This Much Is True

Comics are special; the dangers of the job perhaps unrealised by most people. It is terrifying to be responsible for audience laughter, so perhaps my dislike of ‘comedy’ stems mainly from fear. Comedy isn’t just slapstick, of course, and I loved every second of being in Sue Limb’s wonderful literary radio creations. In The Wordsmiths of Gorsemere, I played Stinking Iris, William Wordsmith’s extremely chatty cleaning lady, in a somewhat unspecific north-eastern accent, Newcastle by way of Sunderland. Here she is, assuming the Wordsmith siblings are lovers: ‘My lips is sealed. Ye cunning pair of lovebirds! No wonder your good man do look pale and peakie. I heard say as this free love do take it out o’ ye.’ In Gloomsbury which ran for five series, I was Vera Sackcloth-Vest, chatelaine of Sizzlinghurst, while Alison Steadman played Ginny Fox, Nigel Planer was Lytton Scratchy and John Sessions was everyone from Llewd George to an extremely deep-voiced Gertrude Klein. Jonathan Coy was Henry Mickleton, my long-suffering husband based, of course, on bisexual Harold Nicolson. Jamie Rix was our director. In the studio John used to fall into a deep sleep except when required to act, which he did ferociously and immediately. We all played several characters: one of the joys of this kind of radio comedy is that, if you’re versatile enough, you can play with yourself (if you see what I mean) and be all the characters in a scene. Alison was particularly flexible at flicking between aggressive lesbian Ginny Fox and Mrs Gosling the housekeeper. I would have played Gloomsbury for ever if allowed.

My other comedy moments have included playing ‘Smelly Photocopying Lady’ in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy; the Mother in The Comic Strip Presents. whose chicken soup recipe is desired by the Devil to serve at soirees in hell, and Right Eyeball in Family Guy. My editor was wildly excited to discover I had been in The Young Ones but then disappointed to discover that I couldn’t remember a thing about it. Sadly I still can’t. Lovely Rik Mayall was in it; at the time I thought it was frightfully silly and couldn’t quite understand the fuss. (My student days were more about F. R. Leavis and cock-sucking — though never together.) I’ve even asked Alexei Sayle and Nigel Planer to jog my memory but they can’t remember anything about my being in it either. If anyone out there does, please do let us know.

In 1982, when I got the call to be a part of Blackadder working alongside Rowan Atkinson, Tony Robinson, Tim McInnerny, Brian Blessed and Elspet Gray, my interest was piqued. When I heard that I’d be playing the ugly Spanish Infanta, and I’d be working with Jim Broadbent as Don Speekingleesh, an interpreter, I felt I’d been given a present, not just a job.

Blackadder was broadcast in early summer 1983. It was written by Richard Curtis and Rowan Atkinson. In my episode, ‘The Queen of Spain’s Beard’, the king (Brian Blessed) decides to cement an alliance between England and Spain, by marrying his second son Edmund Blackadder to the Spanish Infanta. Edmund is excited at the prospect until, that is, my entrance as the Infanta — a short, plump, sexually rampant princess with a monobrow and a hint of hirsutism around the upper lip and chin. I often describe myself as an ‘over-actress’, but I must say my appearance in Blackadder as the irrepressibly lascivious Spanish Infanta is one of the performances in my life which I can truly say is not understated. I delivered all my lines in voluble and babbling Spanish (which I don’t speak), all the while licking my lips and making eyes at a terrified Rowan Atkinson, with his skinny little insect legs in black hose and that awful Henry V bowl-cut hairdo.

Jim Broadbent, in a long, fringed, black wig, doublet and tights, is brilliant as the Infanta’s translator. He was delightful company, funny and clever (I was cast alongside him again on Blackadder’s Christmas Carol when I was Queen Victoria to his Prince Albert). Brian Blessed thoroughly enjoyed his psychotic characterisation as Richard IV; on the set, he never knocked on a door, but just crashed straight through them, sending the set carpenters scurrying to build a replacement. The sound of his bellowing ripped through Television Centre. Well, some things never change, but he’s a dear guy.