12 MAY 2007, Page 9

I ’m full of hurrahs, huzzahs, yippee-kiyays and general end-of-term jubilation

now that this gruelling 30-week US tour of Legends has finally ended. To say it’s been tough is an understatement: 25 cities in 30 weeks, eight shows in six days each week, the days off spent travelling on dodgy airlines and checking into naff hotels (not to mention the gratuitous spitefulness of some critics) have contributed to a great ‘Thank God it’s Friday’ attitude by just about all of our cast and crew. My colleagues Joe Farrell and Will Holman stood in the wings every night as I took my bow (to standing Os!), yelling the countdown: ‘96 more!’ or ‘32 more!’ or ‘16 more!’ Whatever the critics said about Legends, there is no doubt that it has been a tremendous audience-pleaser: every night the laughter has rocked auditoriums across America. Joe, as the conniving producer Martin Klemmer (a role originated by the great Gary Beach), was overwhelmingly funny and outrageous and has been compared to Jim Carrey and Jerry Lewis. Will, who played Boom-Boom, the strappingly muscular Chippendales stripper, brought the house down night after night with his spectacularly acrobatic strip right down to his ‘full monty’. Tonye Patano, from Weeds, playing the salty-tongued maid, received many an exit round for her crisp delivery.

And what of Linda Evans, my nemesis from Dynasty? I’m sure you’re dying to know. For an actress who had never performed live theatre, she faced the audience bravely each night and did well. Sorry to disappoint but no barbed remarks here. Every Wednesday Linda and I had a media blitz in each city, and the same questions kept coming up over and over again. When I heard ‘So what’s the difference between you and Linda?’ for the 100th time, I finally cracked back, ‘Well, I’m happily married to a great guy, we live in London, New York and the south of France, I have three terrific children and three adorable grandbabies; Linda lives on a ranch in Washington state with lots of horses.’ Well, what else should I say? That she’s a blue-eyed blonde and I’m a green-eyed brunette?

Istarted this tour last August in Canada with 15 suitcases and by the time the show ended in Raleigh, NC, I was down to one and a half. That’s about half a suitcase a week. I feel like the heroin junkie who is weaned off the habit little by little. But don’t be fooled. I’m not about to join the ranks of the ‘micropacker’. It’s just that I use this fabulous service called ‘First Luggage’, which has been whisk ing my suitcases from city to city, arriving overnight in pristine condition, so I can send unseasonal clothes home and refresh my wardrobe — a must for these strange and changeable-weather days.

In Cleveland, we had the luck to catch the unveiling of the Princess Diana exhibition direct from Althorp. It was completely fascinating and displayed the many facets of Diana: from home-movie footage of her as a baby, toddler and child to school reports and a beautiful collection of stunning gowns, including, of course, the wedding dress. In Memphis we spent half a day at the home of another icon: Elvis Presley. The decor at Graceland is an exquisite time-capsule of 1950s and 1960s style — and an accurate historical picture of how a famous rich boy lived in the mid-20th century, and kitsch only in retrospect. All his cars are on display, and we took a deliciously touristy tour of his private plane, equipped with every mod-con of the 1970s — there was even his portable cellular phone, a massive suitcase of a communication device resembling more a battlefield radio than a modern mobile phone. Only when you tour Graceland and see the gold and platinum records stretching seemingly for miles can you really appreciate what an extraordinary star Elvis was, and still is.

Also in Memphis, I was honoured with the title of ‘Honorary Duckmaster’ at the famous Peabody Hotel. For the past 70 years, this fine establishment has been holding a daily ceremony whereby the five cute ducks that reside there are brought down from their penthouse suite to the decorative pond in the hotel lobby. When Percy and I got into the elevator from our tenth-floor suite, the terrified ducks were huddled into a corner squawking nervously. ‘We don’t usually stop to pick up the Duckmaster,’ said the Head Duckmaster. ‘So the ducks are a bit scared.’ They certainly were. I suddenly realised the entire floor of the lift was covered in the evidence of their fear. Unfortunately, their agitated flapping meant my white trousers were liberally splattered as well. Nevertheless, it was quite a spectacle to walk the red carpet behind the little waddlers while hundreds of tourists gaped at and photographed not only the event, but also no doubt my newly-patterned pants.

One thing that I’ve grown to detest on this tour is the invasion of the mobile photophone. At the stage door many nights, several of them are intrusively pushed inches away from my face (like Van Helsing holding the cross in front of Dracula), and distorted images, which invariably show up on the internet later that day, are displayed to the shrieks and cackles of their trigger-finger owners. It’s easy to sympathise with Hugh Grant when he chucked his baked beans at a snapper. Sadly, the days of privacy seem to be over, so one must grin and bear it. Or in the case of Britney Spears, grin and bare it.