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Alexei sayle: i don t have a brain for money
Alexei stayed behind a bit essay longer to do a bit or drawing at a liverpool art college. I embraced new families, all intent on building the revolutionary party that Lenin would really have approved of 200 miles away. Then just how much later? we finally did find ourselves in the same room. Pokey it was, a sub-division of the unsavoury raymond revue bar in Soho. Alexei was on stage as the compere of a show that glittered with then unknown names, but which went on to dominate tv comedy schedules throughout the 1980s. He was brilliant a scouse communist Jew comedian to his core everything I had always wanted to be in fact.more. Simply reserve your online and pay at the counter when you collect. Available in shop from just two hours, subject to availability. Thank you for your reservation, your order is now being processed and we have sent a confirmation email to you.
Strange or perhaps not so that he appeared years later as the very mainstream Labour New Statesman journalist urging the party establishment to trash the citys powerful Militant current. Did we ever meet, Alexei and me, down on the pier head maybe, during the many demonstrations aimed at killing Barbara castles In Place of life Strife white paper? Or at the university student union, on that day when we piled onto coaches to get across to the Stop the boks demo in Manchester to protest against the apartheid rugby teams tour? (This being the first of several politically motivated riots and joyously endorsed during those heady years.). Again, more parallelism as we both reached a point where liverpool was no longer big enough to contain our ambitions and the bright lights of London beckoned. By this time it appears sayles lone wolf personality was in danger of becoming monomaniacal and he found no easy route to get him down the M6/M1 to the capital. Or at least when he did, the trauma of having to contend with the person he was got him back home again pretty sharpish. For me it was easy. I jumped on a train and headed off to enrol on a sociology course at North London Poly.
How many times did our paths cross during that time, in the queues for the goodison boys Pen, or a place on the kop? But whilst the hero of the book never took the step towards finalised footy commitment, a season admiring Alex young and the induction of the youthful Howard Kendall, colin Harvey and Alan Ball into the Blues made a toffeeman out of me (that an the. Politics and the pubs around leece and Hardman Streets ought to have brought us together. During the years around 1968-70 i, like sayle, was a habitué of The Phil, oconnors and The Crack. Surely at some point we stood side by side in a toilet stall, ruminating on how you never buy the stuff, just rent. But we would have soon argued, because by this time Alexei was a maoist, and I really was a trot. I certainly recall Ian Williams, the local leader of the communist Party of Britain (m-l apparently a significant mentor to comrade sayle. I had been dispatched by my favoured group, the International Socialists, to have a chat with him about the possibility of support for a united left venture being considered around that time the launch of a left wing monthly for the city of liverpool which. Williams was clearly insane and I was glad when he pooh-poohed the idea as unworthy of the attention of his sect.
Following their Stalinist dreams, the sayles set off every year to the sort of exotic locations that were advertised in the classified columns of the daily worker, spiced up with adventures in the other workers paradises. Our few trips outside of liverpool were always limited to nearby north Wales a caravan in Llangollen or a seafront hotel in Rhyl. Whatever he says about the shortcomings of his reasoning faculties, sayle minor was at least smart enough to have passed the 11-plus. I wasnt, and life determined that I should attend the local secondary modern whilst Alexei basked in the privileged sunshine of a grammar school. In terms of working class credibiity, that's one up for. But despite that our dispositions and outlooks on life might have destined us to be friends for at least a fleeting moment (like sayle, i recall passionate friendships that were only ever fleeting). Another sign of our similarities seems to have been our attitude to football. Sometime in the mid-sixties it seems that we were both doing what every scouse lad was required to do, which was pick his team and bind himself to it with total fervour. For a couple of years I was a regular at both liverpool and everton home games, wondering why bonding to one or the other was more drawn out than it should have been.
Ate, my, homework - tv tropes
Your consent to our cookies if you continue to use this website. Theres a lot in this book that makes me feel that my life has moved in parallel with review Alexei sayles, at least for the first 20 years. He was born a mere 9 months after me and raised in the Anfield area of liverpool. At the same time i was sampling life as it is lived in Netherton, a 7 miles due north. I expect the first decade of our lives were quite different. The young sayles character was formed by the profound experience of growing up in a communist Party household, governed by the dominant Theres a lot in this book that makes me feel that my life has moved in parallel with Alexei sayles, at least for. The young sayles character was formed by the profound experience of growing up in a communist Party household, governed by the dominant personality of his Jewish scouse mother and rather more laid back railwayman and nur activist father.
The best I can say about the politics of my home is that my dad hated the harolds Macmillan and Wilson with equal vehemence, though for reasons probably connected with his own alcoholism, seem to have a soft spot for the falling-down-drunk george Brown. If our paths ever crossed in those early years it might have been whilst clutching minute our mothers hands in the shopping street of Walton Vale where a big woolies (I think it was) drew in the housewives from far afield. If we ever came face to face as maybe 6 year olds in the vicinity of ladies' lingerie we didn't stop to introduce ourselves. Alexei has a lot of very funny and often quite surreal things to say abut his family's summer hoidays, which might have been the subject of one of those avant garde films that were the staple of the east Europe film industry in the 'sixties. They were very different from mine.
Underneath his grandfather's house there was, apparently, a labyrinth of secret tunnels, built by the liverpool businessman Joseph Williamson as an early kind of job-creation scheme. Sayle's mother's family dug a hole in their back yard and used the tunnels to dump their rubbish "as if it were the most natural thing in the world to have a network of secret passages underneath your house". Ian Sansom's Mobile library series is published by fourth Estate. The comedy boom of recent years has led to a glut of dull autobiographies by stand-ups eager to cash in on their celebrity. Michael McIntyre's insipid bestseller Life and laughing is a case in point.
Aimee shalan The guardian)
So, naturally, when holidays came around, the sayles headed off behind the iron curtain. In czechoslovakia a place so foreign it had a 'z' in loyalty its name the sayles find themselves in a topsy-turvy world where they're met by limousines, wined and dined, and generally treated like royalty. Even the sight-seeing trips aren't exactly your average: "Communist party authorities at the highest level had decided that what the first delegation of British railwaymen to czechoslovakia would like to see more than anything else were sights, locations and exhibits connected with the wartime assassination. Back in England, the family live a quiet life in Anfield, two miles from the docks and half a mile from liverpool. Sayle depicts a world long since disappeared. The party line on the telephone you would lift up the telephone only to find your neighbour was already on it talking at great length about their hernia operation the co-op and the general store; the works of Jack london proudly on the shelf. And yelling "Don't forget Stalingrad!" and "Capitalist propaganda!" at the. In the latter part of the book, sayle goes on to recount his adventures in Paris in 1968 and finally his departure for art school, but joe and Molly remain the real heroes, with their high ideals and their house full of soviet trinkets and. Sayle knows that for better and for worse, his parents made him what he is: they are the book's foundations.
house are like something out of Bernard Malamud: "The house appeared very bare, with large stretches of warm linoleum in the hall; everybody seemed as pale as a ghost, and there was always the smell of poor people's soup. The only things that shone brightly were the oddly shaped religious artifacts on the sideboard, their polished brass flanks decorated with strange foreign writing that looked like it had come off the side of a flying saucer. During these calls it felt like we were visiting the embassy of a very poor and distant country.". Every sentence there has something surprising. Which is how sayle works with little flashes everywhere, like miniature jokes or surrealist flourishes. "One dark autumn evening in Crown Street I wandered out into the back yard to find Uncle monty sitting in a rough, temporary shed with a roof made out of palm leaves, eating two fried eggs with his hat." he was celebrating sukkot. A perk of joe's working on the railways was reduced-price european rail travel.
(And the novels are pretty good too.). Stalin Ate my homework is essentially sayle's love letter to his parents, joe and Molly. Joe worked on the railways as a goods guard, was incurably cheerful, always wore a trilby, taught himself French and Esperanto, and was a communist. Red-haired Molly spoke yiddish, had five sisters and a brother, and prepared salads instead with of roast dinners on a sunday. If they were not the only jewish atheist communist family in liverpool, the sayles were certainly one of the more eccentric. As a child, Alexei named after Maxim Gorky, real name Alexei maximovich Peshkov was "subject to all kinds of restrictions, caveats and provisos, both physical and ideological". He was not, for example, allowed to go and see walt Disney's. Bambi with his friends. Instead, his parents took him to see.
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Most people know Alexei sayle from the telly, from. The young Ones, or, the comic Strip Presents. Fewer know him for his novels and short stories, such. Mister Roberts and, the weeping Women Hotel. After all, in a lifetime of finite duration, there are only so many novels by comedians that any sane person will want to read, and most of them are written by Steve martin. There is probably even less time in the average life to devote to the reading of memoirs by comedians, the complete works of Spike milligan being more than sufficient for most us, while strictly speaking Alan Bennett isn't a comedian any more; he's a proper. But there is now one more book to add to the very short list: sayle's. Stalin really Ate my homework. It is not like other comedians' memoirs.