Lisa Cavelli-Greene, our make-up designer on Little Britain, had spent years at Thames Television, and had worked with many of the great British comedians of the twentieth century, most notably Morecambe and Wise and Benny Hill. Sometimes she would give one of us a wig to wear that had a little name-tag inside reading ‘E. Morecambe’ or ‘B. Hill’. It was strange wearing a legendary comedian’s wig and made me try as hard as I could to be funny so as to honour their hairpiece! It was magical thinking there is a mystery to being funny. The greatest comedians of all time can turn in an unfunny performance. Someone can be hilarious for years and then one day simply not be funny ever again. You can have a standing ovation one night and be booed off the next.
As soon as the location filming was over we went into rehearsals for our studio recordings. This was some of the best material: the Sebastian scenes for example were filmed in front of a studio audience. Tony Head came back from the pilot to reprise his role as the prime minister. He was such a joy to work with. He played everything so straight, and kept so still as I flounced around him as Sebastian.
Sebastian was probably the character I felt I inhabited the most successfully. It was not hard for me to portray someone who was consumed with unrequited love. Playing him, I realized the best comedy characters had an emotional truth. Lou Todd, the long-suffering carer, had it too. Others I realized existed much more on the surface, such as the Scottish hotelier Ray McCooney or rubbish transvestite Emily Howard. When we toured from 2005 to 2007, completing over 250 performances to a million people, I tired of playing these characters much sooner.
The last night of recording in front of the audience was in fact the Sebastian scenes.
Wednesday 16/7/2003
We went out on a high with the 10 Downing Street sketches. At last I felt totally at home in front of the audience in complete control of what I was doing. Mum, Dad and Julie were in, and I was so pleased they were for me so on form.
I hated it when we wrapped though. I am so scared of being without work to distract me from my thoughts. Filming this series has proved to be such an anchor.
The very last sketch of the first series we recorded was the one featuring the Italian prime minister and his translator. It was one of my favourite sketches and ended with neither of us on screen. When Sebastian flounces off in a huff the translator turns to the British PM and says, ‘The Prime Minister says if you love him, go after him …’
It brought the house down. My parents were in that night, and Steve Bendelack asked my dad, ‘Did you enjoy it?’
‘Well you can’t laugh at everything,’ was his reply. Once again, my father couldn’t say anything nice.
Already moving in show-business circles, Matt had met Patsy Kensit, and she came to one of the Little Britain recordings. The first thing that hit me about her was not so much her beauty, but her smell. She smelt lovely. Of course she had been the fantasy of me and many other boys my age in the 1980s, when she found fame in Absolute Beginners and with the band Eighth Wonder, and Robin and I had seen her mime on Top of the Pops. Now she was in our green room at the BBC and she flirted with me. Patsy Kensit flirted with me.
‘David, that was amazing. You are both so funny. I loved it tonight. I really did,’ she said, flicking her famous blonde bob away from her face. As she was now the ex-wife of three rock stars I was more perplexed than flattered and, still hurting from the events of the last year, I did not flirt back.
On Thursday 10 July I wrote in my diary, ‘In exactly a week I will be finished shooting LB and I am very scared of all that free time that is stretching out before me like a desert.’
As it happened I kept myself busy, and, unwilling to have a day off, went straight into developing a series with Rob Brydon called Home. A sitcom about two brothers running an old people’s home, we imagined Ronnie Corbett as the only male resident, a kind of octogenarian lothario. Sadly our busy work schedules mean we have still not made the show. Perhaps one day we will.
When I wasn’t busy, thoughts of suicide still haunted me. I now had a cache of sleeping pills. Whether I had enough to kill myself I didn’t know, but I spent a long time obsessing about it. As well as the depressive behaviour, I was often manic. The manic and the depressive went hand in hand for me. I disgraced myself and amused everybody at Simon Pegg’s engagement party.
Friday 17/10/2003
In the evening I went out to Simon and Maureen’s party. My friend Mark Morriss from the Bluetones was DJing and put on ‘Relax’ by Frankie Goes to Hollywood. I was dancing with Julia Davis and to amuse her on the word come, I pretended to come over her. I did it again and realized everyone (including Julia) had stopped dancing and was crowded around clapping as if I were a champion dancer. I started improvising a routine, coming over different people around the room. I could hear the end coming and needed a finale. Fortunately Simon’s friend Claire, who is in a wheelchair, was watching, and as the song reached a crescendo I pretended to come all over her as she played very gamely along. The crowd applauded. I was relieved it was over and realized I was totally out of control. Graham Linehan said afterwards, ‘That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.’
On 20 August 2003 I celebrated my thirty-second birthday. My neighbour and friend the comedian David Baddiel let me host it in his garden, as I lived in a tiny flat. The night before I wrote in my diary, ‘Tomorrow night I am having a birthday party. I have been thinking about saying goodbye to everyone and going back to my flat to sleep for ever. The selfishness of it disturbs me. How much pain it would cause my mum and dad? Maybe an “accident” would be better.’
The night after the party I wrote, ‘I didn’t take an overdose. I won’t kill myself today. Like an alcoholic who promises himself he won’t drink today. One day at a time. I hate this feeling though. Hate it.’
A couple of years earlier I had done a day’s filming on a deservedly forgotten comedy series entitled World of Pub. The very friendly Phil Cornwell (from Stella Street) was in it, and we had talked about his alcoholism.
‘How do you deal with thinking you will never ever have another drink?’ I asked him. At the time I was searching for answers to Caroline Aherne’s troubles.
‘I don’t,’ he said. ‘I just think I won’t have a drink today. And when the next day comes I just have the same thought. One day at a time.’
I remembered this and it helped. My depression was like I was walking through a storm. Not today. I wouldn’t kill myself today. As the days and weeks passed the rain got a little lighter.
Having earned the most money I ever had in my life – for writing and performing the eight episodes of Little Britain – I felt rich, so I flew to LA for Lee Lodge’s wedding. Lee is a friend from university who now puts together visuals for rock concerts. Robbie Williams was one of the guests, as Lee’s bride Josie Cliff was his PA. The ex-Take That member had seen the pilot of Little Britain and was quoting a lot of the catchphrases already. He said, ‘Come out to my house tomorrow.’
I couldn’t believe it. Robbie was one of the biggest stars in the world.
‘What time?’ I asked.
‘Any time,’ he said.
‘Yes, but I don’t want to come at the wrong time. How about 3 p.m.?’
‘Perfect,’ Robbie replied.
The next day I took a taxi all the way from the Standard Hotel to the gated community just off Mulholland Drive where he lived. At 3 p.m. exactly I rang the bell.
‘Hello?’ came a voice.
‘Is Robbie there?’
‘Who is this?’
‘David Walliams.’
‘Who?’
‘David Walliams.’
‘David Williams?’
‘No, David Walliams.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Robbie invited me over to his house today at three o’clock, so here I am.’
‘Call back later.’
‘Well I’m here now.’
There was a pause before the voice said wearily, �
��Wait there.’
A bald-headed man I later found out was his manager David Einthoven appeared.
‘Oh it’s you! Robbie is asleep. Can you come back later?’
‘When?’
‘Any time later. Just not now.’
‘Oh.’
I was too embarrassed to tell him I had let the cab go, so I walked up the steep hill to the security gate, and the guard took pity on me and called me a taxi. Two hours and a hundred dollars later I was back at the hotel. I never did go back to his house that day.
Soon after, however, Lee invited me to Moscow, to see Robbie’s live show. That night Robbie and I had a heart-to-heart conversation that I recorded in my diary.
Saturday 8/11/2003
Back at the hotel after the concert, I had a quiet drink with Robbie, and despite being in the presence of this superstar I managed to relax and talk to him normally.
‘When’s the last time you had a girlfriend?’ I asked him.
‘Natalie Appleton.’
‘When was that?’
‘For eight months, five years ago.’
‘And you haven’t had a girlfriend since?’
‘No.’
‘Were you in love with her?’
‘No, I’ve never been in love. Have you?’
‘Three times’
‘Three? That’s a lot. What’s it like?’
‘Well the first time I fell in love it was with this girl who I had been friends with for three years. So it felt totally natural. It didn’t feel like I was “going out” with someone. It’s like your best friend is your lover. Imagine if Jonathan Wilkes was your girlfriend!’
‘Ha ha!’
‘Just like that.’
‘Are you on antidepressants, David?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which ones?’
‘Cipralex.’
‘I thought so. You used to have a kind of darkness around you …’
‘An aura?’
‘Yes, a dark aura around you. I think it’s gone. How long have you been on them?’
‘Six months. I’ve had a really sad year.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I was really in love with this girl and it all went wrong. She ended up reading my diary. She read about things that happened before I had even met her, and she broke up with me.’
‘How did that make you feel?’
‘Like I didn’t want to live any more. I think I want a woman who when I look into her eyes I will see my own death.’
‘That’s what you’re looking for?’
‘Yes. Someone once said you find a knife to fit the wound.’
‘That was then, when you were ill. You’re better now. I can see it. You will find someone else …’
At it happened, I only had to wait one minute …
32
Tonight Is Forever
As word was out in Moscow that Robbie Williams was staying at the Hotel Kempinski, there were soon hordes of beautiful girls floating around the bar, trying to catch his eye. One had been in the hotel for a few days, and everyone had noticed how astonishingly sexy she was. Kind of textbook sexy, with blonde hair and a perfect figure. She was so sexy in fact that on seeing her for the first time all Rob’s friend Max Beesley and I could do was laugh.
Inevitably this girl approached Robbie and me and asked, ‘Can I join you?’
I looked to Rob and he nodded.
‘Of course,’ I said.
She sat next to me. After a while Rob left to play Scrabble in his hotel room with his dad.
‘I’m sorry you’re stuck with me,’ I said to this girl, who I learned was a singer from Stockholm called Natascha.
I was really quite embarrassed by her beauty and at first didn’t know what to say, but after a while I relaxed, and thinking I was just really holding the fort for Rob, I became quite playful with her.
Rob came back briefly and picked up some other girl. But Natascha didn’t want to leave. And neither did I. It was now about 3 a.m. She brought the conversation around to sex and it finally dawned that she was flirting with me.
‘Shall we go for a walk?’ I said, my heart pounding, my head spinning.
‘Yes. Where are we going?’
‘Outside? I don’t know.’
‘I’ll get my coat.’
She went upstairs and I thought she wouldn’t come back, but she did and we ventured out into Red Square and the surrounding area.
‘I wish I could sing and dance,’ I said.
‘Why?’
‘Because I feel like I want to.’
I danced a little in a park, jumping on and off a bench.
‘Do you ever feel there are moments you want to live in for ever?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Well, I want this night to never end. I want to spend the rest of my life walking around Moscow in the early hours of the morning with you.’
She laughed.
‘Whatever happens between us, Natascha, and I know nothing probably will, no one can take this night away from us. It’s ours and ours alone.’
‘What are you thinking?’
‘I’d like to kiss you.’
‘My lips are too cold.’
We went back to the hotel. It was now 4.30 a.m. and I was pleased to see the bar was closed.
‘Shall we go back to my room?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ I said, trembling with desire.
We sat on her bed.
‘Are your lips warm enough yet?’ I whispered.
‘Yes.’
We kissed. I was kissing one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen in my life. I kissed her neck. I held her. She held me. Each touch felt like ecstasy.
‘You are so beautiful,’ I said.
‘You are so sexy,’ she said, which I thought was a good reply, because I know for sure I am not beautiful.
‘I want to see you naked,’ I said.
‘I’m shy.’
‘Please. You said you wouldn’t be in London until spring. Please give me something to think about until then.’
‘OK, you can see my top half.’
She took her bra off under her vest, then turned her back to me and pulled her vest up slowly to reveal the most perfect back. Beautiful enough to make the French Foreign Legion weep. Then she slowly turned and fixed me with her gaze, her hands over her breasts. It was heart-poundingly erotic.
She gradually removed her hands to reveal the most beautiful breasts I had ever seen. She looked into my eyes. I looked into hers.
‘I can’t believe it. You are so beautiful,’ I said.
I kissed her neck from behind and embraced her. It felt so sexy, it could have been the first time anyone had touched me.
‘I feel like I want to give up everything and move to Sweden. You can’t move to London, can you?’
‘No,’ she replied.
‘Here’s my phone number and email address. You will email me, won’t you?’
‘Oh yes, I have to see you again,’ she said. And I left.
I saw Natascha a couple more times, once in Sweden, another time in London, but it was not to be. It mattered not. Natascha gave me something that magical night in Moscow. Hope. Hope that one day I could love again.
When I returned to London, Little Britain was finishing its run on BBC3 and about to begin on BBC2. On Monday 1 December 2003 the first episode aired on terrestrial television and was an instant hit. Despite it being a repeat from BBC3, 3.2 million people tuned in. That Thursday Matt and I recorded our very first interview with Jonathan Ross. I sat embarrassed in his on-screen green room as properly famous people surrounded us. Boris Becker, Ozzy Osborne and the Strokes were the other guests. As our names were called I took a deep breath and stepped out onto the set so familiar to me from watching the programme for many years.
The audience received Matt and me rapturously, and I realized I now could be considered to be slightly famous.
Jonathan Ross is obsessed with homosexuality (I wo
uld call him bi-curious) and he asked, ‘We all know you’re gay, Matt, but what about you, David? There are rumours that you have dabbled.’
My brain whirred to find an appropriate response.
‘You know what’s it’s like, Jonathan. You suck a few cocks, you get a reputation.’
That brought the house down but was edited out of the episode when it aired the next night, which was probably for the best.
The reviews were overwhelmingly good for Little Britain. In the Evening Standard on 17 September 2003 Victor Lewis-Smith had finally given us a glowing one, which pleased me no end …
A club recently opened in New York, based around an ingenious concept that originated in Aberdeen. The idea is called WC-TV, and some time ago I visited the Scottish club that pioneered the service by fitting waterproof television screens to the base of each urinal in the gentlemen’s lavatory.
‘When you want to strain the potatoes,’ explained the proprietor in his colourful patois, ‘just tell me the name of the TV presenter you can’t stand, go to the lavatory, and we’ll put a tape of them on for you.’
So it was, that after a hard day’s journalism (aka the art of turning your enemies into money), I was able to spend the evening contentedly urinating over images of the selfsame celebrities whom I had earlier been metaphorically spraying in print. I understand that the new American club is taking the concept of WC-TV one stage further, but I’m not sure that’s wise.
I mean, there’s the cleaning up to consider, and anyway, isn’t there already enough crap on TV?
There was a time when I would have called for a tape of David Walliams and Matt Lucas on a urinal screen, and happily given them the high-pressure hose treatment.
Indeed, if I might be allowed to quote myself (sorry, but I’m getting to that age), I once described the former as ‘dismally untalented … living proof that you are only young once, but can remain immature indefinitely’, and condemned the latter for doing ‘a desperately unfunny Tony Hancock routine, although at least Hancock had the decency to commit suicide afterwards’.
But either I was wrong (there’s a strong possibly, and certainly wouldn’t be the first time) or the pair have got a lot better over the past couple of years, because their Rock Profile series revealed a comedic deftness of touch that had hitherto seemed absent from their work. And with the arrival of Little Britain (which began last night on BBC3) there’s ample evidence that the erstwhile untalented Walliams and unfunny Lucas are now two of the hottest comedy properties on television. Now will somebody remove this sword from me?
Camp David Page 26