Biggins

by Christopher Biggins

  Seeing the poisonous spider under Janice’s bed was a high point on several levels. I loved the fact that, of all the beds, this little predator had found that one. Same with the snake. We got the warning over the PA system (it was like being in Butlins or a remake of Hi-de-Hi!): ‘Celebrities, be aware, there is a snake in the camp.’ Well, we all knew that, didn’t we, Janice? Seriously, we were all looking for something small. But it was a seven-foot carpet snake. And once more it was on Janice’s bed. Funny that.

  Cerys was as adorable as the kids. When it was down to the last five and they brought a guitar in we had our own personal Cerys Matthews concert around the campfire – a beautiful moment. She’s far more talented than I might have thought. And I know now that she’s got lovely parents and a wonderful family. She deserves another shot at happiness with someone great. Call me blind, but I hadn’t spotted that Marc was a candidate for the role of romantic lead in Cerys’s life. I’d liked him from the start when he had shown me the ropes and helped me get (relatively) gunge-free. As the classic good-looking young male in the camp, he was, in my view, a potential winner – especially as I think the public tends to reward a nice guy. But I’d missed the fact that in most people’s eyes he was a love rat. It was a big shock that he was the first to be evicted.

  What I liked about Rodney Marsh is that he himself didn’t know how nice he was – or could be. Yes, he said some horrible, cutting things. And at first I didn’t think that following them up with a joke or a high five could excuse them. At first I thought he was so awful it took my breath away. ‘I don’t have a heart,’ he said at one point. But when I was told to read out the letter from his daughter (everyone had a letter from a loved one except me – mine, from Neil, was held back because I had failed a trial), he proved that he did. Funnily enough, Neil ended up getting on particularly well with Rodney’s daughter when we all had dinner after the series. Rodney is a good dad and a good man. He shouldn’t be afraid of letting his heart show a little more.

  But the way he treated Lynne Franks in the camp? He should be (and indeed is) ashamed of that. ‘Sorry, Christopher. You were right and I was wrong. I’ve tried to apologise to Lynne,’ he told me when I was King of the Jungle.

  I liked Lynne. Yes, she’s tricky and can be difficult. But it still appalled me that when she was evicted Janice and Rodney headed down to the creek and didn’t even say goodbye. Call me old-fashioned but that’s just plain wrong.

  Katie Hopkins, drafted in to replace Malcolm McLaren, was another surprise. Everyone was whispering that she was a total bitch. But I liked her. She had me in stitches with her stories. She’s got two kids, and there’s something childlike in her attitude to the world. Somehow I think she turns the bitchiness and the nastiness on and off like a tap to get publicity. I missed her when she was gone. Which brings me neatly back to Janice.

  After the show Cunard very kindly asked me to speak on a three-week, round-the-world cruise on the QE2. As we moved regally from port to port I had plenty of time to think back on I’m A Celebrity. I also had time to watch all the tapes. So I finally saw what the viewers had seen. Janice was hysterical. She was entertainment, pure and simple.

  At the time it wasn’t always so funny, however. ‘She’s a professional reality-television star,’ was how J described her to me. And so she is. She was in our show to win it. She came over as devious, dishonest, a monster. The uppers and downers she said she needed made every emotion even more pronounced. The crocodile tears and faux despair at everyone else’s evictions were award-winning stuff. Many was the time when J and I could have killed her. But sometimes I did feel differently. We had a few very quiet chats about real life. She talked about her childhood, her dad, her bad times and her early days in the modelling industry when all anyone seemed to want from her was sex. That was the Janice I would like to have known. But throw in a third person – or a muffled cough from a concealed cameraman that reminded her of the cameras’ existence – and the other Janice shot back.

  I’ll not forget the madness of her exit – the vitally important helicopter dash back to LA. Funny, but I’m sure that trip wouldn’t have been so essential if she had been Queen of the Jungle in my place. But divas are as divas do.

  ‘All I want is to be fourth.’ That was all that ever went through my head. And as the days passed and my beard got longer and my stomach tighter I began to think I might make it. Knowing people are voting for you is quite wonderful. It makes me a little tearful to think of it, even now. But, oh, we worked for those places in the final few days. The best fun was the cyclone of a water game – it was like being hosed down at Shrublands Health Farm all those years ago. And there were just as many surprises. At one point I remember sitting on the stairs to catch my breath. I looked up and thought we had a new campmate. I swear it was Gollum. It was Janice.

  As we went from the final six, to five, to four, I was beside myself with excitement. I would do anything to get further. Just as well.

  I’ll never forget the bacon sandwich on my food challenge. Or that glass of champagne with the strawberry. Or the chocolate cake, for that matter. But I wasn’t ever going to give in. To be honest, it’s all a bit of a blur. But I think the tapes prove that I ate the witchetty grubs, the crocodile foot, the three cockroaches and then the kangaroo penis, washed down with some poor sod’s testicles. Chewy, if you want to know about the penis. Chewy and moist, if you’re interested in the testicles. How I love it when people nod wisely when I say this and say that’s what they thought. What you thought? What were you doing thinking about things like that in the first place?

  Janice hugged me tightly when I won the show. A tad too tightly? It’s just possible. But then the madness really began. The bridge, the best bits, the knowledge that it’s over and you can finally get the mud from under your nails – it all floods into your mind at once. Running over the rope bridge, seeing Neil, knowing I had won. After all those days with less than a dozen people, you are thrown into a massive set of meetings and interviews. Then you scrub up and go to a party with 600 guests. No wonder I kept crying. I was in shock for days and days.

  Neil and I flew home the day after the party. I just wanted to see friends and family. I wanted to know it was all real. But the air of unreality has hardly left.

  Back in London I wanted life to carry on just as it had before. So I went to the Ivy with Joan Collins. I got a standing ovation when I walked in – and was barely able to eat because so many people kept coming over to speak to me. I can’t pretend I didn’t love it.

  ‘Did you know Daniel Craig voted for you?’ the marvellous Lisa Tarbuck told me when I saw her that December. Coronation Street’s magnificent Helen Worth, a dear pal, said she had barely stopped voting. And strangers in the street came up to congratulate me each and every day. ‘How did you do it?’ people kept on asking. I have no idea. My only tactic was to be myself. I’ve been with Dame Judi at the RSC but I’m not that good an actor to play a part 24/7 for three weeks. All I could offer up was who I am. It is humbling and wonderful to think that so many people liked me enough to vote. Thank you.

  And what else did I get out of the show? Boxing Day. My first at home in nearly 40 years. I’m back in panto again in Cinderella in Southampton for the 2008–9 Christmas and New Year season. But opting out, just that once for I’m A Celebrity, turned out to be the best career decision in many a year.

  I think I may well have a pension at last. And I’m certainly being paid to have a lot of fun. I did chat show after chat show after Celebrity. But some were much more fun than others. I loved being on Never Mind the Buzzcocks with the dear Simon Amstell. ‘You mustn’t do it. They’ll annihilate you. Don’t you know what those kinds of shows are like?’ my friends warned beforehand. But I knew what Simon was like. We had met years earlier when he was the up-and-coming host of Channel 4’s Popworld. I did the voiceovers for the Top Five chart each week.

  Simon told me I was a cult hit – and I so hope he wasn’t just being kind. Anywa
y, despite the fact that the Never Mind the Buzzcocks regulars might as well have been talking Greek when they got on to all the latest people and bands, I managed to keep my head above water. Simon was a darling, just the way I knew he would be. But the show: it took us three and a half hours to get enough footage for a half-hour programme.

  ‘I can’t go on any more. I’m exhausted!’ I screeched on camera as a fifth hour of filming approached.

  Going on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross wasn’t quite as much fun, though that wasn’t because of its host. The problem, shock horror, was my fellow guest – Janice Dickinson. Janice came over as a bad loser. She was quite cutting in the green room – which, of course, is all part of the set on Friday Night. Stephen Merchant and Freddie Flintoff were as surprised as I was. And none of us could quite believe how someone who talked to me in the way that she did could have such a charming boyfriend. He was quite lovely.

  Anyway, as the show went on Jonathan came to my aid. ‘You can’t say that. Biggins is a national treasure,’ he said after one of her worst comments – most of which I think were cut before the broadcast.

  ‘Darling, it’s all done for the cameras,’ she whispered at the end as we did some awful dance.

  Perhaps. I just know she is very unlikely to be on my Christmas-card list any time soon.

  I think I would have missed it if I hadn’t done a panto at all that season. So putting one on for The Paul O’GradyShow in December with so many of my best friends was a marvellous bonus. And that wasn’t the only time I saw Cilla and Joan in that particular week. When I talk of the great divas in my life how can I forget Shirley Bassey? We had all been at her 70th – imagine! – at Cliveden House that week, camping it up with the best of them.

  But back to The Paul O’Grady Show. Paul himself is, of course, a dear old pal. If anyone had told me, 20-plus years ago when Paul was facing the hecklers as Lily Savage in those dire south London pubs, that he would end up the best-loved and most popular presenter on teatime television, I would have had them committed. As if something like that could ever happen! But happen it has. And to the nicest man in the industry. Lovely proof that fairytales do come true, even for drag queens.

  Talking of which, one more deserves a very honourable mention. Dave Lynne, another dear friend who lit up my life for a while. What a wonderful, generous man. If you saw him train up the ex-soldier in Faking It, you’ll know what a gentleman he is – and what a great lady he makes when he’s on stage. He is a brilliantly funny man. I’ve loved his appearances on shows like The Weakest Link. He should get so much more. What most people won’t know about Dave is how charming his family is. He had wonderful parents, a great, characterful and endlessly amusing Jewish family. Good times all round. Good memories. And Dave is still a good friend today.

  As I was writing those words in 2008, I realised that the approaching autumn was bringing my 60th birthday. My mother kept reminding me how much I cried when I reached 21. I thought my life was over back then. I think this walk – well, meander – down memory lane proves that it wasn’t. And this walk (or meander) is far from over, as the next pages will show.

  21

  The Big Party

  I was going to turn 60. I tried to hide from that horrible fact but there was no escape. Sixty! Where did all that time go? I still felt like a teenager, sometimes. Or at least I acted like one. But, reality was reality and it seemed that I couldn’t fight the calendar. My 60th birthday was indeed just around the corner and I had two big choices. Choice number one, I could keep my head in the sand and celebrate very quietly at home. Or, choice number two, I could throw a party.

  Guess what? I decided to throw a party – and not just any party. It would be a big, fat one. I decided to throw the 60th birthday party to end all 60th birthday parties.

  I chose one of the grandest and one of my favourite hotels in London as the venue. The five-star Landmark Hotel in the heart of beautiful Marylebone. I drew up a guest list. I decided to keep my birthday a modest and an intimate affair. I would invite just 400 of my closest and dearest friends. No need to go overboard, after all.

  The night was black tie, naturally. Posh frocks, for anyone who wanted to wear them, of course. And lavish from the start. We took over the hotel’s vast, palm-filled atrium for a champagne reception. Then we moved on to colonise the Landmark’s stunning ballroom for dinner. Sitting people down wasn’t easy. The table plan had been hell. Placements are a nightmare. We had forty tables of ten. But who would sit where? Who would sit with whom? What about all the last-minute calls – can I bring a guest? Can I ditch my guest and bring someone better? Can I sit next to my wife? Can I sit next to someone else’s wife? Can I sit a very long way from my husband? Yes, the pre-party questions went on and on.

  But Neil and I did it in the end. We drew up that table plan. When the champagne reception was over we had our photographs taken with all our guests as everyone slowly trooped towards the dining room. We all sat down at our tables. And then the fun began.

  The music came from off stage, outside the room. ‘Get the party started,’ the vocals rang out. It was one of Shirley Bassey’s signature songs. But was it Shirley singing? I knew that it wasn’t. I’d hired Lorraine Brown, the amazing look-alike and sound-alike who’s been playing Shirley for years. And she was pitch perfect at my party, the way she always is. She sounded so right that night. So right, in fact, that everyone thought it was the real deal. ‘It’s Shirley!’ came the cry! Everyone in the vast room applauded and roared their approval. And the cheers got louder when Lorraine finally strode into the room, microphone in hand, glamorous as hell and all guns blazing. She looked as good as she sounded. She looked exactly like Shirley. People were going bananas and I was laughing my head off.

  Because by this point nearly 400 people were entirely convinced that it was Shirley. Joan Collins, who knows Shirley really well, thought it was Shirley. For a moment even I thought it was Shirley – and I’d made the booking.

  Those crazy first moments set the tone for the whole night. It was stunning. And stunning fun. What was the meal actually like? I’m sure it was wonderful but I have no idea. After the first few moments I don’t think I sat down once. I spent the whole night table hopping. I covered more ground than Paula Radcliffe. I should have worn running shoes. So who was there? Who wasn’t? Apologies to anyone I forget. But alongside dear Joan we had Cilla Black, Barbara Windsor, Lynda Bellingham, Stephanie Powers, Denise Welsh, Claire Balding, Helen Worth, Jane Macdonald, Gloria Hunniford, Lorraine Chase and so many more lovely ladies. Among the most suave of men we had Tim Rice, Matthew Wright, Theo Fennell, William Hague, Jason Donovan who had shared my pain in his own I’m A Celebrity camp, and so many more absolute gentlemen. And of course so many other dear people I should mention now or should have mentioned elsewhere in this book and I apologise for being so muddle-headed that I don’t have the memory or the space or the brains to mention them now. To you all, if you were there I adore you and I thank you for being part of my crazy, madcap life.

  What time did the party end? I’ve no idea about that either. Did I dance? Of course I danced. I sang, I laughed and I made merry. I cut the most beautiful cake – a jungle-themed one, complete with a rat made out of icing. I was 60. Sixty! I acted as if I was six. What a hoot.

  But there’s something we all come to know about a big party. It’s the morning after the night before. It hit me hard, that time. I was exhausted. Never again, I said the day after. No more big parties. So much fun, but too exhausting, too stressful. It’s the quiet life for me, I said. Until the next one, of course.

  And I did have lots to do once the party was over. I was heading towards the end of my year as the reigning King of the Jungle. I had an endless series of interviews to do as the next show began to air – with Joe Swash pipping the amazing Martina Navratilova to the post to take my title. I also had a panto to put on.

  It had been a wrench to miss out on panto in 2007. After such an unbroken run I’d felt terr
ible about opting out for my trip to Oz. So I was more than thrilled to head back to the Mayflower Theatre in Southampton to play Buttons in Cinderella. It wasn’t always easy, getting back into the swing. As I’ve said so many times in this book, the world is changing. Those long, lovely weeks of readings and then rehearsals that I’d loved when I started out are a thing of the past. Now we have to ready far faster. It’s still great fun, meeting the new crowd, catching up with old faces. But it’s work. It’s a lot to take in and to get right.

  And would it all be all right on the first night? Would the crowd really care about a 60-year-old gay man from yesteryear? Sure, enough people had voted for me a year ago in the jungle. But I had to prepare myself for a reality check. I got myself ready in case they’d changed their minds, already moved on and no longer cared. Maybe they had all misdialled when they voted. Maybe I wasn’t the one, after all.

  But I needn’t have worried. The audience reaction, show after show, matinee after evening after matinee after evening, was stupendous. The roars of laughter were priceless. There are some 2,300 seats at the lovely Mayflower, I believe. And box office records, it seemed, were there to be broken. So we filled those seats, night after night.

  When I say ‘we’ I’m including the whole team who made my return to the stage so good. We had Ryan the Rat, all the way from my jungle, and a character everyone adored. We had Matthew Kelly, we had Stephanie Powers from Hart to Hart and we had an amazing cast and crew – plus a whole lot of high-energy, high-camp songs from Wicked to Hairspray to belt out from start to finish.