Ken Dodd used to talk of
his jokes as his old friends and as he thumbed through the hundreds of
hand-written notebooks where he kept them all - that it was like meeting them
again with such pleasure sometimes after a long time. What a much sadder world it is without him.
And all those jokes, ‘Are melted into air, into thin air…….. Leave not a rack
behind.’
It’s been four months since
I last met the thousands of props and parts which make up my performing life; the
pins and bolts which hold the stage together, the tiny workings of magic essential
to an illusion, my beautiful painted characters forever held watching my show
by the artist’s deft stroke. All my friends. And it’s refreshing to meet them again after
so long. I even found myself saying ‘Happy
New Year, Sisters’ to the nuns in the painted Stage Right box as I set it all
up on the rain-soaked lawn of the stunning Holdenby House in beautiful Northamptonshire
for the first gig of the season.
Each part of the three-dimensional
jigsaw fits together precisely and forms part of the linear set of instructions
which have been buried since November somewhere in the recesses of my memory
without being disturbed. And here yet again
is that process of probably hundreds, maybe thousands of separate actions, each
in the right, the only order. Each one
remembered to allow the minimum of wasted journeys across the stage, or up and
down the stage steps. And at every step
my old friends are there. Their characters defined and recalled; thin pin, fat
pin, long pin. Nine thin long pins for
this job, four strong thick ones for that.
And tomorrow the ‘hero’
props (the name given to props which make an essential appearance in a film
shot, and not just as the dressing of a scene.) In each and every suitcase lies
some hidden treasure, untouched by my hand since November (except for one special
Southsea wedding earlier this month).
And each year there they are, like Ken’s jokes, waiting to make me
smile, laugh, gurgle with anticipated pleasure as they hit my hands, raise the
muscle memory from long slumber and combine with the best and closest friends
of all, my musical score, my beloved playlists, the heartbeat of the shows. And so Doctor Gig works his therapeutic magic
on me after a long, cold and black winter.
Some major changes, some
good ones, some sad. Let’s deal with the
sad ones first. Mimi and Blue will
probably not be with me much this year.
Mimi had a very bad year last year.
She was stood on accidentally, dislocating her hip. I’ve told the story. But although she has recovered from the follow
up operation, she has been diagnosed with osteoarthritis in her front legs too. So she has been in a lot of pain. My best friend, my wife, the lovely Hilary
has taken them both on (Mimi can’t be without Blue or vice-versa) and when she
comes to a gig they will too but their outings with me will be limited. It is such bittersweet sadness to know that
each year of our lives our faithful friends gain seven. Mimi is now nearly 70. Same as me.
And so she is taking early retirement.
I already miss them both terribly and life will never be quite the same
again. But then it never is. And that’s what makes it so fabulous, so
enticing, so delicious and so worth celebrating.
Another sad one. Martin, my marvellous accompanist has disappeared
from the performing scene. He was always
so vulnerable and a genius at his art.
The two things went together and the vulnerability has won over, we all
hope temporarily. I would love to have him at my side in the show again. (I don’t
say that to many performers.) Those who
caught those few great gigs we did together will testify. I hope they weren’t his swansong. I will miss him.
But on the plus side, I
have 17 new friends. Mr Alexander’s
Ragtime Band. Making their debut this season. They need names. Please see them below. Spot Telly Savalas and Charlie Dimmock. Any other suggestions gratefully received and
appropriately rewarded. A huge thanks to
my artist and friend Rob Symington (he who painted the lorry.) I think a few of
them need burgundy rather than blue jackets and dresses. The wardrobe mistress (another good fantasy
friend) says she can knock them up before the first May Bank Holiday.
Where would I be without
my friends?
All the best from a road
near you,
Mr Alexander
