The New Statesman

Poor old Rik Mayall, bless his cotton socks, had a bad week last week. Fortunately for us, he was back on 20th for his brilliant reincarnation of "The New Statesman", that is fictional ex-Tory-turned-New-Labour MP Alan B'Stard (I'm a very simple human being and that never fails to make me smile). I'm quite a fan of Rik Mayall, having watched him read George's Marvellous Medicine on Jackanory (about the only thing ever read on Jackanory that didn't make you feel like you were sitting cross-legged on the rug in the corner of P2 watching the clock while Mrs Whitham read from "Eric the Viking") and later on Blackadder, and recently in re-runs of The Young Ones. His script for his latest stageshow is brilliant, backed up by some superb stereotyping of Northern Old Labour Socialist, Arabic Terrorist Who Nevertheless Speaks Perfect English, New Labour ex-Russell Group Upstart and, more bizarrely, John Culshaw as the voice of Tony Blair In A Box. But Rik Mayall was clearly not well, and, although he gave a fantastic performance, he was mopping his brow and drinking more than hte script really allowed. At one particularly crucial moment, when said Arabic Terrorist Who Nevertheless Speaks Perfect English was suggesting his B'Stard's death might be imminent, he had a coughing fit, which he explained away to the perplexed terrorist with the line "Excuse me. I have a frog in my throat. And it's nothing to do with that unfortunate incident in those Paris toilets." He downed a glass of what purported to be brandy, though it looked suspiciously like apple juice. "It's gone now," he said, to which the terrorist replied "I'm glad to hear it", after which he resumed the threats of fatwahs and jihad etc. I almost wanted to go to the stage door and give him a hug afterwards, but then I remembered I'm not a weird stalker. These people seem to have had their picture taken with him at some point or other, but, as I have explained abover (this is an edit, as I caused a minor scuffle before), I would probably have done or said something very silly, so best to stay away.

The run's almost over, but it is worth seeing. As the plot unfolds the character plausibly shows himself to have been behind just about every disaster from Black Wednesday to the assassination of Alexander Litvinenko, and also manages to persuade Condoleeza Rice to invade Norway. My favourite line in the whole thing, though, was B'Stard's pronouncement "I didn't join the Labour Party. It joined me." Depressingly, he's hit the proverbial nail right on the head.

Speaking of America (which I wasn't really) I've had a long day, so am going to take this opportunity to show off about my forthcoming holiday. Having flown into Chicago and spent a couple of days there, we will spend 22 hours on a train (and not because of the "wrong kind of snow", but because we are actually travelling a Long Way), in our own little roomette (OK, it's abuot the size of my wardrobe, but don't spoil it), meals and complimentary coffee and newspaper included, for the same price as a peak return to Bradford. My, how things have improved since the railways were privatised.