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
Fifty Nine. George.
Saturday,
November 29, 2003 - The Jubilee Theater Calgary, Alberta
Today
was a bad day for me. The anniversary of George's death two
years ago is on my mind all day and I avoid writing my diary.
I know I will have to write something about him and that's
a painful thing to even think about. That man, so alive with
those amazing eyes, lying so still as I scattered rose petals
on him, my shoulders shaking weeping. Sitting with him. Seeing
him so thin, hearing that terrible merciless cough, no it's
too damn painful.
This time last year I was in the Royal Albert Hall at the
amazing Memorial Concert organized by Liv and Dahni and Eric
Clapton, one minute laughing with Mike Palin and the Terrys
(Jones and Gilliam) and the next losing it as Joe Brown played
Here Comes the Sun and having to hide in the bathroom
backstage, sobbing. I wasn't the only one with red eyes that
night. Was ever a man so loved? So many friends. So many big
strong tough men in tears. I almost lost it again on stage
at the finale when Joe played the ukulele so beautifully and
sang I'll See You in My Dreams, as thousands of rose
petals fell from the ceiling. Everyone left the stage so quietly,
avoiding each others eyes, here a friendly arm, there a hand
on a shoulder. Too sad for words.
Last night in Edmonton was packed, 1350 people crammed into
the Francis Winspear, a very modern theater. They cheered
us to the rafters. We played to huge explosions of laughter.
Afterwards the signing line was immense. Next morning we set
off early to cover the 200 miles of snowy plain to Calgary.
We crossed the white frozen width of the Saskatoon river,
its deeply wrinkled surface looking as if boiling water had
been suddenly fast frozen. The city rises magnificently on
one bank and on the other there is a tremendous escarpment.
I remember this escarpment from all those years ago with Python
when we toured here on Monty Python's First Farewell Tour,
always one jump ahead of our set. Air Canada was on strike
and our set never caught up with us until Vancouver. Now we
head for Calgary and a familiar auditorium. The Jubilee Theater
is jumping. There are 1500 people packed in tonight - a record
for us. I remember this auditorium well. This same theater
occurs in several places in Canada. It is monstrously wide.
There is a huge expanse of thrust stage before you reach the
audience. It is so big and deep it takes twice the energy
and you have to wait for the laughs to come bouncing back
from the three tiers of audience. This is the only theater
I have visited on either of my two tours where I appeared
with the Python boys and it is an eerie feeling to think I
stood on this stage with Graham and John, and Neil and the
Terrys. I tell the audience that the hook and I are the only
two returnees from that time. They fall silent as I talk about
George.
Jennifer's parents are visiting and dine with us backstage.
Jen's mum has made us all lumberjack plaid hats in polar fleece
and we pose for a naff photo. I use my new hat for the Lumberjack
Song. Several people want to buy them at the signing afterwards.
Last time I was here, in the summer of 1973, Terry Gilliam
and I went for a day trip to Banff. It's only a couple of
hours drive and we were taken by a Publishers rep to a book
festival at the Banff Hotel. Unfortunately we got rather drunk
at lunch and misbehaved ourselves, having somehow procured
two water pistols (how? Why?) and we ran through the sedate
exhibition halls shooting at all the pretty girls. This inexcusably
boorish behavior was somehow forgiven on the grounds that
we were from Monty Python, at which everyone relaxed and smiled
and enjoyed the "joke" Shameless days. The Canadians
have always taken to Python. The screams for Lumberjack are
deafening.
Sir Rodney and Lady Touche visit me and I find them in a packed
lobby afterwards. I'm sorry I can't have dinner with them
but they are exhausted having flown from Mustique, though
they both look ridiculously healthy. Rodney and I once had
an adventure, an expedition to Rabbit Island, which is a small
chunk of rock off Mustique. It was a very British thing. I
was staying on the island writing a movie, and he said to
me one day "they say you can walk to Rabbit Island at
low tide." I was game. "OK" I said. So we set
out. Now they didn't say that the walk was dry, so we began
to wade through the sea. At first it was around our ankles
but by the time it had risen to our armpits I looked across
at him and he sort of shrugged, but neither of us was prepared
to turn back, that's not British, so we kept going as the
water rose over our shoulders. The current grew stronger and
stronger and it was harder and harder to walk. This stroll
was no picnic. But hell, head for the goal, keep going, fingers
crossed and so on. Soon we were up to our cheekbones and wading
on tip toe. Was this really such a good idea? The island still
seemed a long way away, but Rodney said nothing, perhaps because
his mouth was underwater, and I wasn't about to cry chicken,
or wolf, or even shark come to think of it, though I did come
to think of it. Fortunately, shortly before we drowned or
were forced to swim for it, the ocean floor rose up to meet
us and the water became shallower and soon we were planting
our British feet on the soft sand. We shook hands solemnly
and explored the island. There was nothing much but cactus
and some mysterious goat shit, but no goats, so we declared
the island ours and struck off back for the other side before
the tide returned and we were forced to live on the island
and have to divide the goat shit for food. But at least we
proved that you could walk to Rabbit Island at low tide.
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