TODAY IS ANOTHER BEAUTIFUL, SUNNY DAY IN VIRGINIA. I’M MAGNIFICENTLY INSTALLED IN A PENTHOUSE OVERLOOKING PORTSMOUTH AND NORFOLK AND THE NAVAL DOCKYARDS. I WENT FOR A WALK AND TOOK A SHORT FERRY RIDE ACROSS the Elizabeth River. A fine sailing ship called the Rover was at berth, packed with naval brass in full dress uniform. Some family members emerged looking solemn, and I realized that a memorial service was in progress, a reminder that these ships and the lives of the sailors and servicemen are in daily danger. Speaking as a war baby, I wish they weren’t. I don’t want any more kids to lose their fathers.
The Norva is a blast. It’s a nightclub, only the second we have played, and is even more rowdy than the first. The audience are jumping. They are already having a good time before I even get onstage. They are a much younger crowd; the bar is open and they are all buzzed. The owner has never tried comedy before in this rock-and-roll venue, and Bill Reid is very excited by the success of the show. They have never put in seating either, but when the seats are installed, with the packed gallery above, it is very much like an Elizabethan theater. Since the audience is so close our type of intimate revue plays really well. It goes so well that we add twelve minutes on act one over New York just from laughter alone. Amazingly the promoter had only two and a half weeks to sell this show and he did a great job. My name is out front on the marquee—wow, what a concept!—and as the Norva is opposite a huge shopping mall, we picked up a ton of passing trade. Backstage we find the most luxurious quarters we have ever encountered. There is a huge Jacuzzi and a very warm sauna as well as nicely appointed dressing rooms with huge leather sofas to stretch out on and big TVs and carpets and nice-smelling candles. These rock-and-roll people really know how to look after themselves.
I spent the morning walking the streets of the Old Town of Portsmouth. Every house bore a plaque of antiquity like a badge of honor. There were big gardens and flowers and old trees with blackbirds squawking noisily. The crickets chirped and the scent of magnolia hung in the air, which was balmy and warm. I wanted to buy a home and live here in these quiet old streets. I could see myself installed on a comfortable swing on the verandah of one of these beautiful 1870 white wood houses. Nobody was about the streets at all at eleven on this Sunday morning. Perhaps everyone was in church.
I found a lovely courtyard with a café and took a leisurely brunch at Sassafras.
“Are you someone famous?” they asked.
This is a terribly loaded question. If you say yes and they’ve never heard of you, you feel about six inches high. I said I was John Cleese and left it at that.