I met my Champagne Friend in Deptford yesterday and we went for tea in this railway carriage- not quite the Orient Express but quite close for a Tuesady morning in Sarf London. Then we went for tea at the Albany, where I've not only witnessed Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer in full flow, but also the late Frankie Howerd. Both performances were hilarious and quite similar in some ways. Vic and Bob's stuff had the air of being made up five minutes before the show in the dressing room (including the props which I think were made mostly out of torn photocopier paper, anarchic origami!).
Frankie Howerd was rolling down the same comedy railway tracks that he'd rolled down for years but they all had originated from the same gently wacky planet, where everything made perfect lunatic sense, and they had the ability to take their audiences with them for a visit. That's the best entertainment, where you completely forget everything physical and mental about yourself and go with somebody else's flow. It takes genius to get a crowd to do that, because you have to make them trust you first, don't you?
Rambling again... Deptford is a funny little place with its own vibe and I always really love visiting. I had a groovy picture on my nicked-phone-camera (never shop at Tesco's, it's full of robbers) of some Elvis Presley towels. How lovely, to be in a grimy bedsit in Deptford and to be able to transport yourself to Vegas at bathtime!
My Champagne Friend writes for the Deptford Mercury and she always knows where interesting things are, and once took me to a bar owned by LAawrence Llewelyn Bowen that has a very large, flamboyant cheesey portrait of him above the faux-baronial fireplace. We larfed till we got hiccups!
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