Diaries 1969-1979_ The Python Years - Michael Palin [196]
Outside my window it’s a bright, sunny morning. Directly below me the forlorn and deserted platforms of Victoria Station, once the starting place for Sheffield’s own prestige express – the Master Cutler. Now it’s boarded up and even the track has been taken out on Platform One. Allow 30 seconds for bout of railway nostalgia.
Downstairs to meet Jill and very crumpled Terry – I tell him to go back to his room and get up again. Despite a lot of discussion on how much better it is to go back to London early and not lose another Ripping Yarn writing day, TJ remains unhappy about not talking to the cast – even though David isn’t planning to meet them until this afternoon. Even after we’ve left Sheffield on the 8.30, ordered breakfast and settled down, Terry is still itchy with indecision and at Chesterfield, our first stop, he suddenly grabs his bag and, with a muttered ‘I’m going back’, he disappears off the train.
The bemused restaurant attendant has just cleared away Terry’s breakfast things when he reappears. ‘It’s 55 minutes until the next train back,’ he says resignedly, and sits down and comes back to London.
A bad review in The Guardian, coldly and heavily giving away the plot and all the surprises (such as they are) of Buchanan and saying that if Their Finest Hours could have been Their Finest Minutes it would have got a few more laughs.
Strangely enough, no sooner am I back in London and at my desk than Bob Scott rang from the Exchange Theatre, Manchester, to ask me to do an ‘evening’ up there later in the year. He knew the Guardian reviewer and confirmed she was a sad lady, who even found Strindberg light.
Good news from David Leland later in the day, telling us the Crucible want to extend its run beyond June 5th.
T Gilliam drops in to say John Bird has plumped for the part of Reek in Jabberwocky, and Harry H Corbett for the Squire. Both pleased me – they sound very right. John C has now definitely backed out, but apparently rang Terry G and was very contrite and even offered to come and talk about the script with him.
Finally got down to reading some more of Al Levinson’s long, unpublished novel, Millwork. Like most books it repays a longer session rather than three pages at a time before falling asleep. Am getting quite involved.
Saturday, May 22nd
Lunch down at Dulwich. Angela looking well and tanned. She plays tennis very regularly now (to keep her from sitting in the house brooding, she says). Much more positive, or certainly less negative, than when I last saw her. Veryan is away walking the Ridgeway.
Jeremy hovers, trying, whenever he can, to get in a plea for his latest passion – owning a moped. He’s not allowed to ride one for a couple of months, but apparently most of his friends at Alleyn’s School have them. He shows me his electric guitar. Looks fine, but he’s trying to play the Led Zeppelin songbook, before he’s learnt basic rock ‘n’ roll. I can understand how his few oft-repeated heavy rock chords can send Angela batty.
I feel sorry for Angela, suddenly confronted with Jeremy’s emerging independence. Just how long should he stay out at the pub listening to Meal Ticket tonight? Either she’s cautious or she’s taking a risk. No solution. I suppose we’ve got it coming.
A pleasant wander around Crystal Palace Park with the kids. Lots to see and do. The prehistoric monsters on the islands are still one of the sights of London; there’s a little zoo where goats and sheep wander around ‘mingling’ with the crowds. Rachel loved them – and wandered around in primal innocence tapping rams on their bottoms and laughing.
Sunday, May 23rd
Sunny and dry again. After morning’s swim at Holiday Inn and completion of a letter to Al L, we drive over to the Davidsons’ for lunch.
Ian tells a good Barry Humphries tale1 – apparently Barry was in full swing as Edna in his show at the Apollo, when a man in the front row, ever so discreetly, ever so carefully,