She glared, outraged.T She just needed a title..
Fanny stared at him for the rest of my act, never blinking
JULIAN CLARY RECALLS UNFORTUNATE HECKLER
How pups stole the show as well as the comedian’s heart
Wherever life has taken him, comedian Julian Clary has always had a dog by his side.
And now in his new memoir, The Lick of Love, the star pays homage to the four pets who have been there for him throughout his life.
Here, in an exclusive extract, Julian, 62, tells us the stories of his beloved pups, from Fanny the Wonder Dog to naughtybut-nice Gigi, who can turn into Villanelle from Killing Eve “in a nanosecond”...
FANNY
I remember the cramped, chaotic pet shop and the gruff, unshaven old man who ran it. He lifted the wriggling puppy out by the scruff of her neck and put her in my arms.
Nowadays, if you rescue a dog there is paperwork to take care of, but not in 1980. The shop owner wanted a fiver for the dog, so I obliged.
She was the loveliest creature I had ever seen.
In 1983, I made my debut as Gillian Pie-Face. There was no place for Fanny to wait so I took her on with me and handed her lead to a member of the audience to look after. Something about Fanny sitting watching me with rapt attention gave me an idea. At the next gig, I carried her on with me and sat her on a chair.
Good-natured heckling was welcome at these shows and that night a man at the front tried his luck. Sensing mild aggression, Fanny glared at him, outraged. The audience laughed.
Fanny stared at him for the rest of my act, never blinking. My applause at the end of that night was much warmer and longer than I had come to expect.
I had a performing dog! She needed a title too... Fanny the Wonder Dog.
Within a few years she had propelled me up the ranks of the alternative comedy circuit and on to television.
Fanny’s enjoyment of being on stage faded fast after she was hit by a car.
But she was still going to come on tour with me. We reached a compromise whereby Fanny followed me across the stage, glancing casually over her shoulder at the delighted audience.
For this she would get rapturous applause. But that was it. Fanny never lingered on stage again.
As always, her timing was perfect. Her sudden withdrawal from public life made her much more famous than she would have been, I suspect.
Today, it’s well over 30 years since Fanny shunned the limelight yet people still remember her and ask after her.
She is frozen in time in people’s minds, still that frisky dog with knowing eyes.
VALERIE
I was celebrating my 40th birthday in May 1999 in Mallorca when my sister Beverley called. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But Fanny had to be put to sleep today.” A few weeks later I collected her ashes, which I keep on a table in the hall, giving them a gentle pat each time I pass. Only six months after Fanny died, the familiar, gnawing need to get a puppy came over me.
I was filming a Daz advert in a shopping centre in Sutton, South London, when I asked my long-suffering assistant Bec (always referred to as “Bertha the lesbian” for light entertainment purposes) to see if there was a pet shop nearby.
But it so happened that my driver for the day, Dave, was stretching his legs outside the Winnebago and heard my plaintive words.
He knocked on the door. “Couldn’t help but overhear your conversation... my mate mentioned that his girlfriend’s dog, a lovely whippet called Blue, has some puppies. Might they be of interest?”.
I knew at once, before he had finished speaking, that Dave would lead me to my next dog. Given my fancy that my new dog might be Fanny the
Wonder Dog reinca best way to confirm take her on stage w opportunity. I was late-night gig at a B event near Lowesto I decided I would was a rowdy crowd had keenly accepted offering. Halfway handed me Vale I carried her of noisy bays It did not circumstance would hav hecklers a Valer and refu th
arnated, I thought the m my suspicion was to with me at the earliest booked to perform a Butlin’s “adult weekend” oft, Suffolk. d test her out there. It d and I suspected they d the “all you can drink” through my set, Bertha erie from the wings and on stage to a response and whistles. go well. Under those es Fanny, in her prime, ve stared back at the and won them over. rie shrank in my arms shook like a leaf, fusing to even look at he audience. The Butlin’s experience put her off for life. Valerie escorted me through my 40s. Poised and fearless, the Germaine Greer to my Bernard Manning, she kept things in proportion, as if to say: “Showbiz is not all of life. I am here.
“I care nothing for your profile. Now pick up my s**t and shut the f*** up.”
When she died, I found a jaunty wooden box for her ashes and, ever since, have kept them next to Fanny’s.
ALBIE
It so happened that on May 9, 2009, I was a guest on The Paul O’Grady Show to promote my second novel, Devil in Disguise. The other guests were McFly, the burlesque performer Immodesty Blaize... and three homeless puppies.
I’d already met the puppies backstage and one in particular had made my heart beat faster. But there were only two immediate issues I had to deal with.
First, there was Valerie. She had little time for puppies and would curl her lip when they approached. The second was “Rolf”, my now-partner. One promise I made to him was the imminent gift of his own dog. He wanted a pedigree Italian greyhound which he planned to call Saveloy.
A ginger mongrel with stumpy legs was a far cry from the elegant Italian greyhound Rolf had expected and no amount of enthusing on my part seemed to dispel his disappointment. There were a lot of unanswered phone calls. But there was no going back. Valerie and Rolf would come around, surely.
I had a couple of days alone before Rolf was due to come down. Valerie remained aloof. If the puppy – named Albert, or Albie for short – came into the room, she would leave. When he waddled up to her in the garden, she’d snap. I’d never seen her so cross and upset.
I was nervous the morning Rolf was to arrive. When he finally parked on the drive and called Valerie, she ran leaping and shrieking into his arms. Then it was Albie’s turn. He hadn’t quite got the hang of sprinting yet, so he kind of bounced across the lawn, full of excitement to greet someone he’d never met before.
With Valerie in one arm, Rolf scooped Albie up into the other. The adoration was instant.
Half an hour later, Rolf was on the sofa,
Albie asleep on his chest and the room was glowing with contentment.
I allowed myself a little sigh of relief.
GIGI
Tuesday August 20, 2019, I got a text from Rolf. “I’ve found a dog. Gigi. Rescue. From Serbia.”
He had already reserved her... Jovana, from the charity Serbia’s Forgotten Paws, sent us more photos, and our commitment was immediate.
“She looks very like Fanny,” I said softly to Rolf. “The eyes – exactly the same!”
She also had the same basic tan colouring with a darker back and snout, and white chest and paws. Eyes the colour of Bristol cream sherry.
Gigi had been dumped by the cemetery in Niš. In Serbia there are many flower shops. The flower ladies fed her, as they did all the stray dogs in the area – the charity, which is nearby, donates the food.
One of the flower ladies saw Gigi get knocked by a car and was certain she would be dead because she was so tiny.
She called the charity and one of the workers came to collect Gigi. They got her to the shelter and called the vet. Amazingly, she survived.
We filled out the necessary paperwork and introduced Gigi to Albert, who seemed delighted with her and her gentle, slightly comical nature. The first night, she slept quietly in the lounge. “How good she is!” we declared. Little did we know...
For a couple of days, Gigi bided her time. She presented herself as a sweet, simpering girl. On the third evening, she showed her true colours – a Jekyll-and-Hyde hound. Delightful and charming one minute, murderous psycho the next.
She could be asleep on my lap like a baby antelope and her eyes would slowly open. In a flash I was dealing with Villanelle in a homicide scene from Killing Eve.
We’d go from Toy Story to slasher film in a nanosecond. But we have grown to know and love Gigi. She loves me, Rolf and Albert, but mainly me.
She lies on my chest and gazes at me in wonderment at every opportunity. I swear her eyeballs throb with love for me. True, she might conclude the love-in with nipping my chin or chewing on my finger but it’s only because she cares.
The Lick of Love: How Dogs Changed my Life, by Julian Clary, is out now, published by Quercus, £20
She kept things in proportion, as if to say, showbiz is not all of life
JULIAN CLARY ON HIS WHIPPET VALERIE