If I Don't Write It, Nobody Else Will

If I Don't Write It, Nobody Else Will

Eric Sykes

Language: English

Pages: 512

ISBN: 0007177844

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Eric Sykes’s comedy has always sported an essential core of warm humanity. This, along with his genuine creative genius, continues to prove an unforgettably winning combination. In his much anticipated autobiography, Eric Sykes reveals his extraordinary life working alongside a generation of legendary comedians and entertainers, despite being dogged by deafness and eventually virtual blindness.

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my eyes and a hole to my wallet. Peter and his girlfriend, hidden by her pile of luggage on the back seat, were fretting to be off. I sat behind the wheel, triumphantly handed the envelope over my shoulder and awaited the adulatory squeals of thanks. ‘Never mind that,’ she said. ‘It’s only a couple of pounds.’ Did she not realise that I’d risked my life for that? Deflated, I turned the ignition key and we left the town that had lost its flavour to make our way back to the orderliness of Earls

Miss Royton at least. Career-wise apples continued to fall off the tree and the latest one was a real Cox’s pippin: I was invited to write the comedy sketches for the pantomime Mother Goose at the London Palladium. This was promotion indeed, and another exciting project in a life which up to now had had more highlights than the aurora borealis. Max Bygraves played Sammy, Richard Hearne (Mr Pastry) his mother and Peter Sellers the squire. Writing comedy sketches for television is merely a

came straight to the point. ‘How would you like to write a pantomime?’ he asked. ‘One hour, cast who you like and don’t worry about the cost.’ My brain went immediately into overdrive, but I was somewhat wary, so I said, ‘Can I think it over first? I am in bed, you see.’ ‘It’s nearly lunchtime,’ he chuckled. ‘It’s all right for some.’ And before I could explain about my infirmity, he went on, ‘Take all the time you want and I’ll wait for your call.’ And that was that. About ten days later, I

where Dad said you could get the best kippers in the world. Incidentally he wasn’t with us, as he spent the day at Uncle Tom’s Cabin again. On the last day it absolutely threw it down—the rain was unbelievable—and against the rules of the boarding house we were allowed to stay indoors and play draughts and snakes and ladders. We would have played ludo, only we needed four players and Dad wasn’t present as he was at Uncle Tom’s Cabin. By and large we had a marvellous holiday. Even Dad was over the

began. THE BEGINNING OF WHAT’S LEFT Finally, after all the kerfuffle, I was a civilian again, but the suit they handed over to me at Padgate was reminiscent of the clobber doled out to the old men and women at the workhouse in Sheepfoot Lane. The only saving grace was that everyone else was wearing the same thing. When I got home my father admired it and was over the moon when I said he could have it. That worried me: only forty-six years old and his eyesight must have been going, or his

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