I certainly is not going if you ain’t – and will start backing out now –
I believe Gina Lhologrobidigillolloda is there this year with her mother so that might be fun.
Love J X
Jack Lumptious was often abroad, and I felt it my duty to keep her in the swing and up to date on all matters.
Dear Jack,
I told Alex Keshishian (Bless Ya!) that you had declined gracefully the offer to ‘do’ Patsy in America. He duly passed the message on and reports that people are dumbfounded. People turning down the chance to have their own Series Network in US just doesn’t happen, especially when they come from a small place like London. So, he says, they are likely to throw great wads of cash at you as punishment – they will try to break you down with loving words launched at your person – they will try and Velcro it to your body – they will try to make you eat it – millions of it – and then sign a contract.
Be strong!
On the other hand, they may accept the decision in a business-like manner and cast Bette Midler and Dame Diana Rigg.
Heigh-ho! Just kiddin’! I think we should treat Ab Fab as a bit of a Larry Doomer – if ya know what I mean. Ya don’t wanna be Patsy après 50 – ya wanna be with big horses me thinkin’.
La di da!
See thee
Jx
Fri lunchtime
Dear Jack,
Have just returned from costume fitting at Angels for ‘The Piano’. And guess what! As I came out of the fitting room, who should be sitting there waiting to come in but Anna Paquin who played the little girl in Piano. I said nothing as was overcome and in awe of someone so little and in possession of an Oscar. My resemblance to Holly Hunter is uncanny. For she too is very small and petite and birdlike. It is rumoured that when they were shooting The Piano they wasted three days just filming a little piece of seaweed thinking it was Holly Hunter. She is the size of a very small budgerigar. She didn’t have a caravan on set but a rather elegant birdcage where she could be placed for safety when not in shot. If the weather was less than clement, a lovely lace cover would be placed over the cage to protect her. When needed the director would open the little cage door and put one finger in on to which Holly would climb and perch on as she was taken on to the set. She was always shot very close to the camera to give the illusion of almost normal proportions. I admire her. It was only her perfect Scottish accent that persuaded Jane Campion to use her.
Blimey, I’ve got a horrible cold!
Harriet is coming over in a minute and we are going to torture each other about how fat we both are. Take Polaroid photos in size 10 bikinis and swear to not eat for ever and ever Amen.
Dawn went to a mighty celebrity gorgeous party at Elton John’s house the other night. (I was invited, phew!, but couldn’t go.) Many, many A-list celebs and high class entertainers were there plus PRINCESS DIANA!
Dawn said Elton mighty nice, good sort, kind boyfriend – who showed them around the house which used to be a real pop star’s mansion but which got cleaned up at the same time as Elton and is now a shrine to beautifully ruched curtains. He has a specially made cabinet to keep his spectacles in.
Richard Gere was there – v. good looking but sincerely dull.
Tim Rice (who did lyrics to Elton’s music for Lion King) with girlfriend of teenage years.
Jeff Katzenberg – ex Disney boss – staying with Elton and main reason for bash.
Sylvester Stallone – v. small – attached himself to Princess Diana – velcroed himself to her side. She complained to Dawn, who was unable to detach him.
Princess D – v. beautiful – relaxed. Girly.
Sylvester Stallone has a three-storey caravan at the stage at Shepperton! Mentioned that to Disney in passing.
Have had no word from Dame Judi or Dame Diana. Waiting in anticipation. Secretly hoping that it is Lady Dame Diana for gossip sake.
Have to go and see Sandra Bernhard show at the Royal Festival Hall on Monday night. Going with Ade, Ruby, Richard E, D and Len. Can’t say I’ve ever liked her in anything I’ve seen except King of Comedy but Roseanne says she is a great actress and anything Roseanne says is alright by me. Richard E Grant is a friend of hers and says she has got a long way on a small amount of talent. She has aura of a huge star because she lives with an entourage – hair, make-up, secretaries, girlfriends, etc. She is desperate to be Patsy.
I have to work with D now – finish off the Dickens.
Still 3 episodes of Ab Fab to do before next week. Never felt calmer in my LIFE.
Great to talk w/ya yesterday.
Love ya
J XXXXX
Dear Jack,
Going Dutch appeals to me. Eating sugary cake and sweet liqueur is a charming pastime. And not having to display any character or personality that would make you stand out from the crowd is a very good way to live. Makes people very happy. Nice flat life. All day see horizon. Always horizon sometimes bicycle. Make jolly jolly life for Dutch people. We are very popular in Holland.
And cult in Brazil. Much mail and interview requests coming in now from Brazil where we are a cult. Just awaiting invite on first class airline to Rio and I’m off. Real mouse goes to Disneyland yet again.
They are making a film of Ab Fab in America with Jodie Foster and Courtney Love and have asked me to be the voice of an invisible pudding. I have agreed and think I can get you the ‘mumbling invisible cigarette’. Oh yes!!
Jxxxx
Fax to Joanna when she was filming James and the Giant Peach in the US:
Dear Jack,
Got your fax. Hurrah, it works! I can start ripping pages out of newspapers and sendin’ them to you.
I hope yer final make-up test goes well – and when did you ever meet a director that didn’t treat actors like stop motion puppets? Eh?
I am not intendin’ to move to Hollywood. I am not wantin’ a house in Bev Hills and am only intendin’ to sell the series format to Roseanne. Nothing more. Don’t think you can get rid of me that easy, my dear. I intends to do me film come what may. (Am watchin’ many episodes of Martin Chuzzlewit today with my dear friend Dawn French and so has to be talkin’ like this, dear lady.) What mean ya by ‘Mr Floppy (must he go)’?
No news from Jeanne Moreau, I has yet to write part for her and shall send it to her.
I am sorry that San Francisco isn’t nice for you and don’t apologize for being gloomy on the blower. When gloomy – ring me and moan. That is what I is here for.
Dawn and I are watching as many videos as possible in the name of research for our Xmas Special. Dickens, The Piano, Anne and Nick. I want Dawn to be Charlie Drake and we are trying to get Julie Andrews to be Christmassy with us in our finale Dickensian dance number. Heigh Ho. By gad!
Our Julia excellent in Chuzzle.
Damn! – you’ll miss the comedy awards. Damn! You’ll miss the Light Ent Party. But don’t be too downcast, ya may arrive back in time for the Noel’s House Party Celebrity Crinkly Bottom Christmas edition. And don’t forget the Hearts of Gold Sunshine Variety Club Bravery Awards dinner. I’ve organized for you to be Guest of Honour.
The awful Michael Hurll Comedy Awards are giving June a life-time achievement award and wanted me to present but I’ve turned it down. Nothing on earth would drag me to that dreadful occasion again. I’m sure Roy Hudd will do it and much better too. Good old June!
Have you got Alan Bennett reading his diaries? Great stuff. I’ll send them to ya!
So, babe. Don’t forget to write your ghost story.
You are much missed and talked about.
J XX
Fax after fax after fax. No wonder I never got a script written on time.
Hi There!
Christmas seems far too close now. I just can’t see time to do anything. We complete on the house in Devon next week and I can’t foresee a time when I can go down there. Every day this week is Rehearse, Write, Shop, Sleep, Write, Rehearse, Shop, School Play, Write, Work, Rehearse, Studio, Shop, Shop, Ligh
t Entertainment Party.
Yesterday as I was driving through Richmond I said to Ade, ‘I won’t ever come shopping on a Saturday, it’s a crowded nightmare of desperation’ and he said, ‘It’s a Sunday!’ What horror! Richmond used to be glorious on a Sunday, feeding the ducks on the river, strollin’ along the river bank, a little antique window shoppin’, church bells ringin’, tower clocks a tickin’, a little boatin’, a little eatin’ in local bistro, drinkin’ in the Ducks Arms and sitting on the Hill on a bench dedicated to a dead pensioner, a’gazin’ at London’s most famous river view. But now! That ain’t possible. WOT A FUCKIN ’ORRIBLE WORLD THIS IS! Heigh-ho!
Going to see Oliver! tonight with Ben and Sophie and all the girls, who are already great fans of the musical.
Saw a clip on the Royal Variety Show the other night (which had been edited to a mere 2½ hours. WHY!) and Jonathan Pryce seems to have decided not to make Fagin particularly Jewish – more actory sounding really. I suppose he may be worried after the trouble he got into for going a bit slanty eyed in Miss Saigon. But really! Will give full report tomorrow.
The tickets cost £27 each. Most W-End prices are now over £30. Maggie Smith is charging for Three Tall Women (play with Frances de la Tour and unknown tall woman by Edward Albee) a cool £35. A ticket. They apparently get a very executive audience. I think they should get shorter actresses and cut the ticket price accordingly.
Apparently executives and Americans are willing to pay – sometimes the price is just tagged on to their hotel bill and it is unnoticed. I expect soon it will be all inclusive and you’ll get your complimentary tickets to Three Tall Women or Cats, right alongside the soap and shower hat.
I’ve had an idea that I think we should patent along with the bra radio mike. It is for Celebrity Airbags that come out of your steering wheel when you’ve had a crash. You could plunge your head into a huge cleavage of someone’s outstretched arms. I think it would do very well in the executive toys market.
There must be some other way to make money. This writin’ thang is bloody time consumin’ and borin’. Gotta go, babe. – work to do. See ya soon.
Lotsa love
XXXX
A brief word here about the Ab Fab film that never has been. You may see it one day. You may. Only the other day, I saw a G-Wiz and thought how funny it would be to have Eddie and Patsy in a G-Wiz car chase.
There’s only one problem. I actually have to sit down and write the damn thing. Most frustratingly for me, it just doesn’t seem to be able to write itself. It requires me to write it. And that is why it has never been written. Heigh-ho!
You never know. You just never know.
DIX
In my head, I’m multilingual. But in reality, I’m not. Basically I have just the one tongue. I travel the world thinking how great it is to have been born English; speaking English to foreign people who speak English. How lucky are we?
I do, however, speak a little Italian. I can order food and hold a small conversation. I have a brilliant, convincing Italian accent. So convincing, in fact, that all I have to do is say Buongiorno and I am engaged in long explanations and chats, during which I generally just nod and agree heartily. They think I’m a native, you see. They even try to guess where I’m from … is it Milano or Torino? Yes, I really do make a pretty good stab at Italian and have only once ordered testicles by mistake in a restaurant.
My French, on the other hand, is not such a success. This is not for want of trying; I have bought all the cassettes and I know quite a few words. But I just cannot, for the life of me, do the accent.
Absolutely Fabulous didn’t go out in Italy. I don’t think drunken old birds appealed to Berlusconi. It did go out in France, but it was never as popular there as it became elsewhere. Frankly, it went down better in Serbia. I know this because I get royalty cheques from Serbia, but very little trickles in from over La Manche.
It is possible that the French just don’t find women getting drunk funny. Although, personally, I think it could have been the dubbing: I once saw an episode of Ab Fab dubbed into French in which Eddie and Patsy just seemed like normal French women going about their daily business. Patsy was particularly French: she didn’t eat, she smoked and drank, and was fairly rude to people.
The show was, however, a cult hit with the gay community in France, and on the strength of that a producer wanted to make a film version. The French make films like we make TV. It’s a big home market, subsidized by the government, and they churn them out. So they bought the rights and various storylines and got on with it.
I thought no more about it, until one day Maureen called.
‘Hello, love.’
‘Hello, Maureen. How was your holiday?’
‘Fine, love.’
‘Golf?’
‘No. Throwing myself down a mountain. Now, the French have been on to me about you possibly making an appearance in the film. You remember … They’re making a film, love?’
‘I had forgotten, but I have now remembered. Thank you.’
‘Now I know this is going to be difficult, but they only need you for half a day …’
This was going to be difficult because I was on a nationwide tour of French and Saunders at the time. On the day that they were proposing, I had to be onstage in the evening at the Oxford Playhouse.
‘I don’t see how this can happen.’
‘They will fly you over.’
(Good. Because I didn’t fancy the swim at that time of year.)
‘Maureen, I just don’t think there will be time.’
‘They will fly you over by private jet after the show the night before and have you back in time for the show the next evening.’
Well, hello?! Private jet?! I’d never been in a private jet. And even though I don’t particularly like flying, I really wanted to go in one. This could be my chance! But it wouldn’t be any fun at all if I went on my own …
‘Can Abi come with me?’
‘I will check.’
‘I mean, she is my PA.’
‘I’m sure that won’t be a problem.’
‘And they’ll get me back in time?’ (I knew Dawn would be anxious.)
‘Yes.’
‘And Abi can come?’
(Sigh) ‘Yes, love.’
‘OK. But, Maureen? Maureen?’
‘Yes, love?’
‘This is important. Please don’t let them give me loads of lines. In fact, tell them I don’t want any lines at all.’
(Sigh) ‘Right, love.’
Maureen has the patience of a saint, but there are times when I know Maureen is despairing. I sensed this might have been one of them; she would now have to get on the phone to them and explain that, despite the fact they were flying me over especially and at huge expense, I didn’t want to speak in their film. It seems a bit ridiculous now, but I was so knackered from being on tour, my brain just didn’t want any more things to learn.
The film was already shooting and all they wanted was to see my face among the crowd at a Gaultier fashion show. Gaultier was doing the costumes for the film, and they had written a scene where La Eddie and La Patsy storm the catwalk and pull a handbag out of a model’s hands.
Sit in a crowd. I could do that.
So, a week later:
‘We are French and Saunders. Thank you and goodnight!’
The curtain came down at the Oxford Playhouse and Abi and I were whisked in a car to Brize Norton airfield, clutching small overnight bags and passports. We were overexcited, but attempting some kind of cool.
At Brize Norton the car drove on to the runway. At this point we lost our cool. It was like we were in a movie! We didn’t have to show our passports or any of the normal tedious stuff. We didn’t have to remove our shoes and belts and jewellery and go through a beep machine. Nor did we have to open our handbags so someone with plastic gloves could examine the entire contents, including all the detritus and tampons. No, we just got out of the car and were directed straight up tiny steps
on to a tiny plane.
We felt like schoolgirls who had got out of class early and were on the first coach.
It was very plush inside: cream leather, shiny wood and one attendant. There were only six seats, and we tried them all.
We took photos of each other in full swank, drank gin and tonics, ate small food and landed far too soon.
We were then whisked away again by a car that was waiting on the runway in Paris and driven to the Ritz. All cool was lost now, and we just laughed the whole way. And the only thing I had to do the next day was sit in a crowd for ten minutes and then fly home again!
In my room at the Ritz, I found a pair of silk pyjamas on my pillow – a present from the film company. Cherry on cake.
Could this get any better? Answer: actually, no. And it didn’t. No.
The six o’clock wake-up call the next morning brought us back down to earth and regretting the gin. But at least I awoke in silk.
The weather was cold, and we were taken – not whisked – bleary-eyed to the set in a minicab, deposited in a small office and told to wait. For some reason, I started to become nervous. We waited, and waited, until eventually the producer and director came in and told us that everything was wonderful but they were still dressing the set – and left again.
I shouted after them, ‘Remember, NO LINES!’
We waited.
Someone came in with some jewellery that Jean Paul wanted me to wear. I thanked them. It was lovely. And actually I was allowed to go home with it. Nice perks, but I had peaked at the silk PJs.
We waited, and I had a little make-up applied.
Then the director and producer came back in. They were nearly ready for me.
‘To just sit in the crowd?’
‘Yes. Next to Catherine Deneuve.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Would you mind sitting next to Catherine Deneuve?’
‘Er … no.’
They left again. Who, in their right mind, would object to sitting next to Catherine Deneuve. She is a goddess. I worshipped Catherine Deneuve. I mean, it’s CATHERINE DENEUVE.
Bonkers: My Life in Laughs Page 14