Diaries 1969-1979_ The Python Years - Michael Palin [309]
November’s connotations seem the same whether in foggy England or sunny North Africa – warm fires, warm baths, protection and shelter are the order of the month.
A fine sunset – a great final curtain. Dinner at the Gulf restaurant with TJ, after rushes. He’s pushed through thirty-six shots today and only the wide-shots of the amphitheatre, with Neil running away from the giant gladiator, remain to be done.
Sunday, November 12th, Carthage
I left the chalet at a quarter to seven.
Eric is outside already, standing on the sea-shore, looking towards the sunrise. A canopy of small, white, grey-edged flecks of cloud dot the sky, changing from rich red to deep gold as the sun slowly rises.
Bernard McK leapt out of his chalet and intercepted me with the joyful news that he had been writing his Robin’s Nest1 episode since three o’clock in the morning and the end was in sight!
Left the cheery Bernard and reflective Eric and climbed up the path, past good, fresh smells of early morning – pine and grass and the hint of soft, sweet scents from bougainvillea and camellia.
Back in London by twelve, but Helen was over at Mary and Ed’s with the children for lunch. Drove over there in the Citroen, and had not gone one mile before I was hit a glancing blow on the back wing from a careering Triumph Herald. I could hardly believe it. After nine weeks’ driving in Tunisia without a scratch (despite all TJ’s warnings about manic Arab drivers) I return to Kentish Town and wham! The driver, a dapper young man with untrust-worthy eyes, actually tried to make a fight of it, accusing me (who had been stationary at a junction) of taking up too much road. I refused to argue, but I was shaking with anger by the time I eventually reached my family.
Tom played me in with a clarinet fanfare. Rachel was shy at first and pretended not to notice and Willy bounded up and nearly bent me double.
Later in the day the man who had thudded into the back of my car appeared contritely at our door to apologise and admit full responsibility! He turned out to be a very frightened, newly-qualified young barrister. His girlfriend had recognised me and given him a frightfully guilty conscience all afternoon. He had finally found my address by ringing up a couple of policeman ‘friends’ who gave him information from the police computer!
Monday, November 13th
Start to dig through the oceans of mail and assorted papers. Appeals from Birkdale Preparatory School, Shrewsbury School, the ETC [Experimental Theatre Club] at Oxford – my past seems to have run out of money.
Otherwise there are those who want a name to boost appeals or appear at concerts – a concert for racial equality in Oldham, Fair Play for Children in Kentish Town, The Association of Boys’ Clubs, Sheffield University Medical Society, The Dog-Lovers’ Club of Northern Kent. One-Parent Families want me to do a Christmas show.
In the evening watch the third of the Monty Python repeats. Shows as old as this diary. Capering around as Cardinal Ximenez in the ‘Spanish Inquisition’.
Tuesday, November 14th
Confirmation of my suspicions that the BBC will not commission any more Yarns after April, on grounds of cost. Jill quotes a letter from John Howard Davies saying that the shows ‘though prestigious’, are ‘beyond the BBC’s resources’.
I am greatly relieved by the news, for the go-ahead on three more would have stretched my/our ideas, would have filled up next year – which is now left tantalisingly clear for any involvement with Lome M.
Mind you, you could say they let us go without much of a struggle.
Friday, November 17th
One of the odd things about the Tunisian trip is that it’s very easy to believe it didn’t happen. It’s as though I’ve been in a time-warp, and I feel as if there has been absolute continuation of my time in England, and that this is mid-September. The Tunisian episode is like the hour a drunk cannot account for.
I suppose this is partly because of today’s summery