It’s been three weeks and two days now since the last night of my Thirty Years Tour at the Waterside in Belfast (about which the man from the Belfast Telegraph was very nice!) and I’m back to my old life of working all day and relaxing in the evening, as opposed to trying to relax all day then work all evening.
I miss the adrenalin rush that used to hit me at 7.30 – or 8.00 in Ireland – when I tumbled out of my big, metre-high, specially built box-set of books and onto a stage in Stoke -on -Trent or Southampton, or Carlisle or Cork, or wherever I happened to be that night. Always a new audience, always the fear in the very back of one’s mind that you might completely blow it. Fortunately I knew from the welcome that the audience was on my side and it was up to me to be as good as I could, and give them the show they wanted – and had paid very generously for!
So thanks to all the audiences on the Thirty Years Tour whose enthusiasm was so warm that we usually had fun. No two night’s were ever the same and no two audiences were ever the same and that’s what’s so exciting, and irresistible, about a live tour.
I’m hanging up my Fish-Slapping boots for a while now and trying to give myself time to concentrate on some new projects for 2016. There’s not much sign of pipe and slippers time yet. I have two documentary ideas and some possible acting projects in the year ahead. I don’t want to rush at everything like I used to, I want to pace myself. Leave time for a bit of non-work travel and watching the grandchildren grow up and sitting in cafes with friends and going to movies and completing my current task of watching every episode of The Sopranos.
The great thing about my life is that whilst home and family haven’t changed much over the years everything else has, so I don’t really know what I shall be working on a year from now. It’s like stepping out onto the stage in front of a live audience – just swallow, smile and go. You don’t know what’s waiting for you until you’re out there.
Still waiting for it to get really warm in London. Even though I don’t really like it really warm. No, I don’t. Really. When the newspapers start telling us that London is warmer than Cairo I know what we’ll be in for. Noisy and ineffectual air con in the Underground, blokes with their shirts off in Marks and Spencer, late night shouting, arrival of insects from all over the world, and ice cream vans playing Teddy Bears Picnic at full blast.
So I shouldn’t really complain about this recent spell of pretty cool sunshine. It suits me. I’m trying to write material for my Thirty Years Tour solo show (tickets still available!) and if it’s too hot outside I lose the will to write and sit in the garden half-undressed wondering how long I can take it before I have to go indoors and rub 50 strength Coconut oil all over me.
And the countryside doesn’t like great heat either. Green turns to parched brown and sheep, particularly, must get very sweaty.
These recent cool but bright days have been perfect for travelling. My home city, Sheffield was at its most lively and welcoming when I visited a fortnight ago for the International Documentary Festival. We were showing a film called The Meaning Of Live, which takes a backstage look at the Python reunion shows at the O2 last summer. Quite poignant. And funny. From Sheffield I took the train through the Peak District to Manchester. The sun shone and the great, wide green hillsides looked impressive and friendly at the same time.
The Lowry Hotel in Salford is a great base to see the best of what’s happening in these great northern cities. A short walk across the bridge over the River Irwell and you come to one of the best modern buildings in the British Isles – The Manchester Civil Justice Centre. On one side is the largest suspended glass wall in Europe. But the whole thing is adventurous and original. And designed by Australians.
I bet most people don’t notice it. You have to be a visitor to appreciate these things. Someone who doesn’t scuttle by it every day, head down, late for work.
From Manchester I went south to Altrincham to see where the Clangers TV series is created. Just an ordinary industrial estate but what’s going in those sheds is amazing. A team of craftsmen and women, all superbly skilled, painstakingly bringing to life one the most inventive of all children’s programmes. Such is the intricacy of the work that only a few seconds are completed each day.
That day I went on to an appearance at the Stoke-on Trent Literary Festival., held at a remarkable location – an upper room at The Bridgewater Pottery Factory, one of Stoke’s success stories. They make all sorts of beautifully-hand painted plates and teapots and mugs – and told me that royal babies are very good for business. I was giving a talk about 25 Years Of Travelling, but the enjoyment of seeing this thriving corner of unfashionable Stoke-On-Trent and the Clanger factory up in Cheshire made me realise that airports are not essential to seeing the world. If you have eyes to see, then the unusual and the rather wonderful is often just up the road.
And a couple of weeks earlier I’d been among the delightful highways and by-ways, woods and meadows of Herefordshire to speak at the six hundred year old church of St. Mary in Linton, where my great grand-dad was the vicar for 36 years. Can Edward Palin ever have expected that 150 years after he preached his first sermon his great grandson would be standing in the very same pulpit?
Sorry, I’m rambling. It’s just that I’ve been reminded what a beautiful island we live in. Until it gets really hot, that is.
There I was thinking that I’d give up travelling and have a quiet year at home when along comes 2015. The finger beckons and suddenly I’m sending more postcards than ever.
Eurostar to Paris in January to celebrate our daughter’s birthday, opened the floodgates to a travelling spring. My Live On Stage tour opened in New Zealand in February, then across to Adelaide, Perth, Sydney, Brisbane and a last night in Melbourne in March. Then a visit to old friends in Scotland – including the legendary Hamish MacInnes, who was responsible for throwing the Knights who got their questions wrong in Monty Python and The Holy Grail into the Gorge Of Eternal Peril. And he was head of Mountain Rescue at the time.
To New York in April for a Monty Python celebration at the Tribeca Film Festival, which reminded us that we are all 40 years older than when we tried to cross The Bridge Of Death. Then just time to get my bags unpacked and packed again before leaving for Italy to film a one-hour documentary for BBC Four, currently called Michael Palin’s Quest for Artemisia Gentileschi. It’s a collaboration with my crack team from BBC Scotland – Eleanor Yule director, Mhairi McNeill producer and Carlo D’Alessandro on camera – with whom I made Palin in Wyeth’s World (BBC Two, 2013).
For a long time Artemesia was a well-kept secret. As a woman, painting in the early 17th century, she was not given the attention that her male counterparts received. Now that she’s being rightly discovered as a painter of unforgettable images, people want to know what she was like. All will be revealed later this year, but what I can say, after a fortnight’s filming in Florence, Rome and Naples, is that to call Artemisia Gentileschi a force of nature is an understatement. Be prepared.