slemslempike | I'm Sorry, I Haven't a Clue

Being Sunday, a train journey turned into train and bus. I assumed it was a rail replacement to Southport from Preston, but actually it was a regular bus that mysteriously took train tickets, but didn't actually go to the station in Southport. I found a very kind lady who helped point me to the station, and eventually worked out where I was, as my beautifully hand-drawn map only made sense if you started from in front of the station.

I arrived at the hotel before

whatho, but armed with a reference number and her name I attempted to check in anyway. Unfortunately, they had no record of the booking, but they were very polite about it and let me read The Independent in their rather nice lobby while they made sure that there wasn't any record at all. There wasn't, so I went to wander round Southport a little and meet Whatho from the train. She was in possession of a magical piece of paper that still didn't mean that they had a record of our booking, but they did find us a room. Better, because we had to wait a short while as they did it, they upgraded us to the Royal Suite.

The living room part was larger than our living room. And there were two gold wrapped mints each with bottled water and shortbread biscuits (which I took to eat on the train home). There was a marble fireplace with a mantlepiece, on which resided a book about killing tigers in Malaya, with pictures of magestic beasts labelled "it's a pity to kill them". We had a television in the living room, and one in the bedroom. It seemed almost a pity to have to go out and not stay in and revel in it all, but we made use by watching the start of the Grand Prix in the bedroom and eating doughnuts before going out, and then watching the snooker round-up with Hazel while lounging in the two large armchairs when we came back.

Out? Oh yes, we went to see I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue being recorded. It was magical. We walked along the promenade and past some very sci-fi looking silver public conveniences to the theatre, which was utterly packed so we stood outside and thought how awful it would be if our tickets blew away, or one of us drowned or had a heart attack in the theatre. We agreed that should anything happen, the other would continue in the knowledge that it's what the dead/missing one would have wanted.

The theatre was rather huge and gently sloping, and we were at the back of the stalls in the middle, and in really rather nice seats with a view of the stage. The stage had a large black piano, and tables arranged together and covered with turquoise cloth that said "I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue". This was all very reassuring and terribly exciting. Eventually people finished coming in, and then a man came on stage and introduced himself as John Naismith, which was even more exciting. His name is on the end of the broadcasts, and he was rather lovely. Apparently he said the same stuff and jokes that he always does when he's introducing recordings (much like Steve of hignfy, whom I have rather a love for), and then he introduced the teams. On stage right were Graeme Garden and Barry Cryer, and Tim Brooke-Taylor and Jeremy Hardy on the left. Then there was Humphrey (Humph!) in the middle and Colin Sell at the piano. Colin Sell has a moustache and that really unsettled me for no particular reason. Samantha came on after John Naismith went backstage, and she is just stunning. Her hair is stupendous. I mean, you know that she's beautiful, but without seeing her you assume that it might be in a "for radio" way. Not so. The recordings were magic:

* Stick the tail on Colin Sell, where the panellists blindfolded themselves and then stumbled about the stage until they got to the source of the piano music, and then poking him with a tail.

* There were bits that are always there, with the the Hordes of Alfredo Garcia, Mr and Mrs Bennet-thingummy's son Gordon, Mrs Trellis, and Samantha having to leave early.

* The laser display board is very effective. There was a lovely bit when Hamish and Dougal were doing Titanic, and Jeremy wrote down Annik and looked confused until Tim helped him out.

* Music rounds. Jeremy Hardy sang 4 times! It was unbelievably great.

* When they were playing Mornington Crescent (and it really helps you to get a grip on the rules when you see it in action) we got to gasp at various audacious plays.

* Humph's horn to signal the end of rounds is an actual horn with a bulb to press and a curly bit.

* There was a round where they had to make up recipes using sound effects, and then afterwards they kept pressing them at each other and giggling.

* SO FUNNY.
Humph's coughing! Is Humph's coffin ready?
Our Nanny's been using the naughty grave method
Scapegoat - Muslim, soon to be Bulgarian
Largess - Large S

It was really unbelievably wonderful seeing them do the shows. Humphrey was ill, and coughed an awful lot. At the end he had a prolonged coughing fit and while people were giggling a bit uncertainly he said "don't laugh, these are famous last words" and then later when he looked less like he might actually be going to die, "well it's better than Bugger Bognor anyway".

In the morning I rather rudely slept through Whatho leaving, but was in time for breakfast. It was a little disappointing, but I haven't had any bacon for a while, so that was good. Then I went into town with my handily drawn map of local bookshops. One was sadly closed, but at another I got A Saturday Life by Radclyffe Hall novel, and a reprint of the 1923 edition of Marie Stopes' Contraception. Then I came home and got the new direct bus from the station to the end of my road which winds rather pleasantly along the quay and now my feet are rather cold.