Forty Years On and Off.

Forty years? Well not really. More like fourteen years, twenty six years ago. But I have had to wear more silly costumes than most Senior Boys, from a Hindu God to a Hell’s Granny, and played more women than most, both attractive and otherwise, and played more fauna, the back legs of a tiger, a halibut, and even some flora for I once played a carrot, than most men of a comparable age say in Insurance or Banking. I won’t say it hasn’t been wonderful, but what do I actually remember? Er, not a lot. Nowadays my memories are more random than Proustian, and perhaps because I have been editing a new Python book Monty Python Live! (to be published by Simon and Shuster in October) my strongest memories are of life on the road, on the six occasions Python went out and toured live. For instance the triumphant tour of Canada in 1973 when everything we did was greeted with hysteria, immediately followed by an appearance on The Tonight Show in LA where the very same material was greeted with a stunned, jaw-dropping silence, and remains certainly the funniest thing that ever happened to us. We ran outside and fell on the grass laughing hysterically for nothing is funnier than not being funny.

I remember The Hollywood Bowl in 1980 for four incredible nights under the stars – and on top of some of them - where the smell of the famous and their grass wafted gently across the balmy California evening.

I recall us trapped all day in a cinema in New York, surrounded by thousands of fans for the opening of Holy Grail, a surreal version of Beatlemania for we were there to sign coconuts…

Meeting George Harrison at the back of a Directors Guild screening of Holy Grail in Hollywood.

Writing Eric the Half a Bee with John Cleese, half way up an Alpine mountain lit up like a flashlight on some plum schnapps, with John dressed as Little Red Riding Hood.

Graham being thrown out of our bourgeois Munich hotel for bringing four chaps down to breakfast. The Haus Frau, blushing sweetly, said there was another hotel just down the street for special interests. It was October fest and we were filming, but we didn’t see Graham again for days.

Listening to the 1973 Liverpool Cup Final, huddled around a tranny, (then a radio not a cross dresser) outside a dark cave in Scotland, in soggy armour, waiting to be attacked by a Killer Rabbit.

Trying desperately not to crack up with Michael Palin and Terry Gilliam, in my favorite scene, the Jailer’s Assistant, in The Life of Brian.

Recording the vocal track to Always Look on the Bright Side, in a Tunisian hotel room, with a bottle of Bukha, the walls of the room covered with mattresses and the sound recordist on the floor.

Stepping out of a refrigerator to sing The Galaxy Song in The Meaning of Life.

Most of my memories turn musical, which is appropriate as we are having a celebration of this forty year thing – this Monty Python Ruby Jubilee – at The Royal Albert Hall – on October 23rd, with a performance of our comic Oratorio, Not The Messiah, He’s a Very Naughty Boy with 260 musicians on stage, The BBC Symphony Orchestra (80) and Chorus (160) and most Pythons guesting – oh and a few members of the Black Watch – you can’t do a show without Pipers. It’s a cross between the Nine Carol Service and the Last Night of the Proms, conducting by my pal and partner John Du Prez, we who brought you Spamalot. So be there or be square. And don’t mutter about the prices - there’s no way this thing can make any money. Did I tell you we have 260 musicians…?

Oh and one final thing. Isn’t it high time Monty Python was recognized? Don’t you think its about time that he became Sir Monty Python? How come only real people get Awards?

Alright. Say No More.

c) Eric Idle
October 2009