8030/20971
Over 50 plants in 3 days, Zoe, you fucking prick. Did you think I'd forgotten about kiwi fruit, walnuts and pak choi? Dream on.
I had a bit of time to try and tidy up the office today. I'd so far avoided opening up many of my box files, for fear that I'd get lost in nostalgia, but a letter from LWT had slipped out of the folder. It was from producer Ian Hamilton who had been in charge of a pilot for Michael Barrymore that Stewart and I had improbably been involved with.
This was one of our first TV writing jobs, back in 1990 or 1991. Barrymore was surprisingly, a big fan of Simon Munnery and his double act God and Jesus (with Steve Cheeke who coincidentally I did comedy at school with) and had asked him to be involved. I think Simon had not wanted to do it, and we shared the same manager at the time, who suggested us instead. I am not sure why we agreed to do it - we were cool young comedians who could be comedy snobs (what Stewart Lee? Surely not). Maybe we thought it might be an experience or maybe we liked the idea of being paid. I think I'd have been more likely to be up for it, but Stewart can occasionally make some unusual decisions. It was probably the money. It was only a pilot. No one would ever know.
In any case, we took the job and I'm glad we did.
I don't remember loads about it. Michael liked alternative comedy (in many ways his style fitted right in with it) and maybe wanted to give the show some extra layers beyond what was expected from mainstream ITV. We certainly attempted to deliver those goods for him and Michael liked what we were doing. My main memory though is of him doing our lines in rehearsal, looking like he'd enjoyed them and then Ian or Michael's wife/manager walking down to the stage to have a word with him and the line being cut. We were young and green and our stuff was at odds with what everyone but Michael wanted from the show. It didn't really matter.
Apart from that I don't remember much. It was a fairly open secret in showbiz, even then, that Michael might be gay and that rumour seem substantiated by the fact that there were one or two handsome young gay men on his team who had some undefined role in the organisation. This was, of course, no problem to us (well only in that it seemed strange that it had to be kept a sort of secret), but I just mention it because if two twenty-three year olds who spent a few hours working on a show knew what was going on, then I think surely everyone else knew too.
The only thing I remember about the unbroadcast pilot was an adlib from Michael that surprised me. The audience had numbers on for some reason and he started talking to a woman whose badge said "68". "Oooh, one of my favourite number," said Barrymore to a delighted cackle from the lady and the audience. "I love that 67." A lovely bit of adlib misdirection, which even surprised the cocky young comedy snob in the back. The best way to disguise a punchline is to make the feed line look like a punchline. Not a bad free comedy education (not even free, I was being paid).
No Lee and Herring material was in the final show AT ALL, though I knew Michael had been impressed and regretted that. But it was mostly probably bad or wrong for the show (I am guessing).
We came to the recording, which was exciting enough and got to go to the aftershow party. Stew had come with his then girlfriend and one of her friends was my plus one, but definitely not my girlfriend. Michael made a point of coming over to thank us which was unnecessary, but kind and said "Stick with these guys, girls. They're going to be big." I don't know if he really thought that, but it was a nice thing for him to do and not many big stars would have bothered. So I like him a lot.
I met him again at a Christmas party, after his fall from grace. He remembered me, which again, was surprising and we chatted for a while. He was haunted and sad, even though it was a few years since the incident that caused his downfall. He said that it was all people talked about and to prove his point someone passing by said hello to him and mentioned swimming pools, in a jokey way, like he'd have a good laugh about it. He just said, "You see."
Obviously I don't know what happened that day and Michael was always a troubled and complicated man. But I wonder how much his downfall came at the hands of tabloid journalists, annoyed that the revelation that Michael was gay hadn't ended his career and had in fact boosted it. Being tied to Stuart Lubbock's death in this way was something that would have been difficult to return from, but did homophobia add an extra level of attack from the tabloids?
It's interesting that the story of Philip Schofield played out in a similar way. Not saying that either man might not have done something that meant it was deserved. Just that that might have added an extra kick to the vitriol.
As I say, I liked Michael and want to think the best of him and if nothing else his story shows how you can be top of the world one day and the lowest of the low the next in showbusiness. Maybe perpetually existing in the lower middle is the best place to be.
Anyway, Ian Hamilton wrote to us at 32 Hereford Rd, "Action". I can tell you there wasn't much action for me in that house and nearly all of what there was was solo. I lived in that house for a couple of years from 1989-1991 with three of my University mates, paying £60 each a week and all trying to make our way in the world. It was just up the road from Rimpy's Fags, Foods, Non-Foods, Wines and Spirits (though it really only needed to be called Rimpy's Foods and Non-Foods which would cover everything). Happy days? Were they? I remember crying a lot, but there was some fun. I do recall feeling weird on the day that it was one year since we'd left University. It's now 35.
It was kind of Ian to bother writing at all as he must have known by that point that he wasn't going to employ us for the series. Michael's instincts to be more alternative were admirable, but surely wrong, as his subsequent huge success, well until, you know... proved.
I also found a copy of the only magazine that I'd ever been a solo cover star of. And looking at that photo I can't believe I didn't appear on more covers. What a hunk. My eyes are so blue that even in black and white they still shine through. Why didn't anyone tell me I was this hot? No wonder everyone was trying to bang me. And given my low self-esteem, no wonder they all succeeded.
Another self-playing snooker tonight. It's taking a while for the players to get to the new crampedd space, though one coped with it better than the other.
