Spam, Spam, Spam Lovely Spam

I requested my good playwright friend Kenneth Emberly and his then lady wife Therese bring me two specific presents from the land of England – Spam, and Soil.

Kenneth and Therese had planned to travel to Kent, the home of Monty Python’s now deceased Graham Chapman who once lived in a rambling abode called The Old Hermitage.

I was recently watching Monty Python’s Personal Best – Graham Chapman on PBS, and laughed uproariously when the other Python lads mentioned that Graham made a lot of ‘instant friends.’ on the road, which in my case, was very true.

When Chapman was touring Canada in the late 80’s, we spent the night together – not what YOU wankers think – we stayed up all night talking about comedy, and Python’s pithy forefathers. I had written a piece for now defunct pop-culture gospel Graffiti Magazine called Life After Python and we simply continued our discussion from the first meeting.

For Graffiti, I had Graham comment on various Python solo projects from Terry Gilliam’s Brazil and John Cleese’s Clockwise, to Terry Jones’ Personal Services and Michael Palin’s The Missionary. I felt quite comfortable further discussing the various genres of Brit wit – yes there is a difference between Oxford and Cambridge comedy schools of thought.

So when Kenneth and Therese said they were going to Kent I concocted my madcap Spam and Soil scheme. The Emberlys and good pal driver Derek who recently joined Graham in his heavenly domain, drove off to find Barming, Kent. Kenneth told me when they reached the town, the word Barming on the sign had been crossed out and replaced by 'Barmy. '

They couldn’t find the Old Hermitage but did, manage to bring me some Barming soil and -selfish me- didn’t even stop to think of the mad cow disease risk! Oh Barmy..my lionheart...

My Spam wish also came true with great panache. I received the classic square tin from life during wartime complimented by the modernized round can model.To the curiosity of many friends, I proudly displayed the Spams in my kitchen window, and sadly with time, the labels faded and the tins rusted. If opened, the Spams would explode, the stench of rotting luncheon meat spewing everywhere as if five million volts had been pumped through it.

Kenneth and Therese think I am Barmy. I know Derek, to whom I dedicate this blog, had a delicious sense of humour, and called me Red, thought I was.

And Tosh, I did ask the Mighty Graham - why Spam?

He took a long drawn out puff on his pipe, and quietly replied ...“there’s not an easy answer to that question… “