Can't Stand Up for Sitting Down (35 page)

Countdown
has been one of my favourite things to do
ever
over the
years. Firstly, because I was so familiar with it and watched it from the
kick-off. It started in November 11982 on Channel Four. I had just left
university and begun work as a nurse in the Emergency Clinic in South London,
and whenever I was on early shift I would arrive home knackered and put it on.
I was always tired after early shifts which started at seven, because however
hard I tried I could not go to bed at a sensible time so I would rise at 6.115
having had about five hours and sometimes even less than that.

At that
time I was living in a tiny little bedsit-type flat on Denmark Hill. There
wasn’t even enough room for a bed so I had a bed-settee thing which I would
laboriously have to turn from one to another twice a day. Sometimes in the
mornings I didn’t even bother. I would get home from work and just go back to
bed like an exhausted slug, barely managing to raise myself, apart from toilet
and tea. It was ground floor and I suppose I should have felt slightly
security-conscious, but I never did.

More
fool me, because once when I was in hospital I got burgled and, paranoid that I
am, I always imagined that somehow the burglars had a hotline to the hospital
computer and burgled homes of patients because they knew they weren’t at home.

The
reason why I was in hospital was an allergic reaction to some hair colour. I
used to dye my hair different shades when I got bored with it, and this time
round it was a reddish dye rather ironically named ‘Nice ‘n Easy’. The reaction
was my fault because I didn’t do what is called a ‘patch test’. This involves
putting a tiny bit of the dye on your skin and then waiting a while to see if
there is some reaction. Well, I have no patience whatsoever so I couldn’t be
bothered. Patch tests are for wimps! I had used hair colour before and assumed
it would be OK. What I didn’t know was that an allergic reaction can come out
of nowhere even if you haven’t had one before. So I put the dye on, left it for
forty minutes as instructed and then went to bed. Almost immediately my head
started to hurt and after an hour it was (pardon me for this description)
leaking copious amounts of pus and really hurt. I rinsed my head under the cold
tap, took some painkillers and went to sleep.

When I
woke up in the morning, my face felt a bit weird and on looking in the mirror,
I didn’t recognise the Far Eastern woman of about seventy who was looking back
at me. My eyes were so puffy I could barely see through them, and so I wondered
whether I should take myself off to A&E. But being also slightly allergic
to hospitals, I just put on a pair of sunglasses and headed out to meet some
friends.

When I
arrived, their reaction was enough to tell me that things were bad and they
persuaded me to go to hospital. There I was given some drugs to sort it and
left quite happily. The next day I still looked like Madam Bloaty Face and I
felt worse. So back I went to the hospital with two friends, Jim and Andy. The
nurses looked at them as though they’d given me a beating, and I was
immediately admitted and put on intravenous steroids. By this time I couldn’t
see a bloody thing and soon found myself in a ward of elderly ladies. The poor
old woman opposite me just kept shouting, ‘Please, someone kill me!’
Apparently, she couldn’t see either and was in the last stages of cancer. It
was very depressing and sad, and added another positive in my head towards the
case of euthanasia.

A few
friends visited and sniggered at the end of the bed, and it took a whole week
before I was back to normal. And halfway through this week, the burglary
happened. I was called by the police in hospital and had to go home and survey
the damage. I think I quite frightened the police with my puffy moon face.
Still, I had some time off and got to watch more
Countdowns.

My dad
loved
Countdown
too and at one point even auditioned for it.
Unfortunately I don’t think he ever got more than five-letter words and was unceremoniously
informed that he would not be in the show.

As time
went on, I was eventually asked whether I would come and be in Dictionary
Corner and I was dead chuffed to be asked.
Countdown
was filmed at
Yorkshire
TV
studios in Leeds and the day involved leaving home at about
5.30 in the morning, catching the 6.50 train from King’s Cross, arriving at
Leeds at 10-ish and then rushing over to the studio, into make-up to be ready
on camera at 10.30. We would do two shows in the morning and three in the
afternoon, then come back on the 7 p.m. train and be home by about 10.30 — a
bloody long day. Vivienne, my agent, always came with me and we viewed it as a
bit of a day out.

The
first host of
Countdown
was the inimitable Richard Whiteley, an
interesting mixture of a man with elements of your grandad, an Oxford don and
an old-fashioned ladies’ man.

I
became terribly fond of him. He had that sort of 1950s sense of humour which
consisted of terrible puns laced with gentle jokes. He was perfect for
Countdown.
Older viewers could giggle along with his puns, which had a warm
familiarity about them and students — the other big group of viewers — could
take the piss in an affectionate way.

Richard
was always so friendly and welcoming, as were the production team, like a little
family who have been together for years. This is unusual in television, as it’s
mainly young, thrusting and tends to have a lot of people called Jake and
Sophie working in it.

I
always used to sit in Dictionary Corner with Susie Dent and we would have
sweets hidden under our desk, the consumption of which had to be very carefully
timed so you weren’t caught on camera chewing like a Friesian. Susie and I
would pass notes to each other during the show, discussing the relative merits
of various showbiz men we’d met and who we’d snogged. It was very good fun.

The
scandal of the earpiece erupted on
Countdown
some years ago. One of the
papers revealed that guests were fed words through an earpiece just in case
they were thick as shit and couldn’t come up with anything longer than three
letters. I never considered this a big deal particularly. A sizeable majority
of the production team were
ex-Countdown
champions, and it stands to
reason that they would come up with something interesting. And who wants to
hear someone like me say, ‘Yes, I’ve got a six too.’

After a
while I developed a little game in Dictionary Corner which involved me making
up my own words. This has become somewhat of an albatross round my neck as now
it means I
have
to do it. My favourite word to date is ‘Cronenav’ — a
satnav system where an old lady sits in the back of your car and tells you
where to go.

I was
very upset when Richard died; he left a big hole in a lot of people’s lives.
The last time I saw him, we were on something called
Starspell
together,
a celebrity spelling competition. He and I found ourselves in the final two. I
am a right fascist about spelling and very competitive, so I really wanted to
win. As it drew nearer to the climax, I got the word ‘philately’ which I knew
well, but because I stumbled, I was disqualified and Richard won, but I found
myself not minding at all because he was so lovable. Incidentally, during that
show is the only time my pants have fallen down on telly. The pair I had on were
too small and kind of rolled themselves down. Thankfully I was wearing
trousers so they only got as far as my knees so it could have been a lot worse.

Richard
was replaced by Des Lynam and then Des O’Connor, whom I knew vaguely, having
filled in on his chat show
Des and Mel.
Des is a real giggler and a
sweet bloke, and one day when I was feeling dead rough at
Countdown,
he
turned up at my dressing-room door holding a bottle of Jim Beam. That was an
interesting recording.

After
the two Deses came Jeff Stelling, who I don’t feel I know at all, yet. I have
only done
Countdown
once under his benign gaze, so an opinion has not
been formed, but
Countdown
has been one of the great pleasures of my
life both as a viewer and a participant.

Panel shows are comedian
fodder and they all have a fair sprinkling of the country’s hot new comics on
them, as well as some old lags like me.

The
most successful panel shows to date have been, I think,
Have I Got News For
You, They Think It’s All Over
and
QI.

I first
did
Have I Got News
early in the nineties, and I was bloody terrified.
Angus Deayton was still the host and Paul Merton and Ian Hislop, as they are
now, were so confident, on the ball and funny that it was a daunting prospect
for a relatively inexperienced stand-up such as myself. I was also aware that
an appearance by a woman on these shows was as rare as an empty doctor’s
surgery, so I did feel the weight of expectation upon me and that just
increased my anxiety. On my first show I was so grateful to Fred Macaulay, a
lovely Scottish comic who was doing the warm-up. He was very encouraging and
supportive, telling me not to worry and giving me a few suggestions for lines
pertaining to the week’s news and I will be eternally grateful to him.

However,
once the lights go up, you are always on your own. As someone who is used to
being cooperative and doing a lot of ‘No, after you’, I found it hard to force
my way in and spout out possibly fall-flat-on-their-arse jokes — still do, in
fact. And there is nothing worse than throwing out a line you think will really
make ‘em laugh, only to be greeted with stony-faced indifference. Fred Macaulay
used to have a lovely line for when that happened and would say, ‘That’s the
best that joke has ever gone.’ Would have loved to have nicked that off him,
but have made it a rule that I don’t steal anyone’s material.

Sometimes
when you watch
HIGNFY
you think, Blimey, that guest hardly said
anything. I always feel for those people because I know how hard it can be to
make your mark on a show whose permanent members are so brimming with talent
and confidence.

After
I’d done a few shows, I stopped for a while as I just didn’t seem to have the
butting-in-and-delivering-a-killer-line skill, and when you think you’re being
crap at something, my advice is to try harder for a bit and then if it still
doesn’t work, stop doing it. Surely it’s better not to be on something, than be
crap on it.

Recently
I have started guest-hosting
HIGNFY
which I find much more enjoyable.
Being in that chair gives you an authority that I just didn’t feel I had when I
was a guest on the panel. It’s not only about having funny lines, it’s about
having the confidence to deliver them, and even the funniest joke in the
history of the universe, delivered hesitantly, will not go as well as a bad
joke delivered with your big guns.

This, I
think, is a real case in point as far as
Mock the Week
is concerned. I
keep being told by people that I have slagged off
Mock the Week,
but I
don’t think I have. I have just been truthful about how I find it when I’m on it.

Much of
a programme’s character is down to the producer, and
Mock the Week’s
producer
is called Dan Patterson, an experienced, talented and nice bloke. His
production company is called Angst’ and for good reason. He is very tight and
quite controlling about what he wants, and I found that a difficult framework
to work within. Besides that, there are seven comedians in it, all vying for
attention on MTW and I found myself thinking, Can I really be arsed to fight
for airtime with all these guys who are so keen, confident and funny? And the
answer that came back to me was, ‘No, I can’t,’ so I stopped doing the show,
simple as that. It doesn’t suit me and that’s all there is to it.

They
Think It’s All Over
by its very nature was predominantly
male, testosterone-fuelled and not a place for the shrinking violet to be
residing. Nick Hancock is a mate of mine so I’m ashamed to say I treated it
partially as a social event where I could catch up and have a natter with him.
I found Gary Lineker a good laugh to work with, and we would always find
something to have a bet on, whether it was a challenge to get a particular word
in or to answer a particular question.