Farewell to the New South Welsh.

Another rainy day in Sydney and sadly our last, for tomorrow we to Melbourne go and so it’s hi ho for the open road and on to the Quantum of Qantas..

Our tour is fast disappearing and that’s rather sad, although John goes on immediately to tour Malmo and Belgium. He confesses to being anxious and a tour of Malmo and Belgium is enough to still anxiety into anybody. Of course he will have to answer questions about why I am not with him. What can he possibly say? The truth is I am going on a tour of Tahiti. The audiences are tiny, in fact mainly fish, but the scenery man…

We were both very relaxed at the show last night, and another great audience gave us standing O’s and left happy. Bryan Adams came to the show and then backstage to say hello. We have a few friends in common, the adorable Jeff Lynne, with whom he recently recorded some tracks and the late and constantly lamented Michael Kamen, whom we both adored and with whom he wrote his two enormous hits “ Everything I do I do for you” and my personally favourite
“Have you ever really loved a woman?” which I play all the time.   

He brought with him a lovely lady Gwendoline Christie a very funny English actress whose presence in my dressing room has caused consternation and envy in my daughters Message feed, for she plays the warrior Brienne of Tarth in the HBO series Game of Thrones which has replaced the Bible in young people’s lives, and is not dissimilar, although I don’t remember Dragons in the Bible and I personally think they would be an enormous improvement.

Bryan is very complimentary about my guitar playing which is very gratifying for me and says he is working on a musical, so I tell them about the three years I spent writing Death the Musical and what a good idea I thought that was for Broadway! Gwendoline laughs her head off and then says she wants to see it. Brian wants one of the songs….

Perhaps I should make it a posthumous musical. I remember the songs were good thanks to the great John Du Prez, and even quite funny and as I say Bryan wants me to send him one.
If I can only figure out how to email songs…

An amusing email from Billy Connolly this morning with a picture of him being buggered by a bear, holding his nipples, entitled Nipple Donor, and announcing that the National Health Service in Scotland have chosen this picture to advertise their organ transplant programme. What a delight Billy is. For many years he entertained us annually celebrating Lonarch in his Scottish castle, which I skittishly once called Pamelot, for it was wondrously and efficiently ruled by the Lady Stephenson from these very Southern parts, who strove hard entirely for our pleasure, to amuse us and feed us royally, and where we comedic Sassanachs would dance the night away in kilted splendour, and I’m talking the funniest company, Robin Williams, Steve Martin, Eddie Izzard, Billy and myself…. oh the laughs we had.. It was just down the street, in Highland terms, from the Queens summer digs, and occasionally the heir to the throne, having heard of the company we were keeping at Candacraig would call up and ask to come over. When he did we were always very cheeky and he would laugh and laugh. It was like Jesters Castle. Very healthy for him.

A request from the Discovery Channel to celebrate Haemorrhoid Day as
all we Pythons apparently have haemorrhoids named after us and apparently there is a severe danger that one will crash into the earth. I hope it crashes into the Discovery Channel because they constantly run shitty ads. I’m torn between making an elegant excuse or telling them to fuck off. Which is the polite response? I’ve been on the road so long I’ve forgotten. I wouldn’t like to be accidentally polite. 

This so called wonderful world of celebrity is a bombardment of people constantly demanding you sign bits of paper or pose for selfies, it’s a p in the a. John leads the way in denying these endless selfie requests. “No, I don’t know you,” he says perfectly reasonably which allows him to escape and I follow in his wake….

And so farewell to Sydney. If you didn’t come to the show at least you can tell your grandchildren you weren’t there….

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