Great Canal Journeys: London

Little Venice

This is not so much a programme about canals as a programme about the sweetness of old age - being retired, with infinite time to go on long trips in a narrowboat, and watch the world go by at a peaceful pace and not having to care. This is not so much a programme about canals as a programme about the curse of old age - not being able to remember where you are going, where you have been or what you had for breakfast, with the world watching you go by at your snail's pace and not seeming to care. For people do not respect age. They tear down boatyards of yore and toss plastic bottles into the waterways, causing pollution that lets luminous algae grow.

Timothy West and Prunella Scales have been taking narrowboat holidays together since their two sons, Sam and Joe, were small boys. Last week they were travelling along the Oxford Canal, accompanied for some of the journey by author Philip Pullman and their now grown son, the actor Samuel West. This week they were in London, which gave a fascinating insight into a watery aspect of the city that far fewer people explore than its lifeblood, the River Thames.

They start on the Grand Union Canal in Brentford, then pass through Paddington Basin. They move on to the cemetery at Kensal Green, where coffins used to arrive by canal and where they pay homage to their dear friend Harold Pinter, who is buried there. Then onwards along the Regent's Canal through Little Venice, the Zoo, Camden and Kings Cross, before heading out to Hackney Wick and the Olympic Park, arriving at the Thames at Limehouse. Like everywhere in London, they witness all walks of life, all forms of architecture, and a simultaneous buzzing clash and cheerful melting pot of cultures. There are modern developments of luxury apartments and office suites, tastes of days gone by in old fishmonger's and riverside pubs, and very rundown areas and derelict warehouses, all jostling together. Each day's journey takes longer than planned, and they end up sailing in the dark, Pru already in bed. The first night they have to sleep under the din of the M40 flyover, but their second berth, next to Three Mills on the River Lea, could not have been quieter.

Aviary at London Zoo from the Regent's Canal

Prunella Scales is suffering from a mild form of dementia, and has a slightly lost-looking and dreamy stare. She seems to function, and is still a dab hand at opening canal locks, but it makes me more than a little sad. Andrew Sachs joins them for the trip from Little Venice to the Zoo, and he reads Pru extracts from his new autobiography, which isn't so much a shameless plug as an attempt to remind her of their time together on Fawlty Towers. Timothy West is endearingly cantankerous, not minding crashing into walls or other boats but not seeing any reason to get out of the way for anyone either. They are the ultimate celebrity couple - modest, unassuming, devoted, happy. I've seen them out and about together at the Proms and the theatre in London numerous times - always charming and well dressed, never showy or attention seeking.

Pru nearly loses her implacability when she gets cross with some Camden litter louts, tutting and shouting "Naughty!", but she is held back from further intervention by the lock keeper, fearing a violent response from the culprit, even in front of a television crew. But soon Pru is smiling again, and her face as she samples weird and wonderful truffles (Marmite, anyone?) in an Islington chocolatier is a delight. Tim is sailing through an 800 metre long tunnel below. Pru is on a shopping spree to buy them lunch, which on their flexible schedule ends up being more of an early dinner, but when it finally does come is the ultimate picture of gastronomy - oysters, prawns, stinky cheese, fine wine. They always seem to have a glass of wine in their hands as they sail. Why the hell not? This is the life, I'm telling you.

I've walked along most of the canals that they explore. Some form part of the Capital Ring circular route, which I have mentioned before. I was strolling around Paddington Basin and Little Venice with a friend when my fiance rang to say that our offer on our Crouch End flat had been accepted, so it is place that symbolises the start of a whole new chapter in my life for me. I've never been cool or grungy enough for Camden Market, preferring the Greek restaurants round the corner. I always felt threatened in the Lee Valley industrial area, possibly from watching too many people fall into canals on EastEnders. (Ironically, Timothy West is now in EastEnders.)

Tim takes the boat off piste (never an elegant detour) to see the site of the original Pickfords removals company warehouse. When Pickfords first started carrying goods by barge in 1778, Pickfords could deliver packages from London to Liverpool in seven days.

They have a celebratory drink with Sir Ian McKellen in his pub, the Grapes, in Limehouse. Gandalf's staff is behind the bar. Then they have to leave their vessel behind, as narrowboats are too flimsy to be allowed on the choppy, tidal Thames. So Pru and Tim are whizzed by motor boat back to their starting point. Tower Bridge opens up just as they pass through, but not for them.

Now, I can't imagine my family would have ever gone on a narrowboat holiday together when we were kids. Far too confined a space for all those arguments and for a brother who couldn't keep still. My dad hates boats anyway, and he can't swim. I don't think it appeals to us now either. Children, deep water, bumpy ride, temperamental lock gates - all a bit of a health and safety nightmare for a nervous parent. And yet canal boat holidays do have that peaceful pace that you cannot increase, come what may. Just let the world slip by, see it all slowly and at leisure, be at one with nature and amazed by what you see. So - ultimate stress or maximum chill-out? You decide.

BBC2’s(50th Anniversary) Big Bumper Comedy Weekend

This weekend celebrated 50 years of comedy on BBC2. Its starting programme, a documentary narrated by Joanna Lumley, meant I stayed up far too late on a Friday night for fear of missing some forgotten gem. But really, all I ended up staying up for was to see Ricky Gervais sniggering over the word "rape" (the least said about which the better) and Basil Fawlty hitting his car with that tree AGAIN. Why is this the only clip they ever show of Fawlty Towers? It’s probably my least favourite scene. It doesn’t even age well, since cars don’t regularly break down any more, and we just call the RAC out if they do. Or maybe I don't like it because it strikes a chord too close to the bone. At times of extreme exhaustion or grief I've felt that angry myself, and would gladly have decked a machine demonstrating similar technical imcompetence, like a Boots self-service till insisting there is an unauthorised item in its bagging area, had an appropriate pile of twigs been to hand.

Fawlty Towers is without doubt one of the funniest television programmes ever, but it has far better moments than a madman thrashing the bonnet of an Austin 1300. Such as Basil throwing the typewriter at the fire alarm button. Such as Basil picking up a piece of fluff from the floor and asking a particularly difficult guest if it’s a piece of her brain. Such as Manuel setting the kitchen on fire. Such as the rat in the biscuit tin. Such as Basil miming the name “Dragonfly” to Polly behind Sybil’s back. Such as Geoffrey Palmer wanting his sausages. Such as Basil trying to locate a duck a l’orange in a trifle. Such as Basil threatening to send Manuel to a vivisectionist. Such as Basil simultaneously dealing with a shifty Irish builder on the phone and a peer of the realm in reception. Such as the pointless three stairs up and three steps down on the landing. Such as Sybil on the phone to Audrey ( “Ooh, I know...”) Such as Basil answering the phone with “Fawlty Titties” when looking at one of Polly’s drawings. I could, obviously, go on and on.

I wrote a Fawlty Towers play while at school. By “wrote” I mean copied several chunks out of my brother’s script book and cobbled them together to make a new episode about a load of 11 year old girls from my school going on an architectural field trip to Torquay. Trust me, this was quite a good in-joke on which to base my storyline. Basil had bought a load of dodgy eggs from a back-of-a-lorry supplier so omelette, and only omelette, was on the lunch menu. Only then Basil found out that the eggs were potentially riddled with salmonella. This was, you see, the era of Edwina Currie. Which if Major Gowen had ever had his newspaper delivered, Basil may have been aware of. There were also a couple of travelling salesmen staying in the hotel - I forget why or what they were selling, only that it was some dire food product that the guests all had to eat instead of their omelettes at the end. I played Manuel, and foolishly wrote myself in a guitar solo at the end. In Spanish. Though as Manuel is from Barcelona, it should technically have been Catalan. Either way, I spoke neither language at the time. And I couldn't play the guitar. But with my friend Vicky’s brilliant Sybil impression and my friends Phil and Jane playing the opening theme on the school piano, we just about pulled the whole thing off. Watery Fowls.

Me (aged 16) as Manuel

This same weekend also brought the return of The Fast Show to our screens, albeit in the form of repeating some episodes previously shown online. Very different from Fawlty Towers of course, but equally, if not more, quotable, since it is a show based solely on catchphrases. But these new sketches struck me as anything but “fast”. They were rather lengthy. This was partially due to Mark Williams having refused to take part. It was his characters that contributed the “fast”er sketches: notably Jesse’s tips (“I ‘ave been mostly...”), “You ain’t seen me, right?” and “I’ll get me coat”. Mark Williams was also responsible for two of my favourites, Patrick Nice (“Which was nice” is one Fast Show catchphrase I regularly use), and the family forever frantically on the move with a jumble of luggage. So I was always going to feel his absence. Mark Williams lives in Brighton and was frequently spotted waiting for trains at Clapham Junction by my southwest London colleagues. Though Williams himself once recounted a train crawling past him on the platform, with the driver leaning out of his cab saying, “You ain’t seen me, right?”. Which was nice.

Clapham Junction

Nonetheless, it was great to see some of the other famous characters re-appearing, such as Rowley Birkin QC (“I was very, very drunk”), “Does my bum look big in this?” and Ted and Ralph. And cheesy peas! I had totally forgotten about cheesy peas. But Jazz Club just didn’t work with a nicotine patch replacing “Shmokin’...”- Mark Thompson appeared to have lost his previously immaculate comic timing. And Swiss Toni had just become crude.

I was always surprised to discover, when I got back from a term at university, that my parents had been watching The Fast Show. Our daughter is too young by at least a decade (if not two) to share our love of the programme, but she is obsessed with the colour black. She may not be as dark or over-reactive as Johnny Nice Painter, but it definitely makes us chuckle when she paints a lovely (in a somewhat loose sense of the word) picture, and then spots the final colour in the palette. She will then pick up her brush and shout “Black! Black!”, covering her work with smears of...Noir. Jet. Ebony. Raven. Onyx. Obsidian. Whatever.

Black! Black! Black!

Paul Whitehouse was also on our screens the following evening, this time with Harry Enfield, one of the University of York’s more famous graduates. Harry And Paul's Story Of The Twos did what it said on the tin and gave us their own potted history of BBC2, with Enfield's Simon Schama introducing us to various programmes as well as (largely fictional) bigwigs in the channel’s history, all of whom had a surname connected with Oxford, Cambridge or both.  The show had some very funny moments, but the only one that appears to have stuck in my mind is Enfield’s superb impression of Ian Hislop on Have I Got News For You. There was also a good spoof of the Monty Python Dead Parrot sketch, except that we had learned by staying up late on Friday night, that Monty Python's Flying Circus was actually broadcast on BBC1, not 2.