom rode his bicycle round the paths with arrogant confidence. Back in time for Dr Who.
I noticed Eric’s car outside the house and felt quite pleased. It proved that his mood on Thursday was just a mood, and things must be alright if he could come round to tea.
He’d signed me a copy of his novel Hello Sailor and, though he wasn’t ebullient, we had a cuppa together and chatted vaguely, and I really had no idea that he had any bad news, or even news, for me. (Helen said she had known something was up as soon as he appeared on the doorstep.) Carey was bashing around. He seems to me a very lively, jolly little fellow with a lust for biscuits. Eric asked when we were going to the States and then said he wanted to talk. We went upstairs to my work-room, trying not to make the occasion seem too momentous – both deliberately playing down our behaviour!
Upstairs, in the now cold room – we didn’t bother to put the fire on – Eric told me, again, but finally this time, that he couldn’t go on with Python. He’d thought about it a lot over the last few weeks, the decision hadn’t come lightly – but he felt that he had to get out or he would, as he put it, ‘go mad.’ It wasn’t just Python, there had been other troubles over the last few weeks – he’d tell me about them ‘over a pastis in the summer,’ he smiled. He hadn’t anything he was going to do – he just wanted to enjoy the experience of’waking up in the morning, knowing I don’t have to do anything’.
I must admit I had slight pinch-of-salt feelings. At my most cynical I felt here is someone who has his own novel, and another virtually commissioned, about to come out, and his own TV series too [Rutland Weekend Television], to add to an already short and successful radio series, and he is understandably anxious to shed his old Python skin. Eric the loner feels that he has taken all he can from the Python group – he’s moving on, like John did. Oh, he did say in passing that if John came back to do a TV series he would come back too. But meantime, he just wanted to take it easy, write his new book, maybe work on a play.
There was nothing I could say but bully for you. I have long since got over feelings of reproach or bitterness towards Eric. Now I feel just blissfully liberated from a tiresome duty as one of the Python anchormen – now perhaps I can be selfish as well. The prospect is interesting.
Eric and I parted on good terms. There’s no animosity – we’ll see him and Lyn and Carey socially – so perhaps in a year, or even six months, we’ll all be back in the fold again. But if not … now that’s a really exciting prospect … if not … this clear and rapidly cooling February evening, as Eric’s Volkswagen Beetle clatters off down Oak Village – this evening could be the end of lots of things.
Monday, February 24th
To the Henshaws’ for what could be yet another momentous Python meeting.
I’m the first there —Anne H hurries up the stairs with some coffee and says ruefully, ‘This is going to be quite a morning, isn’t it?’ Graham arrives next. He takes the news of Eric’s latest decision stoically to say the least. He smiles as if he knew what was going to happen and betrays no outward and visible signs of distress, anger or anxiety whatsoever – apart from taking a beer at 10.30. The two Terrys are equally resigned (TJ had felt this was an almost inevitable sequel to last Thursday’s meeting anyway).
The news from America daily lends an extra air of unreality to the situation