A Liar's Autobiography: The Untrue Story of Monty Python's Graham Chapman Page #3

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But I think Terry's got a point about

"a horse, a bucket and a spoon."

Oh, sorry, Graham. You're doing

all the voices in this bit, aren't you?

I'll shut up.

M Palin.

No, I've gone off that a bit.

I prefer "sex and violence",

but Terry's got a point about

"a horse, a bucket and a spoon".

Oh, come off it.

And so it was decided to call it

Monty Python's Flying Circus.

Cambridge, a university town built

in a featureless, flat landscape.

So featureless, in fact,

you wonder why anyone chose it

as a location for anything.

The magnificence of St John's,

the noteworthy splendour of Trinity,

the sheer portliness of the banks

and some very high walls,

behind which a semi-aristocratic elite

could hide from the outside world

and go to each other's rooms for sherry.

And gazing at the magnificent,

noteworthy, sheer splendour

of the portly King's College chapel,

it would be a world-weary traveller

indeed who did not pause to think,

"Why the f*** didn't they build

the whole town two inches to the right?"

Sorry!

Hmm.

Tsk. Hmm.

Hmm.

Stop! Everybody stop! Right.

If I find any more of you bloody idiots

heating up ether over an open flame,

I'll...I'll kill you!

I haven't been a munitions expert

in two world wars

to get slaughtered

by a load of ignorant tits!

If you don't know what you're doing,

get out!

So, Chapman, let's see.

Oh, now, do you play FUQBY?

I play for Melton Mowbray, first team.

- What position do you play?

- Second row.

That's good.

We need a second row.

Absolutely.

We'll see you in September.

There is just one small matter,

of course. Just a formality.

Your A-level results here.

You're taking three A-levels?

- Oh, yes, yes.

- Will you pass physics?

No.

Why not?

Uh...well, I'm not sure.

Not sure, eh?

That means you're in doubt?

- Well, no...

- Do you mean yes?

Uh... Yes.

So a pass may be possible, eh?

Uh, yes. Possible.

- Probable, even?

- Well, I, uh...

Let me put it another way.

Are you going to fail?

No.

No?

- How did it go?

- Oh, fine.

Mind you, I've got to pass physics.

Well, you'll do that, won't you?

I think at about this juncture,

it would be wise to point out to those

of you who haven't noticed,

and it's apparent enough,

Jonathan Miller and myself

come from good families

and have had the benefits

of a public school education.

Whereas the other two members

of the cast

have worked their way up

from working-class origins.

And yet Jonathan and I are working

together with them in the cast...

...and treating them as equals.

And I'd like to say it's proving

to be a most enjoyable,

worthwhile and stimulating experience

for both of us.

- Wouldn't you agree, Jonathan?

- Certainly is. I'm most impressed.

It's...it's your results.

Ah.

What... What does it...

What does it say?

It says... It says...

Three passes!

That means you're in, doesn't it?

Well done, Graham.

I have been accepted

by Emmanuel College.

I've bought a gown,

several club ties,

walked around in a tweed suit

with a pipe and tried to look clever.

The pipe was very useful. If anyone

said anything I didn't understand,

I could puff on it

and seem deep in thought.

The tweed suit didn't fool anybody,

but the pipe worked a treat.

In tutorials,

I was asked fewer questions.

It also helped clobber the stench

of formalin in the dissecting rooms.

Describe the vagina.

- Kevin.

- Um, right.

- Well, it's a sensitive organ.

- What do you mean?

Well, it's about four and a half

inches long

and it's, uh, very sensitive.

Balls! The only thing sensitive about

the vagina is in the front of it, lad.

Apart from a certain sensation

because something has passed through

the perineal musculature,

the vagina itself is virtually numb!

You answer shows not only a lack

of anatomical knowledge,

but a complete social ignorance.

You've obviously never slept

with a woman!

No! Aah!

Not that bit!

Awfully sorry, old chap,

but sex is a rather difficult subject

and I don't know what came over me.

Oh, well. Better go and have lunch,

I suppose.

Anyone coming to the bun shop?

Oh, thank God.

That was a short tutorial.

In my first year at Cambridge,

I tried to join the Footlights Club,

realising that the only reason

I'd gone there in the first place

was that I'd seen a television version

of a Footlights annual revue.

I impersonated a carrot

and a man with iron fingertips being

pulled offstage by an enormous magnet.

Really super.

In the same set of auditions,

John Cleese did a routine

of trampling on hamsters

and can still do

a good pain-ridden squeak.

How about that?

We were both selected and very soon

were able to wear black sashes

with "Ars Est Celare Artem" on them.

"The art was to conceal the art."

March 1964. The new biochemistry

and physiology block

was being opened by

Her Majesty the Queen Mother.

Being secretary

of the Students' Union,

I was invited to join Her Majesty for tea

with other members of the student body

after her tour of the new premises.

I was pleased to find out that she had

asked to come to tea with the students

and not with a lot of old gits

in red gowns and stupid floppy hats.

- Ah, yes.

- How do you take yours?

Gin and Slimline tonic with ice

but no lemon in, Your Majesty.

Cheers.

I explained to Her Majesty that I had

the offer of going to New Zealand

as a member of Cambridge Circus,

a revue,

but that this would mean taking

six months off medicine

and my parents had yelped

strongly against this.

You really must

see New Zealand.

It's a very beautiful place.

My sexual life consisted of going to bed

with women

while dreaming about men.

The first one was the student's

traditional friend, a nurse.

She was rather podgy

and extremely repellent,

but I just wanted to get my end away.

She was a real "lie down and think

of hockey and England" type,

and after a brief grope

that was not enthusiastically received,

I looked her hard in the breasts

and thought, "Yuck.

"The bar's still open.

I'll get rid of her."

There was another female student

getting a lot of attention from the lads.

Of a rather fawning, not daring

to ask nature, I sat down at her table.

Ignoring her minions, I boldly passed her

a plate of sandwich spread sandwiches

and asked her if she'd go.

She was intelligent enough to say,

"See you in my room tonight."

We had a bloody good time

for a whole year.

She was athletic and imaginative.

We went right through the card.

It wasn't just British missionary,

but doggie on the floor,

on the floor standing, on the desk,

in the shower, in the bath,

near the bath, at someone else's place

while they weren't looking,

and in a guard's van

through the whole of Birmingham.

The description of this passage

has made me feel... Excuse me.

Oh, that's better.

I liked the experience, but after nine

months or so, it began to pall

and I felt I'd rather spend more time

in the bar drinking with the lads.

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