Around
the States in Eighty Days
Being an irregular and erratic account by the
Greedy Bastard himself as he sets out to traverse America on
a comedy tour.
Day
Two. Somewhere in Canada.
Tuesday
September 30th 2003. Publicity in Toronto
4 a.m. Sutton Place Hotel Toronto. I
awake refreshed after a nap. This morning I have to face the
Press. I am on Good Morning Canada. But I have a few hours
to myself first. I love early mornings. I like nothing more
than a little lap top and a nice cup of tea. Oh and a decent
pair of pants. And a good book. And a guitar of course. Oh
and a Swiss Army knife. A portable CD player, and a hot bath
of course, that goes without saying. And a comfortable bed.
Come to think of it there's a lot more I like that just a
bloody computer and a jug of tea.
The past week and a half has been spent rehearsing with my
cast members. This is supposed to be a Greedy Bastard Tour
but sadly I have wavered on my quest and included my partner
(and co creator of Spamelot) the semi-legendary John Du Prez,
a man, well more than a man, more a man and a half, who has
spent more than 25 years writing and producing songs with
me. I have also brought Peter Crabbe, an enormously tall man
who is not averse to clambering in to women's clothing at
the drop of a chapeau. Peter is coming to abuse the audience
as a member of Homeland Security. He plays an ex-Colonel with
a new job. This role he will re-write every night. There were
some memorable rants on the last tour, including one magical
surreal moment in Washington when he ranted on about signers
for the deaf, as the signer by the side of the stage became
ever more hysterical and could hardly keep up for laughing.
On Friday in Rutland he will be ranting on about sick New
Yorkers coming out to watch leaves dying….can't wait.
I am also bringing Jennifer Julian who is a very funny blonde
comedienne whom I have stolen from her regular radio slot
in Montana. Or Wyoming. Or somewhere. Jennifer has a friend
who has already made us a Penis fish for the Bill Maher show,
and is currently making some kind of aquatic muff diving creature
and a trouser snake. All these beasts as well as Jennifer,
will be along on the tour.
I seem to have developed a silly walk. I have been limping
for the past three months and have been undergoing thrice
weekly physio for tendonitis, but my doctor announced just
as I left that it was probably gout,(whaaat?) and threw me
some pills. They worked too, but had worn off by the time
I reached Toronto and so I came in to Canada in a peculiarly
silly crab walk, with a bit of a sideways twist. Serves me
right, I made a joke last week about John needing a silly
walker… It'll be me who has it on this tour. Will I ever
dance naked in front of the Taj Mahal by moonlight again?
[No. And he never has. The Greedy Bastard is clearly using
too much tea again. -ed.]
The Canadian Immigration Official, softened by my oblique
and obviously insane sideways approach to his desk, politely
claimed to have seen my TV ads so that's a good sign, although
he didn't say whether he had bought any tickets. Perhaps I
should carry some around with me. Is that too greedy? Can
you be too greedy in the Bush era? [No. -ed.]
There is a hilarious moment in the Arrival Hall as Baggage
Claim play their own version of musical chairs, switching
the numbers on the luggage carousels, so that just as 72 passengers
have wheeled their trolleys and settled expectantly like pigeons,
they flash a new number and send the whole lot scuttling off
down the hall. As soon as they arrive in front of a new number,
they switch it back. This is a good gag and clearly amuses
them no end as they try it a couple more times. Finally the
passengers give up and hover about in the middle of the hall
muttering, until they reluctantly release the baggage. I have
half an idea this is for my benefit.
My Greedy Bastard Agent calls as I reach the room. He announces
there is a beautiful woman on the phone with him. He seems
to employ only beautiful young women and represent only people
who are far too old to take advantage of this. I must watch
him rather carefully on this tour. He spells his name Marc
with a c and that is a little too hairdressery don't you think?
I bet he's a secret Mark, who upgraded. He is trying to send
me Tee shirts for approval. This is what the Greedy Bastard
Tour is all about: shifting merchandise. I am too smart to
warn them not to try that stuff on the greedy bastards of
PythOnline, who wouldn't even buy a tee shirt to save PythOnline
etc etc (see previous rant). They wouldn't make the shirt
I really wanted. They said there would be no market for a
shirt with the Penis Fish on it. Well little do they know
about you bastards who come to these shows. (And little do
I know as a matter of fact. Who the fuck are you?) That was
the great thing about having Terry Gilliam around. He would
never let you get away with any compromise. Even when we did
the Albert Hall last year for the George Harrison Memorial
Concert, we all laughed when he suggested we sing Sit On My
Face and agreed that was the obvious thing to do for George
but it was Gilliam who insisted we must all still show our
asses at the end. So there's a wonderful moment for you in
the upcoming Movie of a truly spectacular concert performed
impeccably by Eric Clapton, Paul McCartney, Ringo, Jeff Lynn,
Tom Petty, Joe Brown et al. [Don't ask who al is.]
The whole thing is sublime, marred only by the spectacle of
ancient Python asses. You have been warned. This is not for
the squeamish. And do bring plenty of Kleenex, because if
you ever loved George you won't get through this one without
a lot of tears. The LA opening of the movie last week was
spectacular. A full-court Beatle turn out, Paul seen hugging
Ringo, even Yoko, bless her, was there. Olivia and Dhani Harrison
have managed to turn this whole event into a truly wonderful
memorial and united all his friends in their grief to make
a joyous and utterly unforgettable evening and now they are
sharing it with the world.
The second day of the Greedy Bastard tour passes in Toronto
in a whirlwind of interviews interspersed with sitting in
traffic jams - the Don Valley Parking Lot they call it. Welcome
to Canada. Everyone seems to like the Greedy Bastard title,
though Good Morning Canada will not say it on air and it takes
me to mention it to shock them into waking up a little. Mild
irreverence passes for extreme wit at this time in the morning
and they all look very happy as I leave. Unless it's because
I'm leaving. Only John Gibson on a Fox remote seems alive
to the satirical possibilities of the title. "It's the
Greedy Bastard era" I hear myself say. (really?) Later
I say I always liked his hair and he comes back on the line
after the interview to tell me he has ten wigs in it. Send
me one, I say and I'll wear it on stage.
I am so brain dead by the end of the day that I inadvertently
say the f word on CBC radio. There is a shocked reaction from
the control booth and some people hold their hands over their
mouths and others put their thumbs up in glee. Ooops. Avril
Benoit takes it in her stride and skips straight along. She
gives good interview. On CFRB (no I don't know what it means
either) John Moore permits only one question from a listener.
He has asked his producer to carefully screen all calls from
gushing over-eager fans, but this man calls in and goes on
and on about how much he loves Monty Python, and how many
Pythons things he has bought. He just spends hours watching
Monty Python, he says, while spanking the monkey! I don't
even have the good taste to let it go. "Spanking the
monkey" I say "did he just say spanking the monkey?
What kind of freak watches Monty Python while beating a chimp?"
The host cuts quickly to the news and the newsreader says,
I swear, "Welcome to the spanking news!"
My PR host, a Yorkshireman called Richard, is a bit paranoid
he'll end up in this diary. I assure him he won't but of course
I'm lying. But this is all I'm going to say about him since
he watched me gauchely upset a pint of Pepsi over my nice
clean clothes in a chic Indian restaurant and I'm on the road
dammit. Well at least there was no fucking camera to record
my discomfort. A documentary maker from Montreal emails to
ask if he can make a documentary about the making of Spamelot.
I feel as though I am being weighed as a potential Gilliam
for another Don Quixote type documentary. I feel the words
"fuck off" swimming irresistibly into my mind…
To my hotel room where the call sheet lists a mere dozen interviews
for tomorrow, then a plane trip to Boston where I shall greet
my Greedy Bastard crew and finally meet the Bus. Oh God, was
this ever a good idea…?
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