Billys Moving tribute to Sir David Bowie

Jihadi Billy

I’m back!!!! Back from Depression! Back from Heartache!! Back from Radicalisation!!!

It’s me Billy – Billy is back and in the words of my hero, Barry, ‘Looks like I made it’ – please take a time to listen to him. Barry Manilow  He’s so moving.

You last heard from me when I was on my way back before – before my trauma – The glitter slash of glamour beckoned before disaster struck.

Previously, if you remember, my sham marriage to ‘Cruella DeVil ‘,  Myleen Klass,  had been dissolved owing to the fact that she had a vacant bottomless dark pit where her heart should be.

I hit the bottle, the floozies and then, sad to report, skid row while she climbed the escarpment of celebrity culminating in her becoming the ‘Face’ of Littlewoods. Life.  Despicable life.

But I wrenched myself up by my Jimmy Shoe’s. Dusted down my diamanté and got my hoofers on and bagged myself the opportunity of a life time.  THE Premier Event Host on the’ SS Golden Slumber – a SAGA cruise ship sailing around the Med. Life was looking good. I’d even buried the hatchet with the global rock superstar, Sir Elton John and his husband, David.

I’d even been asked to perform by Sir Elton John, and his husband David, at his/their charity gala event in London’s West end Covent Garden.

When, suddenly my life capsized......

It was an evening. Two years ago. We were mid Med.  Cocktail Evening. The swell was soft and the night sky blanketed the SS Golden Slumber. I was with my entourage, Little Toni and Caro, a transgender specialist from Sheffield. We were organising the Roller Bingo on the Mezzanine level when Little Toni, ears of an eagle, heard a pop on the poop deck. 

We were under attack. 

Unfortunately Little Toni  is, sorry, was, mute. I mistakenly thought he’d started a rather excitable game of Charades and Old Betty, a seasoned Roller Bingo winner, was getting very frustrated that he wouldn’t break the words of the unknown film into syllables. Personally, I thought it was ‘Oceans 11’ but then I heard the unmistakable cry of extremism.

The Extremists had surrounded the Reg Gutterigde Ballroom. 

Now for some of our ‘young at heart’ customers, with mobility issues, it was quite difficult for them to make ‘quick their escape’. Action was required.  At times like these someone has to stand up to these evil doers, someone fearless, brave, a hero but he had jumped ship and so it was left to me.

 I prostrated myself in front of the terrorists. I played possum. I wasn’t scared. I’d seen Myleen sans make up. Rather prepares you for the Taliban.  

 ‘Take me’ I said ‘let the others continue on their fortnight holiday around The Med with a two night stopover in Xante all for under £500.’

There was the unmistakable jabber of terrorists in cahoots. Then wallop. Then Black...

I had been captured by Izal/formerly known as DASH.

I awoke in a dark, damp pit, - the bottom of Myleen’s heart?  It was my prison cell, metaphorically as well as literally - I was alone – solitary- with only my prison guard, Fathid, for company. 

He was finishing off a MacDonald’s and, I suppose, it was in that moment that I understood their desire to take over the West. 

He offered me a fillet ‘o’ fish. I raised my hand to pass.

 I was very aware of ‘Stockport’ Syndrome - a psychological phenomenon in which hostages express empathy and sympathy and have positive feelings toward their captors, sometimes to the point of defending and identifying with the captors.

I remember Terry Waite coming out from his captivity as a Jew and Patty Hearst (no relation to our own 3 goal World Cup hat trick hero Geoff) joining the Baider Meinhof gang and becoming German. And we all know which way that boat sails.

So my guard was up against my guard but Fathid was a remarkable young man...

Over the next few missives I’ll expand more on my incarceration and the surprising turn of events. Yes! they’re are tears but there’s laughter too!

I want to finish with the words of Marti Pellow from Wet Wet Wet, and their January to May 1994 hit  Love Is All Around – Love is ALL around -  because you never know when you might be captured by Izal.

So, if you are near to someone you love – hug them! But also, more importantly if you find yourself in the feminine hygiene aisle at, say, Lidl and near someone who might be Taliban – hug them too!

Love One Another

Billy

My Humble 'Leading' Role In Our Greatest Olympic Games Ever

Billy - boodles

With the Winter Olympics in Sochi upon us in the new, liberal, free Russia.

 It has led me to reflect on my own humble part in the outstanding success of our games.

It is July 20 2012 - I was on the poop deck of the SS Golden Slumber taking the zimmer framed pensioners for their pre lunch 'Disco Recuperation' session when Raymondo, our lovely drag artist, came running up to me, 'There's a phone call for you,' the queen screamed.

It was The Boil, himself -  'Sir' Danny Boyle.
'Boiley!' I say.
'No time for niceties,' he said in his rich Irish brogue.
'Oh Danny Boyle, oh Danny Boyle, the pipes, the pipes are calling...' I sang oblivious to the fear in his voice. He interjected,' I'm up the creek, Billy,  without the proverbial. I've been given this gig to open the Olympics. I cannae do it, man. Can you help?'

I had known Danny from his early days as a struggling fringe director on the London scene. He had helped me direct my moving tribute to England's Rose - Lady Diana - in my piece 'I was having a kebab when I heard the sad news.'

I watched him grow from strength to strength until luckily winning his Oscar for that film.

Straightaway, I warned him off Branagh, lovely actor as he is, he'll end up wanting to direct himself, I said. There were some lovely actors on Hollyoaks, I told him, that are just as good.

I never, at any point, pushed myself forward. If anything in the business I am known for my enormous bushel!

 I refrained. Unlike others. Mr Bean.

The Boil was pulling his hair out. Apparently Cameron had been on at him to cut the 'boring' NHS bit and put something in about the bankers - along the lines of' how the world really couldn't survive without them pushing non existent tranches of money about purely for their own momenumental greed and on the backs of the poor. (OK - I've made that bit up - but I am the son of a miner after all.)

Anyways he asked me if I would consider a role in the opening ceremony. I was humbled.


So that is how I found myself 2 days before the opening ceremony deep in the bowels of the Olympic Stadium. The Boil had told me that everybody had to be drug tested - it was to be the cleanest games ever. So I was waiting in a small changing room holding my sample bottle, unable to bring myself to perform, shall we say when the door creaked open and a little old lady came in.

I recognised her immediatley as the mother-in-law of our own dear England's Rose.Her Majesty.

'Billy Elliot, is that you?' She said.
'It is I, Majesty.'
 'You've let yourself go.' I was touched. She had remembered me from a Royal Variety performance, hosted by that fine comedian Jimmy Tarbuck.

We both sat staring at our sample bottles.
'Nothing to do but wait.' she said, regally, and pulled out a copy of the Racing Post.

After awhile. she offered me a Panatella cigar and I presumed to speak, 'so are you running aganist Usian Bolt then, Ma'am?'
She laughed a queeny laugh,' no, Billy, they want me to jump out of a helicopter with David Craig, but I'd don't think I'll do it. The family are still recovering from 'It's A Royal Knockout.'

'Majesty,' I presumed again, 'Please do it, Ma'am, for England'

She smiled, had a brief moment of contemplation  and said, 'One is ready to do this now,' tapped her sample bottle and swept off to the cubicle.

I don't know if Boiley found out about my intervention but if you watch the scene with David Craig her Majesty is writing a letter and on it she writes 'Thank you Billy!'
Click here to see The Queen personally thank me!

Love One Another

Billy x

PS In the end I was unable to perform at The Olympics because of my ongoing dispute with Sir Elton John and his husband David.

How I saved The National Theatre

Hail Billy-ionaire !

The recent spat at The Bolshoi Ballet where a disgruntled dancer threw acid into the face of his director (allegedly) reminds me of my own sad times on the theatrical musical 'CATS.'

Fur often flies in rehearsals. It really is a cauldron of a melting pot. An artist's ego is like a speck of golddust that can often be trampled on by a clot footed, cloven heeled director.

Sir Trevor Nunn had asked me to bring my 'enormous talent' (his words, not mine) to the original conceiving of CATS. I was riding high on a crest of a wave with my own award winning  avant garde dance troupe, THE BILLY ELLIOT DANCE COMPANY. We were like The Michael Clark Company but without the daftness.

I had never done any 'acting' before so I was humbled to star alongside such luminaries as Judy Dench, Frances Ruffelle (?) and Brian Blessed.

To be frank when Sir Trevor (Trev) and Lord Andrew (Lord Andrew) told me of their idea to put music to poems about cats I thought it had turkey written all over it.

But Sir Trevor and Lord Andrew both agreed that it was only I who could bring to life the character of the naughty alley cat with the Bavarian ancestry, 'Rumtumtigglehimler!'

As I said, I had never done any 'acting' before so I was amazed when at the first day rehearsals Sir Trevor told us that he wanted us all to BE cats. at which point his assistant, a waspish Terry Hands, brought in several bowls of milk and placed them around the 'space'.
 'For the next few hours', qouth he,' you will be feline' and he flounced off.

The sight of Dame Judy lapping, purring and preening was a  'acting' masterclass and I believe has helped made me the actor I am today. I often draw on a that 'emotional recall technique' when I'm giving my my clown workshop for the 'Young at Heart Early Risers'  (after 'Beginners Quoits') on the Upper Deck.

Me entertaing the old folk on the cruise ship!

However I did draw the line when Sir Trevor put down a litter tray in the middle of the 'space' and Brian Blessed promptly defecated in it.

I decided Runtumtigglehimler rather liked having a fag by the bins outside stage door. It was here I SAVED THE NATIONAL THEATRE.

Dame Judy had joined me outside as she was craving a Lambert and Butler. This was after a gruelling morning chasing an imaginary giant ball of string around the 'space'. 

'Billy.' La Dame said to me, 'that fecker Nunn has basically got me doing bolloxy skin work, in a furry leotard, whiskers and a self animated tail. Is this what my chuffin' career has come to?' She took a long drag on her ciggie and played with her fake ears, 'well stuff that for a bunch of soldiers, he can stick it up his catflap. I'm slingin' my butchers. I'd rather be on the game if this is the only work I get offered.'

I gazed at her for a long time between puffs, and placed a woolen paw on her shoulder, eventually I said, 'stick at it Judy.' She smiled. I could see she  had resolved to carry on in this business we call show. She then coughed up a fur ball.

Would she have gone on to the play the Queen? Would she had got an Oscar? Would the Natonal Theatre have survived for 50 years if I hadn't intervened? We will never know. As Hamlet said, and he was no bad judge of actors, 'the rest is history'

Love one another

Billy x

Next week -
The inside story of my years on  BILLY ELLIOT'S SUMMER SEASIDE

SPECIAL'

Put A Bit of Billy In Your Inbox

Friends!

Hannah Gordon has been in touch! Sadly not the luminous host of  'Watercolour Challenge,' just an ordinary person who has an extra-ordinary moniker.

She asks 'Is it true, Billy, that you once danced with the great Rudolph Nureyev?'

Well, Hannah, it is.

Rudolph, Margot (Fonteyn) and Christopher (Biggins) were great friends back in the days - all wonderful dancers. I do have a little piece of me dancing with Rudi which I'll show below.

It was an extraordinary experience to dance with my dear friend, Rudi, although the suit I wore was very hot and some of the throws really hurt. He is such a magnificent performer and I can only say that I learnt so much from him.  If you click on the link below you'll see he pretends to be mad at me half way through the dance but I can assure you that shows just what a great actor he was.


 A Moving Ballet with my friend, Rudi.
Yes that's me!

Rudi was so taken with my story - from mining village to Covent Garden, he wanted to choreograph a moving ballet around it.

One day we were wrestling together and he paused mid half-nelson to exclaim that  he would call the moving ballet,  'The Dancing Pit Miner'. But he had me in such a headlock at the time and he squeezed with such force at his own genius that I passed out.

Work began straight away on the moving ballet.

Unfortunately Rudi had never seen a North Eastern English coal mine. But with his wonderful imagination he dreamed up a cornucopia of riches to litter the stage. His vision was a coal seam filled with diamonds and chandeliers in which the miners would be dressed in hard hats and black tutus.

Rudi's vision of a North East Coal Mine

I suggested that we should darken our faces with burnt cork (an old theatrical trick,) to represent the coal but Rudi preferred us to simply oil our torsos. He would spend hours liberally applying Johnsons Baby Oil over me to create  just the effect he wanted. Often, after a show, he would come round and announce that I hadn't quite got my 'oiling' right and he would make me stay until the cuckoo sang, dousing me in more lotions and potions and, a few times, rubbing so hard I came out in slight bruising. But no art is made without sacrifice.

 Rudi saw my story as an allegory of his own savaged homeland, Russia. His country emerging from the dark Stalin days into the light of Boris Yeltsin - a sort of Boris Johnson for the 90's.
Another Great Boris


Rudi insisted Christopher Biggins played my mam. Biggins representing the eternal enigma of Mother Russia. Rudi  would weep through rehearsals when Biggins pliéd or did some slapstick with a custard pie.

Chriastopher Biggins as Mother Russia

Peggy from Kentucky has been in touch, again! If you remember I asked if anybody would want me to choreograph a special dance to a special piece of music for any special event.

Well Peggy told me that recently her pet Dolphin, Gandolph, had died and would I choreograph something moving for Gandolph's memory to the tune of 'Lady In Red' by the wonderful Chris de Burgh.

It seemed strange to me but she was insistent and knowing Americans, as I do, and that they have tamed  a whole plethora of beasts from the animal kingdom for reasons  known only to themselves, I agreed.

So I asked Peggy, from Kentucky, what had the dolphin died of? - not wanting to make a crass error of judgement when designing my dance.
 She said' suicide'.
I said 'Suicide? '
She said, 'yes Gandolph could see no porpoise to life.'

I have blocked Peggy from the site.

Love one another

Billy x

P.S  I have been inundated with requests (1 from Spain) saying 'Billy, how do I get your blog on a regular basis?' It's simple; put your email in the space at the top of the page and I'll come straight into your inbox.

Billy Goes Global!

Friends!

Billy Has Gone Global!

I've been read from the coal splattered sands of the North East of England to the bronzed beaches of Santa Monica.

I've had hits from an Inuit in Alaska to an idiot in New Zealand.

Let me deal with the feedback.

Although I said no trolls, a Peggy from Kentucky made contact. I won't go into to detail but suffice to say that Tina who, on the quoits deck, takes the morning over 60's aqua aerobics, (The SAGAnauts) was perturbed by it and I've placed the offending missive in the hands of the police. I wouldn't be surprised if it turns out to be a pseudonym for Sir Elton John and his husband David such was the vitriol.

I, also, as Mark Davison from Belfast writes, believe in the true healing powers of dance. I was, after all, a member of the regional touring troop of Riverdance that brought peace to Northern Ireland.

Billy in his famous role of Jeff in Riverdance

But, I'm sorry, Mark, I know celebrities like myself, Mother Teresa and Nelson Mandela can have an extraordinary effect on the woes of society but your personal complaint is beyond me. I can only recommend a strong household cleaner and an old pumice stone to clear up your more intimate areas.

'Dandy' Driscoll has been in touch. He's well known to many of my 'Young At Heart' readers. But for those of you who don't know Dandy, he is a lovely old duffer, who lives in the Albany Hotel, London, with his sister, Treacle.

I first met Dandy while I was running the low-mobility disco-nite on  SAGA's Winter WonderSand Adventure to Barrow-In-Furness.

I was taking the lead in the Hokey-Cokey and poor old Dandy could neither put his left or his right foot in and he defintely couldn't shake it all about.

Anyhow, Dandy has asked me if I had a recording of me dancing with my good friends, Wayne Sleep and Bonnie Langford. Well, Dandy, I have managed to find me dancing with them on The Hot Shoe Show - the rival show to my own - 'Have Clogs Will Dance'. I'm in the red jacket at the beginning (more hair in those days)

How me and Wayne laughed when you see the trouble I have working out which door to go through at the beginning!

Please click on: Dancing With My Friends Wayne and Bonnie

The video has given me an idea; if any readers have a favourite song that they would want me to choreograph a routine to and then video it and post on line, please get in touch. It could be for a special occasion, a loved one, a birthday, a wedding or, sadly, a funeral.

Only Read This Section If You Are A Celebrity: Or An Olympian: and not involved in a court case.

I'm looking for Olympians or celebrity endorsements - No reality stars -

If you are a celebrity or Olympian, preferably one who has won something in a recognisable sport, could you record a video or audio clip that I can put on the blog.  Something along the lines of  'oh I'm really looking forward to see Billy Elliot at 50 dancing at Sir Elton John's Classical Evening Selection at Covent Garden in August.....' Just so we can keep the pressure on Sir Elton and his husband David.
We know how capricious the Knight can be.

Artisans Read from here:
I leave you with the final words in an email from Metin in Carsholton.

He writes, 'I'm a Billy-iever!'

Let's all be Billy-ievers!

Love One Another

Billy x

Putting Our Billy Back Into Ballet

Putting our Billy back into ballet

Friends!

It saddens me to report that British ballet remains becalmed in the doldrums - rudderless, bereft and a tinsy bit sad.

I realised this after getting only 8 'likes' on my nascent Facebook page. Though I did receive 1 'Brilliant'  - a review I've placed alongside my acclaimed performance as 'Charleys Aunt' in an otherwise 'run of the mill' * production at Leatherhead Rep. (*The Stage 1985)

Do the great British public not care? Is British Ballet too elite?

No! It's simply not enough Elliot!      Billy Elliot!!!

I spoke to The Moose, my agent, via Skype, today about the terminal situation of dance in this country. And by that I include all forms of dance. How can this  land be a bastion for devolping new Njinskys in a world that worships Widdercombe? There can be no chance for the next Wayne Sleep to grow (sorry Wayne!) in a field sown with Seargents and Savages.

So I said to The  Moose, "Only I , like Vinnie Jones in that advert, can resuscitate the leaden corpse of The Royal Ballet Corp.
I will bury the hatchet with Sir Elton John and  his husband, David and perform at his Classical Selection evening on stage at London's Covent Garden in August.

The Moose was rather muted in reply and then informed me, in a rather high falutin' manner as far as I was concerned, that, perhaps, it was not so much the demise of British ballet which was the cause of the singular response to my Facebook blog but, perhaps, it was the fact that my own 'comet' had waned.

I hung up and percolated.

I immediately conducted a straw poll of the 'Young At Heart' onboard our SAGA Mediterranean cruise, where I perform nightly as its 'Premier Entertainment Host'.

If I'm frank, many of them struggled to recall my epiphanic journey from pit slum to Prima Ballerina. But, in my defence, they are not a typical cross section of society as many of them are doubly incontinent and would struggle to recall what they had for lunch today.

But to my very core, I knew that the great British public may have forgotten my heart warming, life affirming tale on which a near Oscar winning film and long running musical (still in London's West End) is based.

I want to make clear at this juncture that although my dark nemisis, Sir Elton John and his husband David have, laid claim to my very being and soul others strode before them. Lee Hall, Stephen Daldry and Elton/David were not the first 'creative talents' that had wanted to capture my amazing story through an alternative artistic medium.

In the late 1970's a well repected/avant garde troop approached me to put my trials, tribulations and triumphants into a startling new musical format.

New wave composers Mitch Murray and Peter Callender were given the arduous task to 'mine' (pun intended) my life and express it through chords and words only.

Ingeniously, Mitch and Peter came up with the idea of juxtaposing and contrasting the internecine American Civil war; a burgeoning nation's apocalyptic, genocidal, cataclysmal conflict where families were torn apart: young men blasted and bayonetted to death, wives widowed, children orphaned, a mewling country cleft in twain and Hell's furious portals unlocked and issuing an infernal tornado that scythed across a Confederate landscape creating in its path havoc, ruin and despair....with me getting on a bus and going to London for my ballet dancing.

Friends!
I give you the genius of Murray and Callender.
Please click below for:
Billy Don't Be A Hero by Paper Lace

If you have any questions to ask me about my life since the film please contact me through the blog.

Please No Trolls!

Together we can save British balllet

Love One Another

Billy x