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Authors: Michael McIntyre
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cost ten times the amount of one person drinking the whole pot. It makes me angry just thinking about it. Anyway, that’s not why I’m telling you this.
During our stay a major motion picture was being filmed at the hotel, resulting in part of the pool being closed for a few days. The film was the cult classic Scarface starring Al Pacino. The poster has adorned the walls of just about every teenage boy’s bedroom of the past twenty-five years. There’s a scene where the camera pans across the beach, and I claimed that I was in the shot for a split second. Everybody believed me. I have been gaining credibility over my Scarface appearance ever since. People don’t question it – they just say, ‘Wow, cool, you were in Scarface , that’s awesome.’ I wasn’t. I lied.
Kenny and my mum weren’t just spending days together; they were partying into the night, too. My dad was literally from a different generation to my mum, so after a hard day’s writing or filming, he just wanted a good meal, a hot bath and a thousand Marlboros. The problem was his wife was in her early twenties and wanted to party. It’s a bit like getting a Labrador; they’re really cute and blonde but a lot of work. ‘Coke’ had devoted much of her youth to motherhood. You just don’t see a lot of pregnant or breastfeeding women in nightclubs. But now the kids had been weaned and she wanted to go out with her new girlfriend, Kenny Everett. My dad was happy, it meant my mum could burn some of her youthful energy in the company of homosexuals who were no threat to him.
So my mum would dance the night away at nightclubs such as Heaven and Stringfellows. In fact, for years there was a photo of them together adorning a wall inside Stringfellows. My dad would catch up on their exploits in the tabloids the next morning. Kenny would make up a different name for my mum every time they were papped coming out of a club; my favourite was ‘Melody Bubbles’. Heaven is, and was, London’s largest and most renowned gay club. Melody Bubbles would be the only girl in there, dancing the night away with just about every gay man from the 1980s, including Freddie Mercury, Boy George and Sesame Street ’s Bert and Ernie.
Today, there is a comedy club that uses Heaven nightclub between 8 p.m. and 11 p.m., before it is open to gentlemen of a certain persuasion. I’ve performed there many times; it’s actually a great space for comedy. On leaving the venue, I’ve seen the gay men queuing for entry to the club. Security seems to be quite an issue. They have an airport-style metal-detecting security arch outside. I don’t know if they are worried about weapons or drugs or if it is some kind of ‘gaydar’ machine that beeps if you’re not gay.
Next to the detector was a gentleman frisker who looked like Jean-Claude Van Damme in a muscle vest and tight white jeans. It seemed obvious that the queue would much rather be frisked than not. There was huge disappointment when there was no beep. I saw one man make his own beeping sound and then jump into the arms of the frisker. People were holding whatever metal they could get their hands on to guarantee the detector sounded. One guy wasn’t leaving anything to chance and had dressed as a knight.
The presence of Kenny and his television show dominated my early years. I visited the TV studio several times and watching the show was the highlight of the week. There would be various props, bits of wardrobe, posters and VHSs from the show knocking around our Hampstead flat. In among them were these postcards with an image of big red smiling sexy lips on them. I don’t remember what the reference was, perhaps something to do with Hot Gossip, the Arlene Phillips-choreographed dancers who appeared on the show. I was very familiar with these cards being used for scribbles around our home, shopping lists, phone messages, that kind of thing.
Here I am in my trademark suit with my mum and Kenny on her birthday.
After days
During our stay a major motion picture was being filmed at the hotel, resulting in part of the pool being closed for a few days. The film was the cult classic Scarface starring Al Pacino. The poster has adorned the walls of just about every teenage boy’s bedroom of the past twenty-five years. There’s a scene where the camera pans across the beach, and I claimed that I was in the shot for a split second. Everybody believed me. I have been gaining credibility over my Scarface appearance ever since. People don’t question it – they just say, ‘Wow, cool, you were in Scarface , that’s awesome.’ I wasn’t. I lied.
Kenny and my mum weren’t just spending days together; they were partying into the night, too. My dad was literally from a different generation to my mum, so after a hard day’s writing or filming, he just wanted a good meal, a hot bath and a thousand Marlboros. The problem was his wife was in her early twenties and wanted to party. It’s a bit like getting a Labrador; they’re really cute and blonde but a lot of work. ‘Coke’ had devoted much of her youth to motherhood. You just don’t see a lot of pregnant or breastfeeding women in nightclubs. But now the kids had been weaned and she wanted to go out with her new girlfriend, Kenny Everett. My dad was happy, it meant my mum could burn some of her youthful energy in the company of homosexuals who were no threat to him.
So my mum would dance the night away at nightclubs such as Heaven and Stringfellows. In fact, for years there was a photo of them together adorning a wall inside Stringfellows. My dad would catch up on their exploits in the tabloids the next morning. Kenny would make up a different name for my mum every time they were papped coming out of a club; my favourite was ‘Melody Bubbles’. Heaven is, and was, London’s largest and most renowned gay club. Melody Bubbles would be the only girl in there, dancing the night away with just about every gay man from the 1980s, including Freddie Mercury, Boy George and Sesame Street ’s Bert and Ernie.
Today, there is a comedy club that uses Heaven nightclub between 8 p.m. and 11 p.m., before it is open to gentlemen of a certain persuasion. I’ve performed there many times; it’s actually a great space for comedy. On leaving the venue, I’ve seen the gay men queuing for entry to the club. Security seems to be quite an issue. They have an airport-style metal-detecting security arch outside. I don’t know if they are worried about weapons or drugs or if it is some kind of ‘gaydar’ machine that beeps if you’re not gay.
Next to the detector was a gentleman frisker who looked like Jean-Claude Van Damme in a muscle vest and tight white jeans. It seemed obvious that the queue would much rather be frisked than not. There was huge disappointment when there was no beep. I saw one man make his own beeping sound and then jump into the arms of the frisker. People were holding whatever metal they could get their hands on to guarantee the detector sounded. One guy wasn’t leaving anything to chance and had dressed as a knight.
The presence of Kenny and his television show dominated my early years. I visited the TV studio several times and watching the show was the highlight of the week. There would be various props, bits of wardrobe, posters and VHSs from the show knocking around our Hampstead flat. In among them were these postcards with an image of big red smiling sexy lips on them. I don’t remember what the reference was, perhaps something to do with Hot Gossip, the Arlene Phillips-choreographed dancers who appeared on the show. I was very familiar with these cards being used for scribbles around our home, shopping lists, phone messages, that kind of thing.
Here I am in my trademark suit with my mum and Kenny on her birthday.
After days
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