Diaries 1969-1979_ The Python Years - Michael Palin [238]
The Pyms have been there twenty-five years. They’re a quiet, self-contained, working class couple. He’s a dustman. She has that Welsh darting quickness and busyness.
Good news, or nice news – Jabberwocky has been selected as the British entry for the Berlin Film Festival, so it’s brush up on the German and off to Berlin for TG and me at the beginning of July. It’s still being held in at Cinema One in New York. Don Rugoff is forever devising new campaigns, hoping that kids will flock in during the long school holidays and save the picture.
Monday, May 30th
To the BBC at ten o’clock for a sort of review of the situation so far with Jim F. I think they are running into heavy production problems with ‘The Curse of the Claw’, one of which is casting the very difficult Chief Petty Officer part.
Gwen Taylor, whom Eric recommended to me as being ‘a female Michael Palin’, now can’t do it (because of the new dates), nor can Penny Wilton, our second choice.
Tuesday, May 31st
We talk to and read through with four girls from four until about half past five. Eventually select Judy Loe.1 She’s a straightforward, jolly, easy-going lady and straightaway understood and appreciated the part.
Up to Terry Hughes’ office for a glass of wine —Jimmy Gilbert, now Head of Light Entertainment, and Bill Cotton, new Controller of BBC 1, there. Very matey and jolly and we talk about my house-buying as if we were old friends at the pub. Continually amazed at the change in their attitude (or is it the change in mine?) since Python!
But they have shown great confidence in the Ripping Yarns. I hope they will be as good as everyone thinks they’re going to be.
Friday, June 3rd
A hot day. Into Soho to see what Ray [Millichope, the editor] has done to the still unsatisfactory ‘Moorstones’ and ‘Andes’.
Difficult to work up in Wardour Street as groups of chanting, singing, shouting Scottish football fans are roaming the West End, waiting for the pubs to open. As I drive from Soho down through St Martin’s Lane and Trafalgar Square (where one of them is later killed jumping into a fountain), I see the Scots everywhere. In high spirits – the weather, the booze and the anticipation of rubbing England’s nose in the turf – they have taken over Trafalgar Square from the American tourists and they have easily upstaged the colourless pink and washed-out turquoise of the Jubilee decorations.
Lunch with Jill Foster in the King’s Road. The subject of Graham C comes up. I mention how cowardly I am about confronting him with direct criticism of his wasteful lifestyle. Jill says she took him out to lunch the other day and told him he was a boozy old wastrel who was destroying himself and his chances of work. GC took a gin and tonic off her and agreed.
In the early evening, swimming with the kids at the Holiday Inn, where there are three or four men of ruddy body and glazed eye hurling themselves at the water with vicious smacks. It turns out – yes – they’re Scottish football supporters. I sign an autograph for them. They can’t believe that at the hotel in one day they’ve seen Kevin Keegan, John Conteh and now a real live Monty Python.
Tuesday, June 7th, Jubilee Day, Abbotsley
Rather grey to start with, but the rain held off. Church Farm decked out with streams of coloured flags. In the afternoon went to Abbotsley Village Sports in the field at the back of the Eight Bells pub. Helen and I came second in the wheelbarrow race and I entered for the obstacle race – two heats – and though I came third overall, I was nearly dead after crawling under nets, etc.
Later in the evening, as it got dark, we returned to the sports field for the village firework display, having just watched the royal bonfire being lit at Windsor Castle – a dramatic sight – huge flames and great surging crowds of people. Abbotsley