Camp David: The Autobiography

by David Walliams

  I was inspired by the brilliant documentary David made about Elton called Tantrums and Tiaras. In that Elton is given a dog as a present, and in the spoof I wrote Elton (played by Matt) is given a puppy and says, ‘I love it I love it I love it. I am going to call her Doggy. Right, now put it in the bin.’

  Similarly there had been a documentary about Shirley Bassey called Divas Are Forever, in which she had said of Tina Turner, ‘Tina’s wonderful but not for Bond. She doesn’t have the range!’ ‘She doesn’t have the range!’ became a catchphrase in our spoof. Another time you see Shirley on the Eurostar shouting, ‘Champagne!’ For me as a writer, the documentary was a gift, and in her episode of Rock Profile she repeatedly calls for ‘Champagne! Champagne for everyone!’ So brilliantly funny was Matt as Shirley Bassey, we decided to base a character on his take on her. She emerged in the second series of Little Britain as Bubbles De Vere. The catchphrase ‘Champagne!’ remained the same.

  A best-of was edited for BBC2, and all the indications were that we might be asked to make a full series of Rock Profile for terrestrial television.

  But the channel said no. We were back to square one.

  24

  ‘Pick up the phone, let’s fight’

  So Matt and I started work on yet another project, a sitcom about life in a T.G.I. Friday-style restaurant called Crazy Jonathan’s. It seemed an ideal setting for a comedy series, and we had assembled a dream cast for an on-stage run-through: Reece Shearsmith, Nick Frost, Jessica Stevenson, Morwena Banks, Roger Sloman (from Nuts in May) and Jack Wild, the Artful Dodger in Oliver!

  ‘It won’t get commissioned,’ said my girlfriend at the time after she watched the performance. She was right. She knew a fair bit about comedy herself. Her name was Caroline Aherne.

  At that time Caroline was the undisputed queen of British comedy, one of the biggest stars in television, with a second hit even better than her first. She had followed up the brilliantly funny Mrs Merton Show with the brilliantly funny and moving Royle Family. I had met Caroline years ago at one of Matt’s gigs, where she had been on the bill as Mrs Merton, then more agony auntie than chat-show host. At the time she was married to Peter Hook, the legendary bassist from Joy Division and New Order. Now Caroline was divorced, and her deeply unhappy private life, struggles with alcoholism and depression and a suicide attempt meant that she was often front-page news in the tabloids.

  I liked her from the first moment we met. Caroline was eight years older than me, and she was funny, northern and pretty in my favourite sort of way – blonde hair and big tits. Of course I was aware of her troubled life, and like most men who were attracted to Caroline thought I could save her.

  ‘I met her in a bar and knew she was trouble’ sounds like a sentence from a Raymond Chandler novel, and the second time I met Caroline was indeed in a bar, the Groucho Club. In the 1990s the Groucho was the place to be. Its unofficial rulers were the triumvirate of Damien Hirst, Alex James (the floppy-haired bassist from Blur) and Keith Allen. The Groucho’s reputation as a place where famous people could party in private made the thought of going there thrilling. As it was a private members’ club, you couldn’t get in without a member present. Bob Mortimer was and went there a lot, and sometimes Matt would go to meet him and I would tag along.

  The night my love affair started with Caroline the first episode of Sir Bernard’s Stately Homes was being broadcast. We were celebrating with a drink at the club – little did we know what Victor Lewis-Smith would write in the Evening Standard the next day – and she was drunk. We kissed on the snooker table, and our affair began …

  Wednesday 12/5/1999

  So we decided to watch the first episode of SBSH in a room at the Groucho. Me, Matt, Edgar, Paul and Myf (Foxxey missing in action) sat in the bar waiting. My stomach churning with anxiety. To make matters worse, comedy greats Caroline Aherne and Craig Cash were in, and determined to watch it with us. After some panic finding the right channel, he heard the BBC2 announcer say: ‘This is BBC2, home of innovation and the odd, but then would you expect anything else from Matt Lucas?’ I thought, Odd? It’s just supposed to be funny. Anyway, no one laughed very much, not least me. Craig and Caroline laughed at exactly the same moments. When the ten minutes had elapsed, Caroline sat on the snooker table and started dispensing very long-winded career advice, with Craig intermittently heckling her with comments like ‘What are you trying to say, love?’ She became quite bossy and ordered me to lie beside her on the snooker table, and then, champagne glass in hand, the flirting started. On both sides.

  The two of us went back to her house, and there she dispensed more advice. ‘Whatever you do, don’t lose your anonymity. It’s the most terrible thing to lose.’ Caroline talked and talked and it was either heartfelt or funny or both. I talked too, and tried to be heartfelt and funny but can’t be sure if I was either, because the thought I’m about to kiss Caroline Aherne was racing through my mind. Elvis came and went on the stereo as did Sinatra (‘Fly Me to the Moon’ again and again and again), before she put on Charlotte Church, and that first kiss finally arrived. Caroline kissed me really quickly and then retreated, laughing. ‘Not everything has to be funny,’ I said and then we started getting passionate on her sofa. The house in Notting Hill was posh and aside from the BAFTA, strangely anonymous. Our hands were all over each other, then I said: ‘Why don’t we go upstairs?’ to which came the baffling reply ‘What for?’ We did anyway, with the promise of ‘no sex’, which we stuck to. We got under the covers, and as is so often the case with someone who I feel really connected to, the cuddles were the best bit. We did spoons and I suppose I slept a bit, next to this comedy genius.

  Thursday 13/5/1999

  The alarm went off at 8 a.m. ‘Come on, Caroline,’ I said. ‘Go out there and bring joy to millions.’ She laughed as she had last night, which of course delighted me. I don’t ever remember meeting anyone who talks so much and we swapped numbers.

  A few nights later we went out for dinner and soon we were together. This was before the plague of paparazzi hit London and newspapers had you under surveillance by listening to your private messages, so we managed to keep our relationship secret. I was pleased as I was relatively unknown at the time, and did not want to become known for dating someone famous. People might have assumed any future success was because of her. My diary entries then give a flavour of what it was like sharing my life with this troubled genius.

  Sunday 13/6/1999

  ‘Am I your girlfriend?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well you haven’t asked me out yet.’

  ‘Do you want to go out with me then?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  I bought her a hat; she immediately lost it. She got drunk at dinner and started having a go at me. She wrote me a letter into the wee hours full of contradictions as I lay in bed. But all this couldn’t stop me adoring her.

  Tuesday 29/6/1999

  I was in bed by 10.30 p.m. in anticipation of my early start tomorrow at Elstree Studies. In the darkness I heard the phone ring. It was just before midnight. A strange woman with the voice of Caroline Aherne started saying completely out-of-character things to me. ‘You’ve got no love in your heart – you’re incapable of it. Don’t phone me again …’ After about fifteen minutes I put the phone down. It rang another five times, but I had to try and sleep. ‘Come on, David. Pick up the phone, let’s fight.’

  What you have to understand is that Caroline sober, the real Caroline, is the sweetest, kindest, gentlest, most loving person you could ever meet. Innocent as an angel. However, when she drank the alcohol poisoned her mind. It was only when she was drunk that she said hurtful things to me. The morning after, I would take flowers round to her flat, and she would be full of remorse, crying about how everything had gone so wrong again.

  Wednesday 30/6/1999

  At lunchtime I phoned Caroline at work. ‘I’m so sorry. What did I say last night?’ she said. After work I cabbed my way to Pembridge Mews, fantasizing
about how I would take her in my arms and tell her I loved her when she opened the door and everything would be all right. But when she did open the door she wasn’t quite ready for that. So I listened and comforted her and didn’t judge her but was firm enough to tell her she did have a problem. ‘I can’t guarantee it won’t happen again,’ she said. But she was sorry and sad and that’s what I needed to see so I kissed her arm and then her neck and then her lips. ‘I love you,’ I said. ‘You’re everything I ever wanted.’ I continued repeating myself.

  Then we retreated to the cosy domesticity of her bed and I watched the end of Diamonds Are Forever and she ate a pizza and then we slept.

  One night we encountered someone whose problems far outweighed Caroline’s. Michael Barrymore.

  Tuesday 13/7/1999

  Dinner at head of Granada Andy Harries’s house was a strange ordeal. I arrived before Caroline and sat with Amanda Donohoe, praying she couldn’t tell by looking at my face that as a teenager I’d had fantasized about her over and over again (in Lair of the White Worm, an abysmal Ken Russell film made watchable only by her beautiful naked body). When Caroline did arrive it was with Michael Barrymore. Barrymore was not invited to the dinner, but he’s doing a series with Andy at the moment. Caroline had a drink with him after filming (her Royle Family 2, him Bob Martin); he seemed high on something and decided to invite himself. At first I was delighted and told him so as I had seen him on stage in 1988 with Robin at Bournemouth. However, after he had played far too roughly with Andy’s ten-year-old twin sons on the trampoline (‘Look, Daddy, I’ve got marks on my arms’), Barrymore danced around the room with Caroline to a Sinatra CD, desperately trying to be the centre of attention and shouting repeatedly, ‘Do you take it up the chutney larder?’ By the time he had shouted ‘Do you take it up the chutney larder?’ for the hundredth time, everyone was willing him to leave. What was most surprising was how unfunny he was. Amanda Donohoe grew so sick of him asking her about the moistness of her quim she had to move to the other end of the table. ‘Has he rooted around your handbag yet?’ I asked Caroline as he whisked her around the room again like an old lady he might pick on in his stage act. ‘Yes,’ she answered.

  After Barrymore left I said, ‘He tones it down for TV.’ It made everybody laugh, and like all good jokes was true. Caroline kept on repeating the line in the cab on the way home.

  ‘You are a very funny boy, Dasid.’*

  Caroline was forever breaking up with me, and then instantly we would get back together …

  Tuesday 27/7/1999

  I went to Putney today for my dental brace fitting for The Strangerers. The dentist told me my jaw was out of alignment and that this was responsible for neck pain, stomach problems, leg numbness, headaches and chronic tiredness, which seemed a little far-fetched.

  At 9 p.m. I went to room 432 of the Landmark Hotel, where Caroline is living right now. She was strangely wearing glasses when she opened the door, and didn’t kiss me. Caroline had decided she didn’t want me. Immediately I knew something was very wrong. She complained about my lack of sensitivity and my always wanting to go to bed rather than stay up all night drinking. After a while I said, ‘But what if I got this dental brace fitted?’ which made her laugh and say, ‘That’s the funniest thing you’ve ever said. You’re a genius! Craig is still laughing about your “He tones it down for TV” comment about Michael Barrymore.’ I told her I loved her and she told me she loved me, and then we kissed and for a moment everything seemed all right.

  Sunday 8/8/1999

  We lazed around in the hotel room for more of the day, waiting for Caroline’s mum to arrive from Manchester. When we went to Paris together, Caroline told her that I was gay and that we were just good friends and she has continued with this lie ever since. Reminding Caroline of the scenario she had created, she said ‘It’s like a sitcom, isn’t it?’ ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘but not even a good one. Definitely ITV.’ When we met her mother at Euston I knew this was some kind of test. ‘Do you like David, Momo?’ Caroline asked her before we had even left the station. She had come to help Caroline move out of Pembridge Mews, and I surprised myself by revelling in my role as man about the house, unscrewing shelves, sealing boxes and the like. I had to stop myself being too affectionate to Caroline in the presence of Momo, and came close to stroking her hair as I walked past on a couple of occasions. Of course I couldn’t resist making lots of silly jokes, which Momo loved, but like her daughter she is such a warm, loving, caring woman, pretty much anything I cared to do or say would have delighted her. Caroline told me she had sent her mother to see Richard Wilson in Samuel Beckett’s play Waiting for Godot.

  ‘Did you enjoy it, Momo?’ Caroline asked afterwards.

  ‘Well, it was these two men waiting for Godot. He never came, but I still enjoyed it.’

  Thinking about that always makes me laugh.

  Caroline couldn’t resist pausing over every single one of her belongings. In a plastic bag she found Mrs Merton’s old costume. ‘I bought these shoes from Oxfam for five quid,’ she said. ‘I thought, This better bloody work or I’ve lost a fiver.’ This perfect comic mythology left me silent with awe, not least because she tossed the comment over her shoulder with not the least bit of sentimentality.

  Saturday 23/10/1999

  Today my beautiful friend the artist Sam Taylor-Wood and her art dealer husband Jay Jopling invited me to their daughter Angelica’s christening. Entering the chapel at Westminster Palace, I was very nervous. I was alone and hardly knew anybody. The people I did know I didn’t know well – Janet Street-Porter, Gary Hume, even Sam and Jay really. After the service there was a lunch at St John’s restaurant in EC1. Who was I to sit next to? I sat down facing some people I didn’t know – who turned out to be the artists Jake and Dinos Chapman – then I heard a familiar voice ask, ‘Do you mind if I sit here?’ The face was familiar too. More attractive than I’d anticipated. It was Geri Halliwell. ‘I’d be delighted if you sat there,’ I said. We had an interesting time talking about lots of silly stuff like star signs and food and kissing and clothes and her hair extensions, and although she’s not an intellectual, she was sweet and kind and listened. Against my better judgement I was really rather attracted to Geri. Her lovely flat tummy was showing. And she had a completely unrehearsed vulnerability – ‘I had never had a birthday party until last year.’ Though she did say something that rang alarm bells as to her sanity.

  ‘You know your brain is in the small of your back? That’s where you actually do a lot of your thinking from.’

  Maybe I can use that line in the next series of Rock Profile.

  In the evening I went to see Caroline. It started well enough. She was a teensy bit jealous that I had met Geri but we went to see a film and then went out for dinner. I could have set my watch to what happened next. The warm loving comments at the start of the meal – ‘I love being with you … There’s no one who I’d rather listen to, I love your ideas on things’ – turned cold. Little things I might have said or done were brought up in an attempt to create an argument (of course her champagne glass had been refilled many times by now). I said, ‘Right, I can’t listen to this any more. I’m leaving. I’ll walk you home though.’ She carried on being impossible on the street telling me to go as she stumbled into the road. I became quite angry and guided her by the arm back onto the pavement but she started shouting as the Saturday night crowd in central London looked on. I was praying they did not recognize her. She calmed a little towards the last steps. She stood at her door. A tear rolled down her cheek, just visible in the dark. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Dasid,’ she said. Whether she meant the evening or our relationship, I didn’t know. I walked to Charing Cross Tube and on the way home tried to convince myself I couldn’t save her from herself.

  It was so sad. I loved her so much. Caroline and I had so many deliriously happy times, and often our minds would be completely in synch. With all my heart I believed if only I loved her enough she would be fr
ee of all the pain. I was wrong. After a year or more of trying, I realized no one could take it away from her. Caroline’s father had been a violent alcoholic, and the scars ran deep within her. One night when she split up with me for the hundredth time I didn’t go back. The situation was making me unbearably sad. It broke my heart that we couldn’t be together. We would have laughed every day for the rest of our lives.

  Sometimes she would call me in the morning… ‘Dasid, put on Trisha now!”

  Caroline would have spotted something amusing about one of the participants and had to share it with me. Sometimes it was the subtlest thing – a word, a gesture – but her mind had homed in on its absurdity. Caroline has the greatest comic mind I have ever encountered. Most comedians create a distance between themselves and the characters they create. Caroline never did. She loved people. Her work has always been deeply compassionate.

  ‘I’d be the best girl you ever had,’ Caroline said to me one night after we had split up, imploring me to return. And in her heart she meant it.

  Without the drink it might well have been true.

  25

  A Poetic Soul

  On the last day of filming the second series of Rock Profile me and Matt’s new agent Melanie Coupland at Talkback (replacing Samira at ICM after the Hat Trick debacle) called me. ‘You’ve got the job in Burn Rate.’

  This was a BBC2 drama series that changed its title to Wired and finally to Attachments. It came with an excellent pedigree: the executive producer was the legendary Tony Garnett (Cathy Come Home, Kes, Beautiful Thing). His most recent hit on television had been This Life, the series about young professionals in the 1990s which had launched the careers of Jack Davenport and Andrew Lincoln. This Life had been a huge critical hit and is still talked about as a seminal piece of television drama. Attachments was his follow-up, following the lives of a number of characters in an Internet start-up company. It was an ambitious project in which viewers would be steered to the website the characters were working on, seethru.co.uk. How could it possibly fail?