It’s dawn in the rain forest and all is clear and still except for the echoey calls of large birds, in the woodwind range, who natter and chatter around the still damp woods It’s not yet steaming hot. Screened windows open to the morning freshness.

It rained in the night. Huge gushing drops shredded through the leaves of the trees and ran down the tin roves into the gutters which collect the fresh rainwater and pour it into the cement water vats and the metal overflow vats.

I’m hiding in the hills. Sorry, holidaying, which for me is the same thing. I’m staying with my son who lives up here and it’s a dream escape into the hinterland hills inland from the Coast, away from the crowding mad. He has built a wonderful guest house in the bush and I get all manner of birds and calls and cries. I have named one The Buildabird because it sounds exactly like a near-by power drill, and I am very disappointed when my son tells me it is indeed a near-by power drill.

I have a few days off before the tour.

Yesterday’s we went hunting for opals at Opals Downunda off the Bruce Highway. The nice lady there asked me if I was Richard Attenborough. I thought it impolite to say poor Dickie has been dead a couple of years, and in any case I think she had me confused for Michael Palin and she had him confused for David Attenborough. That’s the best explanation I can offer I’m afraid.

One of the worst approaches to celebrities is “Are you who I think you are?”

I mean that’s just impossible to answer isn’t it. One can waste a lot of time coyly sorting that one out.

Usually I say “No I am not Kylie Minogue” which slows them down a little as they wonder how I could possibly imagine they had mistaken me for the plucky Aussie chanteuse.

If they say “Are you Eric Idle?” I usually say “occasionally” in the hope of delaying the inevitable selfie. John is brilliant at this. “Can I have selfie” they ask. “No,” he says “I don’t know you.”

 I usually pretend I have to hurry up to be with him and that of course normally I would stop for hours while they fumble with their I Things but just today I have to run and join John.

My son has been an assiduous guide taking me to a host of small places with improbable names. We passed a road sign outside Brisbane which said “Nudgee, Nudgee Beach”. We have been to a variety of Nambours and Mooloolabas and Caloundras. I am perpetually lost but my son dashes us around to unlikely places, where we meet very nice people.

We visited the Eumundi Saturday market, where a large lady all in pink was selling hula hoops. Elsewhere were hand made items and gems and rocks. I was tempted but I am rather overstocked with tie-died crocheted bikinis. It’s not a flattering look for me in the first place because sagging is a problem, and that’s just me. Once the crochet gets wet, well it’ll look like the last surviving oldie at a Burning Man festival.

There were however some nice comedy flags for sale, however, one of which is definitely worth nicking:

    “The trouble with political jokes is occasionally they get elected…”

I shall definitely ad lib that answer to any Donald Trump question on the tour.

There is an excellent bookshop too in Eumundi called Berkelows with plenty of lovely second hand books too heavy to haul on tour, but there in the window was Gilliamesque Terry Gilliam’s autobiographical attempt to turn himself into an abstract noun. It’s a nicely designed book with lots of his drawings and I couldn’t resist autographing it with my name and replacing it on the shelf. Was this an act of pure comedy vandalism or does it increase the value of the book? We shall see. I have a very rare copy of an unsigned Michael Palin book somewhere, but I doubt Terry G. will be down here to sign his. So I think I have done him a favour.

Then we visited Chinresig, a large Buddhist retreat (for large Buddhists) where the Dali Lama came to visit a couple of years ago. For that occasion my son and his pals built a shrubbery in our family name, complete with a plaque.

 I hope his holiness appreciated the joke.

 When John Cleese came face to face with the Dali Lama they both laughed heartily at each other for five minutes.

You can’t go very far in Australia without some example of humour. One ducks crossing we saw said “Slow down for ducks sake.” And a Church we passed said “Early Service 8. Not that early really..”

We leave this paradise Wednesday for the Gold Coast tomorrow and the real start of our tour. But this has been a sweet retreat, and a delight to see my lad. We have played guitar loudly till late at night, when one of the neighbors asked us to turn it up! They couldn’t hear properly they complained… We even make more noise than the flying foxes who are surprisingly vocal. I am assured they are bats but they don’t seem to have bat attitude, since they make a lot of noise communicating and go to roost at night. The very opposite of a good battitude. Perhaps David Attenborough will enlighten me.

Two nice moments of humour. I got a surprise Twitter note from Mark Gattis who said:

“You really suit that beard, maestro! X”

To which I replied: “it’s beginning to grow on me.”

And I was happy at the airport the other day to see that the very attractive young woman from the Telegraph had put in a gag I’d ad libbed which I’d forgotten.

“I’m having my dick cryogenically frozen, in case someone can revive it in a future life.”

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