PAUL: Hello and welcome to Regrets I've Had a Few.

I'm Paul Hunter, Artistic Director of Told

by an Idiot, and this is a podcast where I
talk to friends and colleagues,

delving into what made them
the person they are today.

Hello and welcome.

My guest this month has been a seminal

figure in alternative British
theatre for more than 30 years.

The company he co founded toured the world

and inspired a generation
of theatre makers.

As a performer and director,
he is equally at home on a motorbike

in a quarry, as he is on some
of Britain's most prestigious stages.

He has a true punk spirit
and is a dear friend.

Welcome, Mike Shepherd.

MIKE: I think that might be the best
introduction I've ever had.

PAUL: Well, you can have that, Mike.

That is from me to you.

I think about these introductions and I
was trying to keep it brief because you

don't want too much
of an introduction, do you?

But I'm glad you like it.

It's lovely to see you.

We normally meet in person.

Obviously we're Zooming, on this occasion,

we might touch on how we both feel
about Zoom, but not immediately.

Before I ask what is my usual first
question, I'm going to ask a difficult

question and if you can't answer it,
it's fine, we might return to it.

But obviously I didn't mention the company

that you co founded,
but it was and remains the glorious

Kneehigh who I've had the privilege
of working with a few times.

And such a joyous and extraordinary
thing that company was.

If you had to try and sum up the spirit
of Kneehigh, what would that be?

MIKE: Well, it's funny, isn't it?

You've touched on something here, because

I am a very positive person,
but I find making theatre quite often

comes out of the opposite of that

and some of the best theatre I've made, so

for example, Dead Dog in a Suitcase,
you look at that and you go, "What?

I don't want to do that."

it's all you know,
the blokes are all rogues and the women

are prostitutes and Macheath gets
reprieved, and then

when you delve into the knottiness,
the knottiness of that, then...

we'll put it this way,
I never went "Ah, this is Kneehigh.

This is easy.
This is what I want to do.

Dead dog in a suitcase,
the version of the Beggars Opera.

I know what I'm going to do." So
quite often I don't know what to do.

So I didn't know what to do.

For some reason, and God knows why,
I wanted to do theatre.

My only experience of it was playing

Oliver in St Austell
amateur dramatic society.

Terrible.
It should have put anyone off for life.

But then I was never allowed
to go to drama school.

I wasn't university material.

My choices were the military
or teachers training.

So I ended up in Balls Park College.

Ever heard of it? Of course you haven't.

And I directed Sondheim's Sweeney Todd
and also played three parts in it.

And I've just always had to do it.

And I have to say I've never
thought about it that much.

But I started Kneehigh because I tried

to get into the business,
I did the whole thing in London.

I had an agent
and it really didn't work for me and I

thought, I don't want to go into theatres,
I don't want to play to theatre audiences.

And you mentioned the word punk.

It was so important to do

something different and I mean,
there's more and more pressure,

isn't there, as we make work,
to make work that's going to work.

And I kind of willfully immersed myself
in stuff that really shouldn't work.

I mean, I've mentioned Dead Dog

in a Suitcase, that was almost
impossible to sell.

The number of theatres and how many

decades have we had now "Oh we've got
to attract a new audience, a new theatre.

We can't.
There's not an audience for that." And I

maintain, well,
there is an audience for it.

It's a Dead Dog in a Suitcase audience.

And absolutely there is.

But no, it wasn't your
standard theatre audience.

And Gemma Bodinetz and Deborah Aydon
weren't your standard theatre producers,

if you like, at Liverpool Everyman,
they took risks with a joyful anarchy

and celebrated not quite
knowing what they were doing.

So if I had to encapsulate Kneehigh,
it was punk.

We really had to enjoy ourselves.

We trod all sorts
of boundaries of otherness.

My event of the year was the circus
coming to town in St Austell.

Not Christmas, not my birth as a kid and I
used to hang out in the menagerie and look

at those kind of exotic,
those exotic people.

And I absolutely am not
an exotic person, but...

regrets, I've had a few,
I wish I'd been an exotic person

with a few more of those
circus skills, actually.

But it was that otherness.

Just behind me is a picture of my mum,

who died recently,
but she booked us into schools,

two shows in the morning,
two shows in the afternoon,

and we were going from six
in the morning to God knows what time.

We'd then get back and then we'd rehearse
the shows for the public at night,

and because we were rehearsing at night
and we'd been very polite

all day in schools,
we were really impolite,

we were rude, we were naughty,
we were anarchic, a bit wild, a bit sexy.

PAUL: Well, I think what you've just said is
a fantastic kind of summing up, I think,

of the Kneehigh spirit,
the boundaries of otherness, anarchic joy,

the naughtiness,
all of these extraordinary things.

And we'll touch more on Dead Dog
in a Suitcase as a show later on, because,

as you know, I was
an enormous fan of that show.

I think it was a brilliant,
brilliant piece of work.

Political and visceral and funny
and hugely entertaining.

But we'll come to that.

But I want to take you back,
if I may, to the Oliver!

you were mentioning in your younger days,

and I'm interested,
I often ask my guests this.

Obviously, that was a very early exposure

to performing, and you mentioned
the circus coming to town.

Was the circus your first taste of seeing

live performance, or was there other
opportunities for you to see live stuff?

MIKE: Not really.
As a child, other than my parents were

kind of post war, immediately after
the war, they were very much Londoners.

They'd had me and my sister.

I was still only one, and they basically
came to Cornwall to reinvent themselves.

But my mum, for some reason not my sister,
just used to take me back once a year.

I had a granny with a sweet shop

in Hammersmith (Result!)
and she used to take me to shows.

So I remember seeing
The Water Babies with a tank

in the West End with water
and Noddy, Noddy and Big Ears.

I can't say they were inspirations either.

PAUL: Obviously, you were growing up

in Cornwall, and were there any kind
of opportunities within school to perform?

Obviously, you mentioned Oliver!,
which obviously was a thing.

MIKE: There were.

I'm going to say this
and get it out there.

My God, how much damage
the Tories have done.

But back in the day, so it's all pre
National Curriculum etc. You

know, there was a whole drama
department at County Hall.

There were three Drama Advisors.

There were amazing men like Jerry Finch,
who was also the Fencing Captain.

He had long black ringlets.

Fencing Captain, of course,
long black ringlets.

He played the piano like a dream,

and he sung opera,
and he was on the Camborne sort of college

campus with a lot of ruffy
old kids in a nissen hut.

And you came in and he'd be cooking, he'd
be singing, he'd be a total inspiration.

And I remember doing two things.

I remember doing the ordinalia

at Perran Round when I was 15 and
I remember us doing Brecht Grusha,

The Caucasian Chalk Circle i
n the moat at Pendennis Castle.

So there was this kind of outdoor theatre

as well, but these inspirational
figures that of course all then got cut.

And I mean, the last thing anybody wants

anywhere on any staff now
is an inspirational figure.

PAUL: But you also mentioned,

you mentioned in your introduction that
in a sense, even if that interests had

been piqued in a variety of ways
from Brecht to the circus or whatever,

and inspirational people,
that the choices weren't there necessarily

for you to go to drama
school and university wasn't.

And you talked about
the military or teaching.

Can I just ask, what made
you choose between the two?

Why you didn't go down
the military option?

MIKE: Oh, there was no way. No way.
I didn't buy into that.

No.
Oh my God.

Yeah.

I kind of defiantly say I wasn't a hippie.

And then I see pictures of me
circa 1970 with headband.

Oh of course I was a hippie.

But we were all part of the peace movement
and it was, a hero was Cassius Clay,

Mohammed Ali, Dylan,
Lennon, that whole thing.

And we so fervently believed that we
were going to change the world.

And I think we were changing the world.

So, yeah, there's no way I'm
going in the military, mate.

PAUL: No, I couldn't imagine you unless we did
a really fun production of The Charge

of the Light Brigade and you played
one of those doddery old Generals.

We must chat about that.

However you embark on a teaching
career, as you said.

How long were you actually
working as a teacher for?

MIKE: I was very lucky because
to work as an artist at that time,

you could always find someone
to live in London and in Cornwall.

And I started off,

my first job was Archway Comprehensive
and I did that for a couple of years.

That was tough, but rewarding as well.

Kind of on the perimeter of the school
grounds again in a nissen hut.

So I'd got the inspiration,
if you like, of Jerry Finch.

And I repainted the place
because it was horrible.

I put music into it, I showed films,

I got a Baby Belling
and cooked delicious snacks.

And then all of the streets were

corrugated because the housing
had been cleared for rehousing.

So we went out and we
did a graffiti project.

I mean, you wouldn't be
allowed out now and then.

Graffiti project with a bit of posing
in front of it, which then became dance.

And I had a Polaroid camera as well.

And then we were kind of away.

And I think I learned then about what I

think is often negated is that you need
stuff, the conditions of creativity.

So I'm here at the Barns surrounded
by things and you need colour,

you need a bit of fresh air,
you need a tasty snack,

you need things to build
things and to inspire.

I do, anyway.

I'm not one of those people that can sit
in a vacuum and have a brilliant idea,

but I was probably in London for three,
four years whilst doing other things.

I sort of then went, you could turn up,

if you fancied teaching, you could turn up
the local office and just teach for a day.

And then I did the most
perfect job in Cornwall.

I kind of got headhunted by a headmaster
in Mevagissey, where I'm pretty much from,

and he said "Oh, I want you
to come to the primary school.

I don't want you to have your own class.

I want you to take over the schoolhouse"
which he previously lived in.

So the schoolhouse still had his dog,

it had a kitchen with an Aga,
it had a garden.

He basically said, do what you want.

So I'd be telling the story

of the gingerbread man to infants
and cooking them at the same time.

We created history projects which were
to do with the last hundred years.

So we did sort of tea and biscuits
and chats with grandparents.

We went to Heligan,
which was this lost kind of paradise.

So we'd be there all day,

we'd be building dens, doing drama, doing
poetry, bit of Maths, Traffic Census.

I used to take kids out on fishing boats.

PAUL: But all of what you describe, in a sense,
when you talk about the school in Archway

and then the school in Mevagissey
and I look at the Barns,

where I've had the pleasure and joy
to rehearse and spend time with you,

all feels kind of like almost
the genesis and principles of Kneehigh.

The idea of welcoming and nurturing
and holding people together,

that's clearly something
that obviously is in you.

But even though you weren't in the
Kneehigh, you hadn't created that yet.

It felt like all
the principles were in place.

Is that fair enough to say?

MIKE: Yeah, definitely.

And again, to do with those
conditions of creativity.

We all aspire to be generous around here.

You probably remember it.
There's a wall.

Yeah, I try to avoid
the colour black here.

There is a red wall on that wall.

It says generosity, wonder,
play, irreverence, anarchy.

And generosity is the top word.

I think we've all got to,

in our everyday lives, try to be
generous, which is a challenge.

PAUL: And also, I think that which I always
think of Kneehigh,

and it's obviously something that we place
a huge importance on at Told by an Idiot.

I think that generosity in the making
of something, in the playing of something

and in the sharing of something
with an audience,

I always feel those things were so
central to the Kneehigh, kind of, values.

So how did Kneehigh come about?

How did you actually get together
and then do that first piece of theatre?

MIKE: I certainly wasn't looking

through a Spotlight magazine, but I was
looking for people that were interesting.

So it's funny enough,
I've just done a little mini festival here

at the Barns where there's been
a Christmas show for local children,

there's been an amazing
singing group, there's been Annamarie

Murphy with her unbelievable,
exaggerated stories.

There's been
Caroline Ada doing her Anansi and there's

been somebody called Dave Mynne
doing his one person Christmas Carol.

Well,
Dave Mynne was one of the first Kneehigh

people and that came about by,
I was walking around Tesco and I was

going, I wonder, there's all this witty,
slightly naughty sign writing,

advertising the latest cheeses
or whatever with little cartoons.

And I thought, who's writing that?

So I saw to meet him and
we sort of became great mates.

And then Charlie Barnecutt was a local
farmer and just a natural actor.

And, yeah, he came for.

I don't know why I keep mentioning

St Austell amateur dramatic society,
because it certainly wasn't

an inspiration, but he clearly
was really competent.

So he became a brilliant straight man.

And the first thing we did
was Max Frisch's Fire Raisers.

PAUL: Yes, a great play.
I've been in that.

It's a great play.
MIKE: Yeah.

So Charlie Barnecutt was Biederman,
who's the man who's absolutely paranoid

that his business is threatened
in his household by the arsonists.

And then I was Eisenring,
who was one of the arsonists.

So that felt like the perfect
beginning for Kneehigh.

PAUL: And where were you playing? Where
did the show play?

MIKE: Well, that, funnily enough, did play
indoors in village halls and things.

But the next show was

The Adventures of Awful Knawful about
the world's greatest stuntman.

A remarkably fit chap who's just come back
from Australia and he's got to be in his

mid 60s, but he's still
running the cliffs.

He was the world

veteran triathlete champion, a guy called
John Mergler, and he was incredibly fit.

And we'd used to do these preposterous...

I was going to say they looked highly

dangerous, but they were bloody dangerous,
these stunts off the cliff,

off the harbours, used these
homemade pyrotechnics.

And then we'd bring people,

get someone to put up a tent and seat
people on straw bales for the evening.

That first show and the very first

performance, I got
arrested at the end of it.

PC Burstow was, the show was in the round
with four exits, and every time I came

off, PC Burstow went "Oi!" and
would chase me around.

I managed to keep going to the end

of the show, even entering when
I wasn't supposed to be on.

And then, yeah, he put me in a headlock

and marched me off because apparently
I didn't have a performance licence.

PAUL: That makes me think.
That is so brilliant.

That makes me think of two things.

It makes me think of one
of my favourite Danny Kaye films.

It's a film that ends with him being
chased by the baddies and the police

in a theatre, and he ends
up on stage in an opera.

And as singing the tune of the opera,

he improvises to the police
"They're coming to get me.

They're coming to get me."

I can't remember what it's called but the thought of
you being -

MIKE: It's not not called The Court Jester, no?

PAUL: No I don't know what it's called. Anyway,

we'll find that out and we can let
our listeners know to search that up.

And also, I have to say,

it's not the first time that you've
been accosted by people.

I'm thinking much further down the line
in Kneehigh, when you were accosted by,

you told the story of being accosted
by what sounded like an old brigadier

in Stratford for what he perceived
you were doing to Shakespeare.

But we'll come to that later, I suppose.

My next thought.

So you get going and you're
performing indoors and outdoors.

I just wonder what the influence
of Footsbarn was for you,

because obviously they came
slightly before you, didn't they?

Can you talk a bit about that?

MIKE: Footsbarn were a huge inspiration, again,

that alternative lifestyle,
that stepping beyond.

They put on a fantastic event.

And then they were still like Commedia,

where they'd still rock up
on a harbour with a simple stage.

And the work
was bloody funny and physical.

Certainly in those early days,
that they were a huge inspiration.

And also, I remember
when they went on Southwest television,

because they left sort of two years before
Kneehigh started and they tore their

Southwest Arts Grant cheque in half
and then they just set off across Europe.

They ended up in Portugal,
where they were singing for their supper,

and then they were adopted by France,
where, I mean, some sort of Footsbarn

still exists, but that young
Footsbarn were art.

They were fantastic,
brilliant, daring work.

Yeah, so huge inspiration.

PAUL: It's important, isn't it,

when we get often asked about this
and the influence that people have on what

you do and I suppose the equivalent
Footsbarn for you, the equivalent for us

was Complicité, which I've talked about
many times, but that influence doing stuff

that we hadn't seen before and John Wright
introducing us to that but obviously

Kneehigh went from strength to strength
and I'd like to, obviously now I think

about when we first met because
it was when you were doing a wonderful

Nick Darke play,
The Riot at the National Theatre and then

from my agent said "Oh,
you got an audition to meet Mike Shepherd

at the National with Kneehigh
and of course I'd heard of Kneehigh

and King of Prussia at the Donmar, you
know, so I knew who you were and I

remember meeting you and I felt
like we clicked and everything.

Then, of course,

obviously you didn't offer me the job,
which I absolutely, you know fair enough.

The journey after,

I remember coming to see the show and
enjoying it very much and Emma was in it.

Emma Rice was in the production, I think.

Yeah, amongst with some
other brilliant performers.

And then brilliantly,

you did remember me and then a couple
of years later you were reviving

the wonderful Red Shoes,
Emma's first big main show directed

for Kneehigh and you asked me would
I be interested and of course I was.

And I jumped on a train from London
and you said, come to the Barns.

And I'd never travelled South of Bristol.

So as we got further South and we got past

Plymouth, I thought blimey,
where am I going?

And then you picked me
up in in St Austell.

And you drove me to this place, the Barns,
and I think I was a bit open mouthed.

And obviously there was this extraordinary

place and then we chatted and you and Emma
said, let's go to the pub for lunch.

We walked around the back
of the Barns and there was the ocean.

And I think I said to you,

we've just been rehearsing under
a flyover in Westbourne Grove.

So to see this extraordinary home that you
had nurtured and created and that was

my first experience of working
with you, which was glorious.

But I wonder

at what point did it become clear
that Emma was wanting to make

that transition into directing because
she was such a great performer as well.

But was Red Shoes the tipping point?

MIKE: No, she came in and

she'd got a brilliant kind of training
she'd learned from Mike Alfreds.

She had been part of Alibi,
so had done a lot of that school's work

and storytelling work, and had a
slightly traumatic time, I believe,

in Gardzienice in Poland,
but had really learned from that as well.

And, I mean, she describes it where she

came and
she described us as kind of gypsies,

sat around a fire and this,
that and the other.

And it was very much anything goes.

And she definitely
added real rigour in terms of.

..not the physicality so much,
but the emotional depth of work.

And she was, I'm sure she won't mind me
saying this, I'm going to see her later.

We're going to The Lucky Chance in Frome.

But she was really bossy and me

and Bill, who were running the company
at time, were like "She's got to direct".

So we were always looking
for other people to direct.

And the first thing she directed,
and that was brilliant,

it was before the Red Shoes, it was a
version of The Changeling called The Itch.

And we were becoming a little kind
of uncomfortable, the outdoor work - we

suddenly realised that we were playing
to fairly wealthy audiences with their

picnic hampers, coming for this,
bloody word that gets overused,

this 'quirky' theatre
company that is 'delightful'.

And then suddenly they're coming along
and there's this show called The Itch,

where one of the greatest villains of all
time De Flores, they're having sex up

against the crucifix while
stabbing each other to death.

That got rid of that audience.

And then came the Red Shoes, but she was

quite clearly a really brilliant,
natural director.

I loved her performances.

If she was part of this Zoom,
she would do herself down as an actor,

but I think she just had
a brilliant clarity and simplicity.

PAUL: I totally agree, Mike.
I totally agree.

My memories of seeing Emma
in shows was exactly that.

I thought she was wonderfully playful

and a great energy and,
as you say, a sort of simplicity.

But then, obviously,
once I'd kind of connected and we'd become

pals, there was such an extraordinary
period for the company, wasn't there?

I mean, both here and internationally,
all over the place,

and a world of extraordinary shows,
which many listeners will know,

from Tristan and Yseult to one of my
favourites, The Bacchae, which I adored.

And that kind like...

It felt like being in an audience around

that time where in some ways, it felt
more like people who followed a band.

The energy and passion that people have

for music sometimes doesn't always
translate to theatre,

but whenever I was seeing a lot of your
shows, that's what I felt in the audience.

It was like, oh, the next album had
come out, or the next kind of...

And I think that's for me,
what it felt like.

What does it felt like when you suddenly,

obviously you toured internationally
before, but did it feel like,

were you conscious that you were in quite
a special period for the company that I'm

referring to, or is it just the show
followed show sort of thing?

MIKE: No, it was definitely a special time.

And my God, in 2023, looking back,
you go, oh my God, we were blessed.

There was Cymbeline in Colombia and Brazil

at the same time as Rapunzel in New York,
at the same time as Brief Encounter

in the West End, the same time as
Blast in Cornish village halls.

That feels incomprehensible now.

PAUL: No, I'm sure.
And as you say, sometimes the stars align

in such a way with things that you
don't want to think about it too much.

But it does become a special time.

At this point in the podcast, it's time
to go to our Ask an Idiot question.

So let's see what a listener
wants to ask Mike this episode.

CALLER: Hi Mike, my name is Harry,
and I'd like to ask if there's one piece

of advice you could go back
and give your younger self.

What would it be?

PAUL: Oh, good question, Harry.

MIKE: One piece of advice.

That's hard, Harry, for me, because
I'm not a great believer in advice.

I'm not sure how much....uh

I've always wanted to work instinctively.

I've always listened to other people,

for example, the wonderful John Wright,
and learned from them.

But the advice to my younger
self would be, keep arrogance.

And arrogance is a bad word, isn't it?

Oh, he's an arrogant so and so.

But arrogance means for me as well,

a real belief,
because I think particularly

in the theatre world or the arts now,
there is so much pressure.

So my advice would be, stay arrogant.

Don't ever judge an idea.

Don't concern yourself whether
an idea is good, bad or indifferent.

Take that idea for a hop, skip and a jump.

But that's not giving advice to myself,
because that's what I did.

PAUL: Well, well, I think it's great advice.

Really, really on the nail.
I think.

So, Mike, I'd like to come now
to where we started in a way.

You touched on a glorious show,
Dead Dog in a Suitcase,

with collaboration with the wonderful
Carl Grose, who you worked with for many,

many years, and obviously
so we at the Idiots.

And we had the good fortune at that time
when you just opened it to be working

together with the brilliant Joe Wright
on his Pan movie.

So we were hanging out that glorious
summer in some field in Bedford,

and you just opened, I remember you came
to the shoot and to the set,

and you showed me these images and I
thought, wow, it looks amazing.

And then I finally got to see it

on a couple of occasions,
and I just thought it was such a,

genuinely, such a brilliant
fusion of things.

That's what struck me.

And I love the fierce
politics of the piece as well.

But as I said, at the same time,

aligned with real wild
entertainment and all mixed together.

And you often talk about,

which you said earlier,
which I really like, is not necessarily

knowing what something's going
to be or how you're going to do it.

But that piece, which, again,
toured globally,

I suppose what I'm saying is how much
of that was about the combination

of personalities, because you had
the great Charles Hazlewood, of course.

So how much of that was about
the people that were around you?

I suppose.

MIKE: Yeah, I mean, you build
brilliant creative teams.

I love a creative team around me.

And the different eras of Kneehigh.

You've mentioned Emma,
there's Bill Mitchell, you mentioned

Nick Darke and this era with Carl,
who actually came to the company initially

as an apprentice and is another brilliant
performer, but is a fantastic writer.

So a combination of Carl,

Charlie Hazlewood, Etta Murffit,
I love working with, from Matthew Bourne.

She was sort of

just sat on your shoulder and you'd be
rehearsing something, she'd be going,

well, that's not very good,
that bit, is it, Mike?

And I said, no.
Got any ideas?

No, not in the moment.

And we were just all the time
trying to make things.

Trying to make things better.

And then Sarah Wright with the puppetry,

I've mentioned before,
things often come from adversity,

but that piece, I go, okay, so what is it
about this piece that does interest me?

And it was to do with the politics,

and it was to do with John Gay and his
furious sort of reaction to the ruling

classes and the aristocratic masses
going to Italian opera and swanning about.

So he went, right,
I'm going to take the songs of the street

from the beggars and make
this beggars opera.

So it was kind of profoundly political
and having a go at everybody, really,

and Punch and Judy, you know all our
background with Punchinello and Commedia,

and that was clearly
on the streets at the time.

Incidentally, I've just been performing
Punch and Judy with Sarah Wright for local

audiences and thinking, oh, my God,
this is probably really inappropriate

know, throw the baby out the window,
whacking each other.

But somehow that kind you know
the frustration we have all got

at the moment with what's going on and our
inability to do anything about it.

That kind of anarchy,
that kind of revolution.

So it comes back to punk again.

And all those things were
in it for me with Dead Dog.

PAUL: As I said, I saw it a couple
of times and adored it.

And then for me, not that you thought it

like this, but it felt like it began
a kind of trilogy of shows,

followed by The Tin Drum and Ubu,
both of which I adored.

And this kind of...

It almost felt like they sat together as
a kind of mini body of work that I found

so alive and so dynamic
and also very prescient.

It felt like quite timely in a way, which,
of course, you can't plan for,

but my feeling,
and bringing my kids and Sarah Jane,

Dexter and Elsie to see Ubu at Christmas
in Shoreditch town hall, and Dexter said

"Dad, this is great." And
he's not an avid theatre goer.

He'd rather watch the football,
of course, but he clearly loved that.

And I think that it did push those things.

And then I think about more recently,

you know we get together,
we chat all the time,

we see each other and mutual
pals and all that kind of stuff.

And coming down to the Barns to work

with you for a week was such a joy when
you were developing your Calvino thing.

I hope I'm allowed to mention

the beginnings of an idea around
Grimaldi that you're cooking up.

And I think that also sounds, for me,

brilliantly Commedia, the notion of where
that sits somehow, both those ideas.

But especially Grimaldi,

I was reminded before we started talking
of a brilliant quote by Jacques Lecoq.

I think he describes Commedia,
the best I've heard,

where he says 'Commedia contains
all the essentials of life.

Trying to eat,

trying to procreate and trying desperately
to avoid death.' That kind of captures it.

And I think I look forward to whatever
your journey is with the Grimaldi because

I know it's been around for a while
and it's a perfect project.

Mike, as we draw to a close,

I always end by asking my guests
seven rapid fire questions.

You say the first thing
that comes into your head.

Here we go.

Tony Benn or Tony Blair?

MIKE: Tony Benn.

PAUL: The next question is a fantasy question.

Five wickets at Lords or the winning goal
for Plymouth Argyle in the cup final?

MIKE: Five wickets at Lords.

PAUL: Motorbike or campervan?

MIKE: Motorbike.

PAUL: Tom Waits or Bob Dylan?
MIKE: Tom Waits.

PAUL: Hesitate or demonstrate?

MIKE: Hesitate.

PAUL: Cheese fondue or cheese soufflé?

MIKE: What's the first one?

Fondue or soufflé?

PAUL: Fondue or soufflé?

MIKE: Soufflé I think.

PAUL: Tilda Swinton or Juliette Binoche?

MIKE: Tilda Swinton.

PAUL: Mike, it's been an absolute joy and people

are going to be so pleased to enjoy
hearing you talk so passionately about

something you've done so brilliantly
and continue to do so brilliantly.

So thank you for sharing your time,

and we'll get together and have
one of our regular beers very soon.

MIKE: Brilliant.
PAUL: Cheers, Paul.

I'm Paul.
Haha! Cheers, Mike.

See you later.
Take care.

Cheers mate.
MIKE: Bye bye.

PAUL: Dear listeners, if you've enjoyed this
Idiot podcast, please spread the word.