A SMUDGY SUN STAGGERS OVER THE HAZE OF THE VEGAS MORNING. IN THE DISTANCE A POWER STATION SENDS UP A THICK WHITE COLUMN OF STEAM, A PILLAR OF CLOUD BY DAY, LIKE THE GOD OF THE ISRAELITES. THE TRIUMPHAL arch outside the Mandalay Bay today is advertising a gospel brunch. Surely two of the most scary words in the English language. Our suite is so enormous you need a taxi to cross it, but there are no minibars, no coffeemakers and certainly no kettle for tea. This is Vegas. Everything lures you downstairs into the casino. It’s amazing you don’t have to go to the bathroom through the casino.
The town seems a bit deserted at this time of year, though there are groups of men wandering around in black Stetsons. It’s rodeo week. Cowboy time. Everywhere there are ads for men doing dangerous things to their balls on top of tortured steers. The Mandalay Bay sits virtually on the runway of Las Vegas Airport, which is also virtually deserted on this Sunday morning. Gilli wants me to go up for a joyride with her friends who have flown in from Burbank on a three-seater Piper. I tell her that with Tania in town I already have my joyride.
“She likes games, eh? Likes games? Knew she would, she’s been around a bit, eh? She’s been around?”
“Well, she has traveled, yes. She’s from Purley.”
“Say no more! Purley, squire? Say no more! Say no more! Say no more! Say no more!
Donald Trump is at breakfast. From where the Donald parks his plane you can practically walk across the street. Although what am I thinking, he probably takes a helicopter here. He looks in good form, the Trump, in excellent shape, with two very healthy-looking young ladies and a business companion. My wife pities the two young women having to be with these older guys, but I don’t agree with her at all. It’s not such a bad job, surely, giving the Donald a Donald.35
It has always been a personal ambition of mine to play Vegas. Monty Python almost played here in the late nineties and it’s a pity we didn’t because Monty Python Live in Las Vegas is a great title, but in the end there were some cold feet and the whole thing fell apart. Over the years I have made several appearances here. Apart from my ass-whupping of Wayne Brady on Celebrity Jeopardy, which I’m happy to see still rankles with him, I sang “Always Look on the Bright Side” wrapped in chains and suspended upside down over a vat of boiling oil for Penn and Teller’s TV show at the MGM Grand. Kevin Nealon and I appeared briefly with Clint Black at Caesars Palace, wearing identical black Stetsons, performing “The Galaxy Song,” and last year for Dr. Pamela Connolly I sang “Sit on My Face” to a convention of sex therapists. I have always wanted to do a full gig here. We didn’t include Vegas on my last tour, as I was reluctant to play clubs like the House of Blues or the Hard Rock, where they serve drinks during the show. Now that I have played these places I don’t worry at all. They’re not the same as theatrical venues, but they work just fine for comedy. In fact, the House of Blues is great. The waitresses make crouching runs throughout the show but nothing can faze us now. It’s not an easy venue to play, as there are two audiences, one low below and one high in steeply tiered seats above, so you have to split your focus between them, but we grab them right from the off and make ’em laugh. Kevin Nealon makes a well-timed run at the encore bucket, returning moments later to get change. John McEuen and his wife, Marilyn, also made the trek from L.A.
“All of America must see this show,” said John, beaming, afterward. He is a brilliant guitarist from the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band and plays everything stringed: mandolin, banjo, and even G-string fabulously. He wondered if the William Morris agents were selling us right and announced that I was now the “Willy Nelson of comedy!” I guess he means the tour bus. Tania was looking stunning in black leather. We both were wonderfully rubbed in the Four Seasons Spa. Heaven must be being massaged every day. Perhaps that’s what the milk and honey is for….