So, Anyway...: The Autobiography

The one and only sketch Graham and I wrote for the show that, judging from internet viewings, has stood the test of time concerns two airline pilots who become so bored on a long-haul flight that they decide to amuse themselves by making ambiguous announcements to frighten their passengers: Captain (John Cleese): (over intercom) ‘Hello, this is you

In addition to the sketches Graham and I wrote for the show, Connie helped me with a couple, the first time we had ever worked together. One of them drew on her amusement at the way in which the English upper class avoided the pronoun ‘I’, as though there were something vulgar about using it. I’d already noticed that using ‘one’ instead of ‘I’ seem

And all this agonising – this ridiculous time-wasting – was because it took me another thirty years to learn that if you say ‘No’ in a friendly, chatty way, people accept it with great grace and goodwill, and do not hate you, or send death squads after you, or report you to the Daily Mail. And until I realised this, I found myself resenting perfect

Mr Pest: How about Grate Expectations? Assistant: Ah yes, we have that . . . He goes to fetch it and returns to the counter. Mr Pest: . . . That’s G-r-a-t-e Expectations, also by Edmund Wells. Assistant: I see. In that case we don’t have it. We don’t have anything by Edmund Wells, actually – he’s not very popular. Mr Pest: Not Knickerless Nickleby?

Assistant: No, no – we don’t have Rarnaby Budge by Charles Dikkens with two ‘k’s, the well-known Dutch author, and perhaps to save time I should add right away that we don’t have Carnaby Fudge by Darles Tikkens, or Stickwick Stapers by Miles Pikkens with four ‘M’s and a silent ‘Q’; why don’t you try the chemist? Mr Pest: I did. They sent me here.

He starts looking carefully all round the carriage. After a pause . . . MF: I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with B. Or J. B or J. JC: How could it begin with a B or a J? MF: For various reasons, none of which I am at liberty to divulge. B or J. Easy . . . JC: What’s the answer? MF: Ectoplasm. JC: Ectoplasm? MF: Mr B. J. Ectoplasm. He

Once Alan had picked Tim and me up at Brussels airport we began driving south (they wouldn’t allow me behind the wheel), all three of us full of high spirits, playing up the role of young English gentlemen abroad. We wore panama hats, I had on a cricket shirt and a cravat, and as Alan drove the first leg of our journey, Tim and I did a lot of ‘roya

The purpose of all the bustling was to get me into a waiting car, which was to take me to the BBC TV Centre to be interviewed on Late Night Line-Up, an arts-oriented discussion programme that ran for many years during the 60s. I was to be questioned by Michael Dean, who introduced me by reference to that night’s Frost Report and went on to ask me a

Marty Feldman: Excuse me, is this seat occupied? He points to the seat next to JC in the otherwise empty, spacious carriage. John Cleese: No. MF puts case overhead and sits down as close as possible to JC and fidgets. Pause.