Fry_ A Memoir Part 18

If that lunch had been a test we somehow pa.s.sed it, and Terry and Jimmy duly agreed to pony up.

I went back to England, and Hugh and I set about starting to write for next year's pilot of a Fry and Laurie TV sketch show.

'We should do a tour,' Hugh said.

'A tour?'

'If we agree to a live show around the country then that will force us to write material for it. We're not allowed to do Shakespeare Mastercla.s.s, or Dracula ... only new material.'

Although we were not really well known and certainly nothing like as famous as Harry and Ben were becoming, there was a sizeable enough demand for us in college and university towns, it seemed, and a tour was arranged. We wrote and stared out of the window and paced up and down and bought Big Macs and looked out of the window and went for walks and tore at our hair and swore and watched television and bought more Big Macs and swore again and wrote and screamed with horror as the clock showed that another day was over and we looked at what we had written and groaned and agreed to meet again first thing next day whosever turn it was agreeing to arrive with some coffee and Big Macs.

After we had a.s.sembled some material I had to go back to New York for Me and My Girl Me and My Girl rehearsals. The plan was for me to return after the opening. We would tour and record a one-off Fry and Laurie pilot show to be screened at Christmas and followed the next year by a series. rehearsals. The plan was for me to return after the opening. We would tour and record a one-off Fry and Laurie pilot show to be screened at Christmas and followed the next year by a series.

Me and My Girl rehea.r.s.ed in Manhattan somewhere down near the Flatiron Building. I had never seen such facilities or met with such order in the course of a theatrical venture. There was a dance room, a song room and even a book room, a huge s.p.a.ce dedicated to rehearsing my bits and my bits alone. I even had my own writer's room off it, handsomely supplied with desk, electric typewriter, stationery and coffee percolator. Mike Ockrent led the same production team, but only Robert remained from the British cast. Enn Reitel had taken over from him in London, and would be followed by Gary Wilmot, Karl Howman, Brian Conley, Les Dennis and many others in the course of its long run. Here in New York Robert had Maryann Plunkett, whom I had seen in rehea.r.s.ed in Manhattan somewhere down near the Flatiron Building. I had never seen such facilities or met with such order in the course of a theatrical venture. There was a dance room, a song room and even a book room, a huge s.p.a.ce dedicated to rehearsing my bits and my bits alone. I even had my own writer's room off it, handsomely supplied with desk, electric typewriter, stationery and coffee percolator. Mike Ockrent led the same production team, but only Robert remained from the British cast. Enn Reitel had taken over from him in London, and would be followed by Gary Wilmot, Karl Howman, Brian Conley, Les Dennis and many others in the course of its long run. Here in New York Robert had Maryann Plunkett, whom I had seen in Sunday in the Park with George Sunday in the Park with George, playing opposite him as Sally and George S. Irving as Sir John.

I stayed at the Wyndham, an old-fas.h.i.+oned actor's hotel on 58th Street whose rooms were s.p.a.cious chintzy suites with bathrooms and fittings that believed it was still 1948. By each bed was a white telephone with no dial or b.u.t.tons. When you picked up the receiver it connected you to the front desk. 'I'd like to make a call,' you would tell the operator. You gave the number you wanted and hung up. Five minutes or half an hour later, according to whim or luck, the phone would ring, and you would be through. Most nights at about two or three I would be jerked awake by the phone's cras.h.i.+ng buzz.

'Yes?'

'Your call to Rome, Italy ...'

'I didn't ask for a call to Rome.'

'My mistake. Wrong number. Thank you.'

At breakfast I fell into the habit of chatting with some of the long-term guests, almost all of them actors or theatre people. A favourite was Raymond Burr, enormously bulky but very kindly and cheerful, despite the habitually tired bloodhound droop of his eyes. He went so far as to ask my advice about doing more Perry Mason Perry Mason on television. on television.

'Do young people remember it?'

'Well, I have to confess it was before my time,' I said to him. 'But I loved Ironside Ironside.'

'Why thank you. They don't want to do more Ironside Ironside, but there is talk of more Perry Mason Perry Mason. You never saw it?'

'I'm sure television could do with a really good legal series. He was a lawyer, that is right?'

'Oh my. I shall have to tell the producers. I met a smart young Englishman and he had barely heard of Perry Mason. Oh my.'

If Raymond Burr wasn't available for conversation I had in another corner of the breakfast room Broadway's ancient royal couple, Hume Cronyn and Jessica Tandy. They spoke to me through each other.

'Oh look, honey, here's the English fellow. I wonder how his rehearsals are going.'

'Not too bad,' I would reply. 'The cast seem amazing to me.'

'He says the cast is amazing! Is he confident of a hit I wonder?'

'Oh well, you know. It's pretty much in the lap of the G.o.ds. By which I mean the lap of the critics I suppose.'

'He's calling the critics G.o.ds, honey, did you hear that? G.o.ds!'

And so on.

Once rehearsals kicked in, I saw something of the American work ethic. Compet.i.tion for parts in the chorus was so tough that they never relaxed. During time off the boys and girls were teaching each other new steps, practising vocal scales and warming up or down according to the time of day. And drinking water all the time. We are now so used to it all over the western world that one has to remind oneself that there was a time when young Americans didn't feel naked without a bottle of water in their hands.

I also saw something of the meaning of the star system. It is a kind of paradox of America, the republic that freed itself of the inequitable shackles of monarchy, cla.s.s and social rank, that it chooses to privilege stars with a status far beyond that of any European duke or prince. As with any true aristocracy, the principles of n.o.blesse oblige n.o.blesse oblige apply to stars. Robert told me of the time they all went upstate to film a TV commercial. It was a long and tiring day in humid summer, chorus members were clanking around in medieval armour, pearly suits and fur-lined cloaks, and take after take was called for. As the shoot wore on Robert noticed a diminution in friendliness towards him that he could not understand. He asked Maryann Plunkett whether he had done something wrong. apply to stars. Robert told me of the time they all went upstate to film a TV commercial. It was a long and tiring day in humid summer, chorus members were clanking around in medieval armour, pearly suits and fur-lined cloaks, and take after take was called for. As the shoot wore on Robert noticed a diminution in friendliness towards him that he could not understand. He asked Maryann Plunkett whether he had done something wrong.

'Everyone is very tired and very hot, and I think they'd like it to be over.'

'Well, yes, me too,' said Robert, 'but how is that my fault?'

'Robert, you're the star! You're the company leader. You You decide if it's time for everyone to wrap and go home.' decide if it's time for everyone to wrap and go home.'

'B-but ...' Robert, of course, had been brought up in the self-consciously 'we're all mates here' cooperative atmosphere of British theatre, where no one would ever dare dare pull starry rank. Because we have a cla.s.s system in Britain we go out of our way to make sure that it is made plain that everyone is absolutely equal. Because America doesn't, they seem to revel in the power, status and prestige that achievement can bring. pull starry rank. Because we have a cla.s.s system in Britain we go out of our way to make sure that it is made plain that everyone is absolutely equal. Because America doesn't, they seem to revel in the power, status and prestige that achievement can bring.

'Robert, it's your duty to make decisions for us ...'

Swallowing nervously, and grateful that none of his British contemporaries were witnessing the moment, he spoke up to the director in front of everyone. 'Right, Tommy. One more take only and then everyone needs to get out of costume and be on their way.'

'Sure, Bob,' said the director. 'Absolutely. Whatever you say.'

Everybody smiled, and Robert learned the duties and responsibilities of stardom.

Me and My Girl tried out in downtown Los Angeles, in the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, then best known as the location of the annual Academy Awards ceremony. I stayed at the Biltmore Hotel off Pers.h.i.+ng Square, almost near enough the theatre to walk. This was Los Angeles, of course, and, as everyone knows, walking is never done there. Besides, when you have rented a bright-red convertible Mustang you want to use it at every opportunity. There was really very little for me to do other than attend the early performances and occasionally offer new s.n.a.t.c.hes of dialogue as required. After a week at the Biltmore, charming as it was, I thought I might as well blow all my per diems on a weekend at the Bel-Air Hotel. For the low, low price of $1,500 a night I had a little bungalow and a beautiful garden in which my own private hummingbird flitted about just for me. On the second night I invited the chorus, who somehow jammed themselves in, drank $600 worth of wine and liquor and vamoosed in a cloud of kisses and extravagant grat.i.tude. tried out in downtown Los Angeles, in the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, then best known as the location of the annual Academy Awards ceremony. I stayed at the Biltmore Hotel off Pers.h.i.+ng Square, almost near enough the theatre to walk. This was Los Angeles, of course, and, as everyone knows, walking is never done there. Besides, when you have rented a bright-red convertible Mustang you want to use it at every opportunity. There was really very little for me to do other than attend the early performances and occasionally offer new s.n.a.t.c.hes of dialogue as required. After a week at the Biltmore, charming as it was, I thought I might as well blow all my per diems on a weekend at the Bel-Air Hotel. For the low, low price of $1,500 a night I had a little bungalow and a beautiful garden in which my own private hummingbird flitted about just for me. On the second night I invited the chorus, who somehow jammed themselves in, drank $600 worth of wine and liquor and vamoosed in a cloud of kisses and extravagant grat.i.tude.

LA was our only try-out town, and the show had gone well enough in front of a mostly elderly subscription audience. Broadway was next, and from here there was no escape and no second chances. It is a known oddity of the New York theatre world that a production is made or broken almost solely by its review in the New York Times. New York Times. It is the paper, incidentally, not the reviewer, that wields this terrible power. As Bernard Levin once observed, a Barbary Ape could hold the post of It is the paper, incidentally, not the reviewer, that wields this terrible power. As Bernard Levin once observed, a Barbary Ape could hold the post of Times Times reviewer and still have the power to close a show. Frank Rich was the current Barbary Ape that we had to please, and there was no knowing until the night whether his thumb would go up or down. If it went down the whole production would fold, Jimmy, Terry and Richard would lose their money, and the cast would all be fired. Humiliation all round. reviewer and still have the power to close a show. Frank Rich was the current Barbary Ape that we had to please, and there was no knowing until the night whether his thumb would go up or down. If it went down the whole production would fold, Jimmy, Terry and Richard would lose their money, and the cast would all be fired. Humiliation all round.

We had already earned a certain measure of ill will in the town by being the first show to open in the Marriott Marquis Theatre, built as part of a major Times Square reconstruction project. To make way for an enormous new hotel, the much loved Helen Hayes Theatre had been pulled down to such a howl of impa.s.sioned protest that the Marriott group promised to integrate a new theatre into the development, and the Marquis was it.

At the dress rehearsal nerves were frayed, and Jimmy Nederlander and Terry Allen Kramer, being denied, as producers, any other outlet for their tension than the pleasure of firing people, had scented blood. Their old insecurity on the issue of the dance numbers resurfaced, and, sitting behind them, I heard mutters and growls about Gillian Gregory, the ch.o.r.eographer. How they thought firing her the day before previews began could possibly help I do not know, but I suppose plenty of shows had been rescued in shorter time than that. I a.s.sume they liked the idea of bringing in Tommy Tune or Bob Fosse or some other legend of dance, having them work everyone eighteen hours a day for three days and then telling the world how they had fired a.s.ses and saved the show. American entertainment tyc.o.o.ns do like to see themselves cast in the mythological tough uncompromising sonofab.i.t.c.h mould. Theatre people hate dramatics they get enough of that at work; non-theatre people dramatize everything around them.

I caught hold of Richard Armitage and mentioned that I had heard grumblings.

'Hm,' he said. 'I shall have to do something about that.'

We sat and watched an energetic but somehow spiritless dress rehearsal. The new theatre smelled of carpet glue and wood varnish. It had fluorescent strips for house lights, which meant that they couldn't be faded up or down, but only flickered on and off, killing the atmosphere. Even when they went out the exit signs were so brightly lit you could easily read your programme from their lurid spill. The doors at the back of the auditorium were horribly over-sprung such that, no matter how gently you tried to close them, they made a terrible bang, and if people didn't know about them and let them go without care it was as if a gunshot had gone off. The dancing had been, to my untutored non-specialist eye, spectacular, but Terry Allen Kramer scribbled savagely in her notebook every time a leg kicked or a body twirled.

When finally the curtain came down for the ending she stood and opened her mouth.

'The ch.o.r.eo ...'

Richard's voice drowned her out. 'd.a.m.n. Well, those house lights are a disaster. And the doors and the exit signs. But there's nothing we can do about that in time for the first preview. Just nothing. It would take a miracle.'

Terry uttered a harsh bark. 'Nothing? Ha! That's what you you think! There's think! There's plenty plenty we can do. Bill Marriott is a personal friend. I don't care if I have to wake him up, he'll G.o.dd.a.m.n sort this out. Someone get me to a phone we can do. Bill Marriott is a personal friend. I don't care if I have to wake him up, he'll G.o.dd.a.m.n sort this out. Someone get me to a phone right now right now!'

Off she went, steaming and puffing like the iron-clad destroyer she was. Orders were issued and issues ordered, Bill Marriott was jerked from his European slumbers and in under an hour electricians were being elevated to the ceiling on scissor-lifts and men in white overalls were removing door springs at the back of the house. In her commanding glory, Terry had forgotten all about the ch.o.r.eography.

I shook Richard by the hand. 'Masterly,' I said. 'If I had a hat, I'd take it off to you.'

By the first preview the atmosphere of the show began to be restored. The doors were now, of course, whisper quiet, the exit signs glowed gently and the house lights were warm and sweetly controllable. I had moved out of the Wyndham and was staying in a most glorious apartment on 59th Street, Central Park South, with a matchless view of the park and Fifth Avenue. It belonged to Douglas Adams, who, with typical generosity, had told me to make free of it. I held a nervous party there the evening of the first night. My parents had flown over, as had Hugh. My Great-Aunt Dita, who had escaped the n.a.z.is in Salzburg and come over to America in the 1940s, was a formidable and terrifying presence. She offered Hugh one of her untipped Pall Mall cigarettes.

'That's very kind,' said Hugh, taking out a full-strength, but filtered, Marlboro Red, 'I prefer these.'

'You some kind of health nut?' said my Aunt, thrusting her pack towards him. 'Take.' Hugh, being the polite fellow he is, took one.

One hour before Me and My Girl Me and My Girl's Broadway opening. Between my cousin Danny and his grandmother, Great-Aunt Dita.

Neither Mike Ockrent nor I could face being in the auditorium with the first-night audience. The knowledge that Frank Rich had already been and written his review and that it would be out in just a few hours was almost more than we could bear. We paced up and down in the foyer, consuming gin and tonic after gin and tonic, becoming more and more hysterical with panic, terror and a sense of the absurdity of this whole venture. Our pacing routes would converge, and we kept b.u.mping into each other, which caused us to burst into fresh fits of manic laughter.

'We are at the first night of our own Broadway show,' Mike kept saying, shaking his head in disbelief. 'It can't be true. Someone is going to wake me up.'

I repeated those lines from The Producers The Producers that everybody quotes at first nights. that everybody quotes at first nights.

Wow, this play wouldn't run a night.

A night? Are you kidding? This play's guaranteed to close on page four.

How could this happen? I was so careful. I picked the wrong play, the wrong director, the wrong cast. Where did I go right?

And so on.

Years later, Mike would collaborate with Mel Brooks on The Producers The Producers' reinvention as a stage musical, only to be struck down with incurable leukaemia before he had the chance to see it open as the biggest Broadway hit of its day.

During the second half, just after the audience had gone back in from the interval, Ralph Rosen, the company's general manager, waddled in his amiable flat-footed way across the lobby to whisper to us the news that a friend of a friend had a friend whose friend was dating a friend at the New York Times New York Times and that their friend had seen an advance copy of the Frank Rich review and that it was good. It was more than good. It was a rave. Ralph solemnly shook our hands. He was the most quiet-spoken, honourable and matter-of-fact person I had met in America. If he said a thing was so, then it was so and not otherwise. and that their friend had seen an advance copy of the Frank Rich review and that it was good. It was more than good. It was a rave. Ralph solemnly shook our hands. He was the most quiet-spoken, honourable and matter-of-fact person I had met in America. If he said a thing was so, then it was so and not otherwise.

By the time we all a.s.sembled upstairs for the party Richard had a copy in his hands and a wetness in his eyes once more.

At the Antoinette Perry Awards later that year Me and My Girl Me and My Girl was nominated for thirteen Tonys. We failed to pick up ten of them, my category included, but Robert and Maryann each won for best performance in a musical and, perhaps most pleasingly of all, Gillian Gregory won for best ch.o.r.eography. I don't know if to this day she is aware how adeptly Richard saved her from being pointlessly and unjustifiably fired. was nominated for thirteen Tonys. We failed to pick up ten of them, my category included, but Robert and Maryann each won for best performance in a musical and, perhaps most pleasingly of all, Gillian Gregory won for best ch.o.r.eography. I don't know if to this day she is aware how adeptly Richard saved her from being pointlessly and unjustifiably fired.

I got back to England still shaken by my good fortune. Me and My Girl Me and My Girl was running in the West End and on Broadway, there were productions in Tokyo, Budapest, Australia, Mexico I have forgotten the other territories. The show would run on Broadway for the next three and a half years and in the West End for another six. In the meantime there was was running in the West End and on Broadway, there were productions in Tokyo, Budapest, Australia, Mexico I have forgotten the other territories. The show would run on Broadway for the next three and a half years and in the West End for another six. In the meantime there was Fry and Laurie Fry and Laurie to look forward to, another to look forward to, another Blackadder Blackadder and ... and ... who knew what else? It seemed that I was an insider, a s...o...b..siness somebody. and ... and ... who knew what else? It seemed that I was an insider, a s...o...b..siness somebody.

In August 1987 I was at home in Norfolk congratulating myself on having given up smoking for ten days. Hugh, Kim and other friends came up to help me celebrate my thirtieth birthday, and within ten minutes of their arrival I was back on the cigarettes.

My roaring twenties were over, and next month Hugh and I would start work on our BBC pilot, which we planned to call A Bit of Fry and Laurie. A Bit of Fry and Laurie. My bank balance was good and getting ever better. I had cars, certainty and a slowly growing name. I was the luckiest person I knew. My bank balance was good and getting ever better. I had cars, certainty and a slowly growing name. I was the luckiest person I knew.

Never one to take stock or make inventories I do recall standing in the garden of the Norfolk house watching the sun set and feeling that I had finally arrived. I do not believe that I actually crowed over the remains of my miserable past self, but I came perhaps as close to exultation as a person can.

When someone exults, Fate's cruel lips curl into a smile.

C.

Back in London some weeks later an actor friend asked me if I fancied a line. I did not even know what he meant but I said that I certainly would like one, because he had asked in a way that made 'a line' sound intriguing and wicked and fun. I thought perhaps he was going to tell me a quite appalling joke or pick-up line. Instead, he took a packet of folded paper from his pocket, dug out some white powder and chopped it up into two lines on the surface of a smoked-gla.s.s coffee table. He asked me if I had a ten-pound note. I produced one, and he rolled it up tight and put it to one nostril. He sniffed up half of his line, applied the rolled-up ten-pound note to the other nostril and sniffed up the other half. I came forward, took the tube, knelt down and did the same, reproducing his actions as carefully as I could. The powder stung my nostrils enough to produce a few tears in my eyes. I went back to my chair, and we sat and talked for a while. After twenty or thirty minutes we did the same thing again. And then a third time. By now I was buzzing and garrulous and wide awake and happy.

I did not know it but this was to mark the beginning of a new act of my life. The tragedy and farce of that drama are the material for another book.

In the meantime, thank you for your company.

Experimenting with a new pair of gla.s.ses in the kitchen of my parents' house in Norfolk.

Acknowledgements

Some of the characters who feature in this book have been kind enough to read it and correct lapses in my memory. I am especially grateful to Kim and Ben and the Nice Mr Gardhouse, but my grat.i.tude reaches out to many others. It is very hard to know whether people will be more offended by inclusion or exclusion from these pages. Full as the book is, it would have been twice the length if I could have given s.p.a.ce to everyone who was important in my younger life.

I thank Don Boyd for leading me to the kind and helpful Philip Wickham of the University of Exeter's Bill Douglas Centre for the History of Cinema and Popular Culture, which houses a Don Boyd archive where invaluable Gossip Gossip material was made available to me. material was made available to me.

To Anthony Goff, my agent, to Jo Crocker, my tireless and loving a.s.sister, to Christian Hodell and to Louise Moore at Penguin go the warmest and most affectionate and grateful thanks too, but I reserve my deepest acknowledgements for the dedicatee of this book, the colleague without whom I would never have been in a position to write it and without whose friends.h.i.+p my life would have been unimaginably poorer.

Ill.u.s.trations Papa.

Mama.

Grandpapa.

Sister Jo, self, brother Roger.

Between Mama and Papa with a rather long-haired Roger on the right.

Tragic hair. Tragic times. Taken some time between school and prison.

The Sugar Puffs addict has moved on to Scott's Porage Oats. (All author's collection) Universally Challenged. (ITV/Rex Features) Kim in Half Blue scarf. (From the collection of Kim Harris) The Cherubs. I know we look like w.a.n.kers, but really we weren't. Honestly.

Kim Harris. Not unlike a young blond Richard Burton. (From the collection of Kim Harris) Emma Thompson's hair is starting to grow back. (Brian Logue/Daily Mail/Rex Features) Unable to afford an outboard motor, Hugh Laurie and his poor dear friends are having to propel themselves through the water.

Playing the King in All's Well That Ends Well All's Well That Ends Well, BATS May Week production 1980, in Queens' Cloister Court. (Dr Simon Mentha) Cableknit Pullover, Part 1. (Author's collection) The backlit ears of Hugh Laurie, gentleman. (Author's collection) Cableknit Pullover, Part 2. (Author's collection) Latin! The most stolen poster of the 1980 Edinburgh Fringe. (Author's collection) The most stolen poster of the 1980 Edinburgh Fringe. (Author's collection) Solemn but triumphant in the Mummers group photo celebrating our Fringe First Awards. (Cambridge Mummers) A moment later, responding to Tony Slattery and revealing an unsurprising cigarette. (Cambridge Mummers) The Snow Queen, 1980. My first Footlights appearance. (Cambridge Footlights. Reproduced by kind permission of the Syndics of Cambridge University Library: UA FOOT 2/5/30, UA FOOT 2/8/95) With Kim outside the Cambridge Senate House, celebrating our Tripos results. I was insanely in love with that Cerruti tie. (Andrew Everard) In room A2, Queens'. Graduation day: posing with sister Jo. (Author's collection) Rowan Atkinson presents Hugh with the Perrier Prize cheque. Edinburgh, 1981. (Perrier) The Cellar Tapes closing song. I fear we may have been guilty of embarra.s.sing and sanctimonious 'satire' at this point. Hence the joyless expressions. (BBC Photo Library) closing song. I fear we may have been guilty of embarra.s.sing and sanctimonious 'satire' at this point. Hence the joyless expressions. (BBC Photo Library) Photo call in Richmond Park for BBC version of The Cellar Tapes The Cellar Tapes. (BBC Photo Library) The same: ultimately a git with a pipe stuck in his face. (BBC Photo Library) Performing the 'Shakespeare Mastercla.s.s' sketch with Hugh. (BBC Photo Library) With Emma in 'My Darling' a Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning sketch. (BBC Photo Library) Hugh in Crete. We rented a villa for the purposes of writing comedy. (Author's collection) A cretin in a Cretan setting. (Author's collection) Hugh prepares to demolish me at backgammon. The retsina was satisfyingly disgusting. (Author's collection) Hugh, Emma, Ben, self, Siobhan and Paul: There's Nothing to Worry About There's Nothing to Worry About, Granada TV, 1982. Oh, but there was ... (ITV/Rex Features) I host a bed party in my room at the Midland Hotel. We seem happy. I think perhaps we were. (Photo by Robbie Coltrane) An Alfresco Alfresco sketch that a merciful providence has erased from my memory. (ITV/Rex Features) sketch that a merciful providence has erased from my memory. (ITV/Rex Features) The only time in my life I ever wore a donkey jacket. Alfresco Alfresco. (Photo by Robbie Coltrane) Providence has once again been merciful. Alfresco Alfresco. (ITV/Rex Features) Alfresco, series 2: The Pretend Pub. (ITV/Rex Features) A t.w.a.t in tweed and cravat: inexcusably slappable. Alfresco Alfresco. (ITV/Rex Features) 'We cannot be said to have been the prettiest quartet ever to greet a television audience.' University Challenge University Challenge. (BBC Photo Library) The Young Ones. Comic heroes. (BBC Photo Library) David Lander, earnest investigative reporter in a badly behaved blond wig. (Courtesy of Hat Trick Productions, Channel 4 and Screenocean) The Crystal Cube, with Emma and Hugh. (Author's collection) The Crystal Cube. The warty look was created using Rice Krispies. True story. (Author's collection) The man who put the t.u.r.d in Sat.u.r.day Live Sat.u.r.day Live. I cannot recall a single thing about that sketch. Why the rolled-up trouser leg? (ITV/Rex Features) As Lord Melchett in Blackadder II Blackadder II. (BBC Photo Library) More Sat.u.r.day Live Sat.u.r.day Live: with Hugh, Harry Enfield and Ben Elton. Why the electric carving knife, if that's what it is? I remember nothing nothing of this moment. (ITV/Rex Features) of this moment. (ITV/Rex Features) The Tatler celibacy article. (Photo Tim Platt/Tatler Conde Nast Publications Ltd. Words Stephen Fry/Tatler Conde Nast Publications Ltd) celibacy article. (Photo Tim Platt/Tatler Conde Nast Publications Ltd. Words Stephen Fry/Tatler Conde Nast Publications Ltd) From Forty Years On Forty Years On, Chichester, 1984. Self, Doris Hare, Paul Eddington and John Fortune. (Picture courtesy of the Chichester Observer) I remember that Paul Smith s.h.i.+rt. My birthday. (Author's collection) Emma (Ted Blackbrow/Daily Mail/Rex Features) First-night party for the Forty Years On Forty Years On 'transfer', Queen's Theatre, London, 1984. Katie Kelly (back to us, s.h.i.+ny bun), boys from the cast, self, Hugh Laurie, sister Jo. 'transfer', Queen's Theatre, London, 1984. Katie Kelly (back to us, s.h.i.+ny bun), boys from the cast, self, Hugh Laurie, sister Jo.

Me and My Girl. Robert Lindsay and Emma Thompson. (Alastair Muir/Rex Features) The French's acting edition of Me and My Girl Me and My Girl. (Noel Gay Organisation) Me and My Girl. Emma's dressing-room on the first night. (Ted Blackbrow/Daily Mail/Rex Features) One hour before Me and My Girl Me and My Girl's Broadway opening. Between my cousin Danny and his grandmother, Great-Aunt Dita.

Experimenting with a new pair of gla.s.ses in the kitchen of my parents' house in Norfolk. (Author's collection) Every effort has been made to trace copyright holders. The publishers will be glad to rectify in future editions any errors or omissions brought to their attention.

Also by Stephen Fry