Diaries 1969-1979_ The Python Years - Michael Palin [39]
I was met by a cab driver who was to take me to St Andrews. We drove north, over the Forth Road Bridge and up to Kinross on the motorway. This then petered out, and the roads were narrower, more silent, with occasional holes, filled with deep puddles. What with the driving rain, the wind and the increasing remoteness of the area, it was, as the cab driver remarked, ‘real Dracula weather’.
We arrived at St Andrews at 2.30. The hotel was beside the sea and, although I couldn’t see the waves, their noise was quite deafening. I paid the cab driver £10, and he set off back to Edinburgh.
In the hotel I had the following conversation with an obliging night porter:
Night Porter: ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
Traveller: ‘Well, that would be nice – but have you anything stronger?’
Porter: ‘No, no, can’t do that, sorry, not now.’
Traveller: ‘Oh, dear.’
Porter: ‘Would you like a glass of beer?’
Traveller: ‘Yes, that would be fine.’
Porter: ‘Righto.’
Traveller: ‘There’s not the slightest chance of a drop of scotch?’
Porter: ‘A beer and a scotch?’
Traveller: ‘Yes, please.’
Porter: ‘Righto.’
Saturday, April 24th, St Andrews
My eight o’clock alarm call with newspapers arrived at 7.30, without newspapers. I drank a cup of tea and read a little, then lounged in the bath and pondered rather gloomily on the amount of work that lay ahead today.
At 2.30 we turned up at the Younger Hall, whose interior was as cold and inhospitable as the exterior. The most obvious problem we were going to have to face was the acoustics. One’s voice simply died about half-way into the auditorium, unless we spoke at full blast. With long sketches such as ‘World Forum’, ‘Lumberjack Song’, ‘I Don’t Go Out Much Nowadays’ monologue,1 ‘Gambolputty’, ‘Pet Shop’ and gross and noisy ones like ‘Shabby’ and ‘Gumby Flower Arranging’ to do, this didn’t bode well for two performances.
There was no time to eat, and hardly any to drink, before the first show. As usual the house was packed and the audience consistently appreciative. But it isn’t a performance I shall remember with much pride. In the back of my mind throughout was the spectre of a second performance, and the gradual deterioration of my voice as I strained and shouted my way through. The ‘Lumberjack Song’ was a disaster. John, as the Colonel, came on and stopped it once, and we all trailed off and then had another bash – only slightly less distinguished than the first. My long monologue,’I Don’t Go Out Much’, was delivered badly and without much confidence.
From the very start of the second performance it was obvious that they were a noisier, more appreciative audience – many of them little short of ecstatic. I know I used them disgracefully, with shouting, grins, nods, ad-libs, etc. But it was amazing how much more impact every item had. For about 80 minutes it was almost five laughs a minute – ‘I Don’t Go Out Much’ went down as successfully as it used to in Edinburgh – thus justifying Terry’s faith in it (I don’t think I would have put it in the show). All in all, this was one of the great performances. I especially enjoyed corpsingjohn (he maintains I got him five times).
Wednesday, May 12th
Terry and I have been working fairly solidly together – firstly finishing our eight-sketch commitment for The Two Ronnies – which has turned out to be the most unrewarding task financially and artistically. The sketches are drawn from us with lavish praise and unrestrained enthusiasm – and yet when we see them on TV they have been changed and coarsened and we are not happy.
But secondly we have been writing our Munich show,1 which has been like old times, with lots of wild ideas developing.
On May 5th I was 28, and on May 6th at lunchtime we heard that we had come second at the Montreux Festival – winning The Silver Rose. The winner was an Austrian show, which everyone said was exactly like Python and I must say the title