I recently spent Friday night in the company of a true Ramsay of Ramsay Street… Anne Charleston (Madge from Neighbours). She was frail, yet feisty, full of fun… and delighted in dropping four-letter expletives into a conversation when least expected.
“Your daughter’s on,” I told Anne, indicating the television mounted on the wall of the hotel bar.
She glanced over her shoulder to see Kylie being interviewed on The One Show.
“She really needs to do something about her hair,” Anne commented.
“Now you do sound like her mother,” I told her.
I had busy days ahead of hosting a celebration of Australian soap, with a mix of actors from Neighbours, Prisoner Cell Block H, and Wentworth (Madge, Daphne Clarke, two Bea Smiths, a couple of biker molls, and one good screw). What more could you want for a great weekend?
We had met Anne at New Street Station, although she nearly ended up in Cardiff. This independent octogenarian had travelled alone all the way from Australia but failed to notice she had arrived in Birmingham. Fortunately, one of our events team works on the trains, so had used his staff pass to head down to the platform to offer a hand with luggage. When he couldn’t find Anne in first class as expected, he dashed along the platform peering in windows. He eventually spotted her sat with her head in a book, so tapped the glass to get her attention.
“I thought, Oh, I’ve been recognised,” Anne grumbled, in those gravel-gargling tones of hers, “so I turned away and ignored him.”
Thankfully, my colleague managed to signal that she had to get off, then raced up to the train guard to persuade him to delay departure.
“Have you ever watched Neighbours?”
“Yes,” replied the train official.
“Do you remember Madge?”
“Of course.”
“Well, it’s her I’m trying to get off the train!”
After welcoming our troop of actors with drinks and a meal, these jetlagged stars headed to bed. One team mate and I left the resting residents of Ramsay Street… to revel on Hurst Street.
We trolled the bars until nearly 3am, always on the cusp of heading to bed, but repeatedly tempted by one for the road.
There was a particularly drunk young woman at the table next to us. Her friend was trying in vain to persuade her to call it a night, but she just got more belligerent and determined to stay.
A random lesbian approached the pair, chastising the marginally more sober of the two for allowing her friend to get in such a vulnerable state.
“I jusss wanna paaaarrty!” the drunk hollered.
“Let’s party then,” cheered the concerned woman, encouraging the girl off her stool and subtly manoeuvring her in the direction of the exit.
Myself and two others clocked what she was attempting, so spontaneously formed a flashmob to help dance the party girl across the bar in a conga line, out the door, and into a cab. She was last seen waving from the window of her departing taxi… joyously oblivious to how she now found herself heading safely home.
The lesbian and I embraced in jubilant victory.
“I can’t believe that worked,” she grinned.
“If I were a Spanish football coach,” I gushed, “I would kiss you right now!”
At the end of the night, my own taxi driver quizzed me about what I was doing over the weekend.
“I’ve never watched Neighbours,” he told me, dismissively, “but is Susan still in it?”
I told him she was.
“Never watched… but is Karl still in it?”
I told him he was.
“How about Libby, and that fit one with blond hair?”
“You have SO watched Neighbours!”
That weekend’s fan events were two of the most enjoyable I have ever hosted. Over the years, I have been on stage with: Timelords; Star Fleet Officers; pupils of Grange Hill Comprehensive; citizens of a galaxy, far, far away; Blue Peter presenters; household names: and icons of stage and screen. I feel very privileged… and still occasionally pinch myself when I find myself sat alongside my childhood heroes
My proudest moment came during an eclectic panel consisting of Dame Joanna Lumley, Sir Derek Jacobi and Professor Richard Dawkins.
Jacobi told an anecdote about being at a dinner party where the woman next to him mentioned, Hollywood legend, Boris Karloff (most famous for playing Frankenstein’s monster in classic Universal horror movies).
“I just launched into a diatribe about how ugly I though Karloff was,” Sir Derek said. “I went on and on about how I could not understand how anyone who looked that awful managed to forge such a successful career on the silver screen. I ranted about how unbelievable it was that he had ever been cast as anything other than that flat-headed monster!”
The woman who had brought up Karloff’s name sat in silence, until Jacobi finally paused for breath, then calmly informed him, “I’m his widow.”
“As a militant atheist,” I teased Professor Dawkins, “when you have had just a little bit too much red wine, and find yourself hanging over the toilet bowl… who do you cry out to?”
Lumley and Jacobi flailed with glee, like a couple of silly kids.
The esteemed Professor responded, “I tend to utter that same phrase I save for when I reach that ultimate intermate moment with my good lady wife… which I’m not prepared to share here.”
The ‘silly kids’ stopped flailing… and just stared in stunned disbelief.
I went on to tell Richard Dawkins how I had been boasting all week about my impending meeting with him, and how surprised I’d been by the number of people who asked, “Have you seen the movie about his life?”
The audience laughed.
“I’m sorry, the audience clearly know what you mean, but I don’t understand,” puzzled Dawkins.
I explained, “Everyone thought I meant Stephan Hawkins.”
Dawkins performed an exaggerated face/palm.
I continued, “Have you ever turned up to a venue and they’ve installed wheelchair access?”
“Not exactly,” Dawkins responded, “but I did once get to the end of a lecture, and when I asked, “Are there any questions?”, one hand shot up and the attendee demanded, “How do I get a refund, You’re not Stephen Hawkins!”
Several years ago, I got to sit back and watch another interviewer host an event when LGBTQ novelist (and King of Queens) Armistead Maupin appeared at Birmingham Town Hall.
Whilst waiting in the foyer, I killed time scrolling through Grindr. I half expected the phone to explode in my hand from the sheer volume of gay men registering within 100 meters.
Maupin’s husband popped up on the screen, so I sent him a message telling him I was about to see his other half. We engaged in a brief chat, with me suggesting gay venues to frequent if he were at a loose end.
The moment I walked into the packed auditorium, I sent a follow up message, ‘ACTUALLY, HURST STREET MIGHT BE DEAD TONIGHT… EVERYONE IS HERE!’
Bringing things full circle… The weekend of Aussie soap stars concluded with our team’s resident rail worker using his handy staff pass again, but this time to escort one of our Neighbours alumni directly to her return train.
As they waited to board, local Labour MP, Jess Philips,%% disembarked.
My colleague approached to say how much he admired and appreciated her work, adding, “By the way, did you ever watch Neighbours?”
“Yes, of course,” replied the honourable Jess, “I’m not dead!”
“Well, in that case, let me introduce you to someone.”
The esteemed member of parliament, rushed over and greeted Elaine Smith with, “Hello ‘Daphne from Neighbours’.”
“Hi, I’m Elaine,” she countered, with a smile.
No… It will always be Daphne. X
Our Birmingham based celebration of OZ TV was a great success. With such a mix of antipodean actors… I’m please to say we found, in the words of Barry Crocker, the perfect blend.
Tales of the Second City 