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Went for a swim in the hotel pool – which was cool and invigorating – and shaved close (I have to play a woman today) with great care, packed an (Indian) bag full of script, towel, swimming trunks, black notebook and 1930 Macmillan edition of Hardy’s Tess of the D’Urbervilles (part of my cultural survival kit) and drove in my little grey Renault 5 along the road across the salt flats, past Monastir Airport, past Bourguiba’s summer palace, through the plywood triumphal arches, taking great care to avoid bicycles, wandering old men and dozens of women, bottle-shaped in their white chadors. Finally turned sharply left in the direction of the bright, white, elegantly simple and unadorned lines of the Ribat – and its false sister building (built by Zeffirelli for Jesus of Nazareth), which stands rather impertinently beside it.

A take has just begun, and John Young, dressed in loin cloth, is being dragged to the stoning yard beneath the outer walls of the Ribat by a wonderfully-dressed, swirling crowd. It’s an impressive, exciting, authentic Biblical crowd – and more than anything today gave me a sharp boost of confidence. This film really could be impressive.

A crowd of ladies in beards has been assembled from a nucleus of our rep company, Tunisian actresses, Tunisian non-actresses and several people from Manchester who are on holiday.

John C is a little stiff in his early performances, but loosens up as he realises it’s going to be rather good. John Young is wonderful. As JC says, though, at the end of the day, considering this is the first day of principal photography on a ‘major motion picture’, there’s no sense of occasion, we just get on with it. Terry J hops about in a businesslike way, and doesn’t exude any of the egomania of the Great Director. Peter Biziou1 and John Stanier (camera operator on Midnight Express) are equally efficient and unflamboyant.

Then later in the afternoon the camera breaks down. Could this become a traditional feature of Python first days?

I change and, while a huge stone is being dropped on John Cleese, go into the Ribat and work over my words for the Pilate scene on Wednesday. Then I sit in the rather calming air-conditioned comfort of the caravan and learn some of the Shepherds scene.

In the evening back to the Méridien to change, then out to eat at the Coq with Terry J, Peter and Cristina [Peter’s partner] and Gwen [Taylor] and Andrew McLachlan.2 Drink rather a lot of wine and end up plunging into the sea starkers at midnight. A small but lecherous crowd of Tunisians gathers to watch and, as we walk away, a young boy offers us 40 dinars for an English girl who happens to be the girlfriend of Garth Marshall, our sound recordist. Then later offers me the services of a young man ‘only just down the road’.

Sunday, September 17th, Monastir

Breakfast out on my balcony. Early light cloud disperses by mid-morning. Write various postcards and ring Helen and talk to the kids. Of course I miss them, but because of the holiday in France and the fact that this was all planned so long ago, I think we’re all adjusted to being apart, so it’s just good to hear them – not at all painful – apart from Willy, whose chief topic of conversation is that he’s just been hit on the head by Rachel.

A walk up the beach and a swim before lunch. Then afterwards feet up and an hour’s read of Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Hardy travels well. His stories especially suit Tunisia, a country with still much of the slow pace and time for social intercourse that Hardy regretfully saw passing in Dorset.

In the evening, two friends of Eric and Tania – Anjelica Huston and Nona Summers – arrived from London, bringing Sunday papers, which we grabbed from them avidly. Wine up on the balcony in Eric’s suite and briks (local speciality – a crispy pancake enclosing usually egg and tuna – a sort of Tunisian equivalent of the hamburger).

Monday, September 18th, Monastir

Woke early – around seven – but snoozed fitfully until 8.30, having, in wonderful solitude, read Tess,