Come Fly With Me

As I tried to explain yesterday, stepping out of the comfort of your own country can lead to unexpected problems of misunderstanding.

In the summer of 1990 i was in Berlin, hanging around, when i was invited to work with a Swiss man – Gusti- in the newly opening Quartier Theatre.

Our remit was to throw plates at each other in the guise of two comic waiters and we were instructed to mingle alongside the real waiters but were given freedom to come up with any ideas and set them into motion.

I had recently been working in London as part of a restaurant show where we had developed a simple scene involving a waiter, a bowl of soup and a fly and thought we might be able to develop the idea together into a comic masterpiece.

With the meticulous patience of a Swiss man, Gusti constructed the table with a false depth soup bowl (submerged entry by a waiter with snorkel and mask was essential) and I set off across Berlin to find a plastic fly.

In London, my home town, this would have been easy – I knew a dozen shops where I could find such an insect. Apparently the English love to drop joke flies on peoples toast and marmalade so no self respecting town centre is without at least one retail outlet.

Berlin seemed to be different. I tried the joke shops and surprisingly found none. I broadened the search, went to the markets, tried the pet shops in desperation and even combed through expensive department stores.

Clearly I needed the help of a confident German speaker.

I didn’t want to trouble Gusti, he was clearly preoccupied with the table and I wanted to show English aptitude; so I turned to my hosts.

Now for reasons that remain obscure and half forgotten I was staying in a flat owned by the German actor Otto Sander.

He scared me a little, so fearsome was his thespian reputation but I approached him at breakfast and explained the problem.

He certainly rose to the challenge, grabbed the yellow pages and began ringing every joke shop in the known world.

On the sixth attempt he started an animated conversation, then paused, covered the mouth piece and in his perfect English explained.

“They have one but its very big”

I was desperate by now, opening night was looming and anyway BIG can be good in comedy.

“How big? “ I asked.

Otto gestured with his arms - hmmm impressive!

“It’s fine” I said.

There was another discussion on the phone.

“It’s ……yellow……with” Otto looked worried “ pink spots”.

“It’s ok I said, it’s a fly, the only one in Berlin, tell them I’m on my way”., I screamed.

The shop was MILES away; the end of the metro system and then a long bike ride into leafy suburbs.

The shop was hidden between a baker’s and a travel agents.

I went in and said in my weird German – “Gutten Tag, meine Deutsh ist ein vissen comish aber ich besuche eine fliege”

They gave it to me.

It WAS big– about the length of my arm.

And it was VERY yellow………………. and the spots were fluorescent.

And it was a “fliege”.

Only trouble, eine fliege is also a bow tie.

I bought it, after all this trouble how could I refuse?

I also bought a sheet of clear plastic, a roll of gaffa tape , some wire and some black paint.

I made the biggest clown fly ever seen in theatredom and for opening night I attached it around my neck and wore it proudly on the front of my shirt.