Obits and pieces

Now and again the media obituary of some well-known person gets to me.

Way back in December 1980, when I was a mere sprog, the death of John Lennon moved me more than the demise of even a close relative. Although I had never met the former Beatle I kinda felt that I knew him. The demise last week of the Australian comedian Barry Humphries also left a big impression on me, but in an entirely different way. True I have also never met the creator of housewife superstar “Dame Edna Everage”, Australian cultural ambassador “Sir Les Patterson” and “Australia’s most boring man, “Sandy Stone”. But I was always moved to tears – of laughter – by this comic genius.

I actually first encountered Humphries way back in the 1970s. On various visits to the UK I made it a point to get hold of the latest edition of the fortnightly satirical publication, Private Eye. Among its many scurrilous delights was a strip cartoon entitled “Barry Mckenzie”. It purported to record the “adventures” of “Orstilian” émigré Barry and a varied assemblage of drinkers and misfits, mostly also from “Down-Under”. The strip was the work of Humphries and regularly induced in its readers a series of chuckles and even belly laughs. It dealt in some of the most basic of human activities and was most definitely not aimed at anyone with a weak constitution. It introduced the Aussie word for vomiting, “to chunder” into the English language. In fact almost everyone featured indulged in this activity at some time or another.

Humphries alter ego Dame Edna, actually started life as plain Mrs Norm Everage of Moonee Ponds, Melbourne, Victoria. Later, when Norm’s dodgy prostate caused his protracted demise and her elevation to damehood and super-stardom, Dame Edna moved into the realms of cultural icon. Her various one-woman shows were usually prefaced with a turn from the inebriated Sir Les Patterson, whose idea of culture was a pint of Fosters and a willing Sheila.

Barry Humphries did not die young, in fact he made it to 89, so why did his demise affect me so much? Maybe it’s because I feel that, although 30 or so years younger than the gentleman, I too am feeling the onset of old age. I don’t know, but losing someone I feel I’ve known for most of my adult life, even though – like Lennon – I’ve never met him, has had a profound effect on me.

His many appearances on chat shows all over the globe are still a constant delight on YouTube. And the perceived observations of (her) gynaecologist never fail to give me a chuckle. Some of Dame

Edna’s utterances have often caused strong reactions in both audiences and critics. I well recall one of her appearances on Loose Women, I think it was. She went off on a long monologue about having just “bought” a child “from the same African village as the one where Madonna had bought hers”. Then, as her fellow panel members gazed on open-mouthed, she compounded the shock tactics with: “Yes, and do you know… every time I think of it I lactate.”

Bless her; it’s a bit like losing an amusing uncle (or aunt). A little bit more fun has gone out of my life. Notwithstanding that I still have the many clips of both Sir Les and Dame Edna on my computer.

As Oscar Wilde once said: “Every time an old friend dies, a bit of me dies as well.”