Danny Baker
The stories came thick and fast, but largely from the perspective of his private life, rather than his connections in show biz. Like the funniest bloke down the pub
How long can a man, wearing a fez and holding a cue, hold your attention simply by chatting by pacing back and forth on stage? Quite a while, it turns out.
"Those of you who have seen me before," said Danny Baker, "have presumably packed sandwiches and a thermos flask."
I was reminded of tales I'd heard about Ken Dodd, who would happily let his shows run on into the small hours. As it turned out, Dodd was one of the countless celebrities Baker would count as friends, each of whom came with an engaging anecdote and, at least in the case of Dodd, a surprisingly good impression.
Before flipping through his mental Rolodex of the well-known and/or notorious, however, Baker took us on a journey that started on a council estate dominated by his father. Assisted by unreliable photographs from the past - turns out that one is my sister - we learned of a robustly cheerful childhood, with holidays on the Broads, his Dad's dodgy dealings, top-shelf mags , and the terrifying figure of Mrs. Tinkler. Along the way we learned of - though given the audience demographic "reminded" is probably a better word - knock down ginger, lollypop sticks, and the choreography of Pan's People. As Baker now edges ever closer to seventy, all this was said with good humour, but also a touch of melancholy, as he now realises he runs for the bus like an old man.
The stories came thick and fast, but largely from the perspective of his private life, rather than his connections in show biz. Like the funniest bloke down the pub, we learned how his glasses got stuck to his nose and how a camera malfunction proved to be rooted in his wearing of baseball caps. 90 minutes whizzed by, but was I the only one mentally egging him on, willing him to talk about folk we all know, and know he knows?
"We'll come to all that in the second half," he teased, "Which I promise will be a lot shorter."
It was no such thing, so that in total he clocked an astonishing three hours. Fortunately, he delivered on that promise, with countless tales of the rich and famous he has bumped into along the way. In fairness, he was relatively discreet, with only Greg Wallace seen as fair game when it came to marking his card as a dreadful person. Jonathan Ross and Chris Evans despise each other, Kenneth Williams was viciously competitive towards Cheggers, and Frankie Howard wore a terrible wig. All info in the public domain, apparently, but tantalising stuff nonetheless.
It's not for me to tell his stories, and certainly not reveal his punchlines, but if you want to know Lionel Blair's best anecdote, why Mel Brooks considers him a friend, or why the Foo Fighters were fired from TFI Friday, then Danny's your man. While it may not be a surprise that Barry Cryer was a nice man and Hughie Green was a monster, the latter's ambitions for a nuclear submarine were arguably worth the price of admission alone.
As Baker explained, this was his fourth tour, and during the first three, he very much focused on a specific period of time. With the third bringing matters up to date, he imagined that was that. This tour, driven by demand, wasn't mapped out in that way and to some extent, it showed. Packed with amusing anecdotes, it was still entertaining, but had a looser feel to it. Had the trio of previous shows been a DVD box set, then this was the disc with the deleted scenes. Nonetheless, he is tremendous good company, and it did, finally, give him the chance to name-drop one last person - his wife Wendy, who he credits with being the freshest influence of all
