There are some things we would rather forget that others would rather remember.
In another life I was in Graham (Fatty) Lyle’s band at Channel 10 Sydney, where we tried to help amateur entertainers sound as good as possible. New comedians were rare but we had one. His patter was just about as bad as an amateur can be and with no music required we all sat there, cringing at the lines. I’m sure we all agreed he would disappear into the distance, the fate of most talent quest competitors.
At the end of the sequence we were all walking out together. I found myself just in front of the band, beside the comedian.
He said ‘G’day’, so I said, with body language and voice, in apparent awe of his amazing talent:
‘You write your own material do you?’
He seemed to not hear the suppressed guffaws behind us as the boys dropped back out of hearing.
‘Yes, I write it myself.’
I managed to keep a straight face as I came back with:
‘I thought so, nice work!’
As he passed out of the studio, a glance back at the musicians found them hiding behind each other almost out of control so I turned back to be welcomed with a well earned ‘You bastard!’ as we all collapses into laughter.
Of course the gum-booted, sleeveless-shirted larrikin was the young Paul Hogan. Thank goodness Strop took over his management and guided the career that brought us Crocodile Dundee! Hubris anyone?