#9 Inspiration and stand up with Denise Scott

Denise Scott talks about how she used her book, "All that happened at number 26"  to get inspiration for her live stand up comedy show. She also gives a very funny account of her family life with her Mum and her kids, and tells about the time a fan in Tasmania mistook her for Denise Drysdale!

In the late 1980s and early 1990s Denise was a member of comedy group "The Natural Normans" ("Australia's leading "drag kings"), with Lynda Gibson, Sally Anne Upton and Lynne McGranger.

Denise was also co-host of the "Dave and Denise with Shaun Micallef" breakfast show on Vega FM in Melbourne. Denise is now writing her new novel.

This talk was recorded on Wednesday 2 December 2009 at Brunswick Library.

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Transcript

Denise Scott: But I didn’t have a clue what show to do at the Comedy Festival. I couldn’t think of any new themes that I hadn’t explored. So I thought, “I know – I’ll adapt my book for the stage.”

And what a dumb idea – because I honestly did it because I was lazy as hell. I thought, “This’ll be great. I’ll just take this, you know, and use that.” And man, it requires skill, can you believe it, to adapt a book to the stage – skill! I was horrified. And so spent … I did like eight drafts for the stage show, until …

Anyway, that’s the show I was doing, at the Opera House. So it’s been worth it. But my family’s so sick of me talking about them now, you know, it’s quite alarming for them.

This is the only book I’ve written; and I am attempting to write a fiction now. And … oh, what a pain in the arse that is! I can’t believe how hard it is. And when I say “fiction”, it’s about a 54 year old tubby comedian who goes on a road show with young comedians, which is something that I have done quite a bit of. Because Comedy Festival … at the end of every Comedy Festival, they send … because I do work as a stand-up comic, I should say that; and they send, say, seven comedians off in small planes and vans and things to tour to regional centres and just do stand-up shows. And this year it was really tragic – the first day, when I realised I was older than all the other comedian’s mothers. Like that makes me feel good. And all guys, of course – all young male comics; and off we go in the van.

But I’ll quickly tell you this story, because it did happen. And it was … I was writing the last chapter of the book, and I was trying to squeeze it in the last chapter, but it wasn’t relevant; but I was in Tasmania – and some of you might have heard this story on “Spicks and Specks”, ’cause it had an outcome … I told it on “Spicks and Specks” – and I’d done the show in Launceston; and afterwards, at interval, this 21 year old guy – I’d done my 20 minutes of stand-up – and this 21 year old guy comes up to me in the foyer after the show and says, “Oh, Denise you were awesome.” Yeah. Thank you.

And this is absolutely true – he said, “Oh, wait’ll I tell my Mum I’ve met Denise Richards!” I swear to God, that’s what he said. And I … of course, I said, “I’m not Denise Richards.” And for those of you who don’t know, Denise Richards is that American actress – very tall, very slim, very tanned, very young looking, very sexy, you know, American actress – so why would he get me mixed up with her? I don’t have an American accent.

But anyway, I said, “I’m not Denise Richards.” And I swear to God he then said, “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I meant Denise Drysdale!” Oh, dear. Anyway, I said, “I’m not Denise Drysdale – I’m Denise Scott.” So, fine.

And then the next day, he … I meet up with him accidentally in this hamburger shop in downtown Launceston; and he’s like excited out of his mind again. And he said, “I’m so excited to meet you – this is fantastic! Because I’ve been up all night, Denise, making a tee-shirt in your honour. And I’m going to be playing in my band tonight at this pub in Launceston. I’d love you to come and see me perform, and I’m going to be wearing the tee-shirt.” Right.

So I’m sort of thinking, “Look at you!” Going, “Mmm.” Yeah, but you’re young – I’m 54. I’d take anything. Any attention – I just lap it up.

So anyway. I thought, “Well, I’ll go.” You know. So I do – I rock up to this pub, and it’s uni night – have we got any uni students in? Yes, you are! You’re the one going, “Oh, no good.” ’Cause you know what goes on at these uni nights! There was a couple in the corner having sex, I swear. Well I don’t know – it’s been a long time. I think it was sex.

But anyway. So I’m … you know, I go to this pub – ’cause I, you know, I want to support this young boy. And sure enough, there he is onstage, and he’s wearing the tee-shirt. And it’s got … across the top he’s got printed, “Not Denise Richards” – with the “Richards” crossed out …

Is that a blowfly or … ? Anyway, I’m going to risk swelling up like a balloon for you. It’s a …

Audience Member: It’s a fly.

Denise Scott: Oh, it’s just a fly. Oh, I bring them everywhere with me. It’s great – all these blowies.

But across the top of the tee-shirt, it had “Not Denise Richards”, with the “Richards” crossed out. And then it had “Not Denise Drysdale”, with the “Drysdale” crossed out. And then underneath that, it had, “But Denise Scott”. And then underneath that it had a big picture of my head, right – and underneath the picture it had, “Makes me moist”!

So maybe you are right. Maybe stalking, hey? Can you imagine it? I don’t even know what that means, really, when you think about it! You think at first you know what it means; but then you think, “Moist? Mmm, no, I don’t know what that means.”

I’ve thought about having tee-shirts made; I think they’d sell quite well. The interesting … I … see, this must have gone to air on “Spicks and Specks” recently. They prerecord “Spicks and Specks” in the earlier part of the year. So … because I’ve got an e-mail sent to my agent from this kid – so he’s stalking – alright, alright! But he’s the only stalker I’ve got; let me lap it up.

No, but he was interesting, because he said after it went to air, he became a minor celebrity. And they were tracing this Tristan all over Launceston. “Who was the Tristan that said this?” ’Cause I’d mentioned “Tristan from Launceston”. And then eventually a radio station tracked him down and interviewed him, and asked if he tried to get it on with me. Which is pretty weird, isn’t it? And he denied it. But isn’t that strange? Strange events.

And I guess it’s things like that – well, it’s not things like that. It’s … I remember all these things; and I guess that’s been one of my characteristics – I remember details. And then I have to say I reshape stories, of course, to give them a nice little ending – little bit of a funny ending or something. I do a bit of reshaping; but … and that’s what came to the fore.

And in writing this book – look, I’ll shut up and read you a bit, actually. But the reason I wrote it – I’d always wanted to write a book – like, you know, you fantasise and think, “Oh, it’d just be great.” And … but I never would have done it, except that I was working on Vega, which is the radio station that most people don’t listen to. An enormous number of people don’t listen to Vega. And I was working on there, from when it first started – I was doing breakfast radio with Shaun Micallef and Beverley O’Connor initially, and then Dave O’Neill. And really, very few people were listening; but Fran Berry, who is the head publisher at Hardy Grant, did listen.

And she thought the stories … ’cause you tell everything on radio, because that’s what commercial radio want. And you’re so desperate for ideas to fill the three hours that you literally do talk about the fact that your husband did an amazing fart last night; and wow; and who’s done a fart; and who’s … you know, “Give us a call.” Or you talk about, you know, price of zucchinis – aren’t they expensive? “Give us a call.” You know, all that sort of stuff. It’s literally that, you know – what do you do with zucchinis? Ha, ha, ha. And you try and convert everything into a story for radio.

So she rang and asked to meet with me, and said, “We think your stories would make a great book.” And I was like, “You’re an idiot.” But I decided to go with it. And I was really glad I did – because I quit the radio. Well, I say quit – I did quit; I didn’t get the sack; but I think that was just around the corner, you know what I mean – you think, “I reckon I might just quit, ’cause I’d rather that than have it in the ‘Green Guide’ that I’ve been sacked.” So I quit.

But … so I’ll read you a bit; it is based … No. 26 is the house that John and I – John’s my partner; we never married – oh, I know, risqué – but you know, hippies, never got round to getting married; never saw the point of it; just slack. Like John still asks me – we’ve been together 28 years; he still asks me. And I still say, “Oh, I don’t know. Not sure yet.” But we’ve been together 28 years, and this was the first house we ever bought, and we still live in it. And … yes, and I decided to … because that is what consumed my life, most of my adult life. And I thought stardom and celebrity would; but sadly, no. It was family and a little bit of poverty and all that sort of stuff. Which I think is a much more interesting life; but … anyway.

Now, this first bit I’ll read is about … it’s a chapter devoted entirely to eczema. And you don’t get that in too many books. I mean, there are books like “Greys” that feature eczema as a thing; but … ’cause my kids were covered in it. And in fact, in a stage show, my son – Jordie Lane – he’s a really good singer / song­writer / muso – he wrote a ballad that I sang in a stage show. And he wrong it, and it was called, “Do You Know What it’s Like to be the Mother of the Ugliest Child in the Play­group?” Think about it. He wrote it – not me! They’ve turned out fine.

So this is a bit from the part about eczema, and where both kids are little and covered in it, head to foot.

“Another time, I went to visit an old friend, and I use the word ‘friend’ loosely. Taking one look at my kids, she immediately started raving. ‘Oh, my hair­dresser had eczema as a child! In fact, he had it all over his face just like your daughter.’

‘Oh, and how does he look now?’

‘Fucked! His face is absolutely fucked. Covered in scars from all the scratching.’

Poor little Bon; because the eczema was on her face. She looked so much worse than Jordie. The white mesh sides of her portable cot were all permanently smeared with blood from rubbing her cheeks on them to try and get some relief. She had no hair or eyebrows because of the scratching and rubbing. Her eyes were all puffed and swollen, because it was also on her eyelids.

Meanwhile, my Mum would ring and ask, ‘Denise, do you think there’s any chance of getting a Pixi photo of Bonnie? She’s the only grand­child I haven’t got on the lounge room wall.’

‘Yeah, sure, Mum – I’ll get that done soon.’

‘Well you’d better get a move on – I wanted to match the other kids’ photos, and they were all about six months old when they had theirs taken.’

Of course I was waiting for Bonnie’s skin to clear; but time was running out. Finally, when Bonnie was nearly eight months old, I saw it advertised that the PixiFoto man was due to appear at our local K-Mart. I knew what I had to do.

I put Bonnie in her best dress, popped her in the pusher, and headed to the store. We waited in the PixiFoto queue; and when we were two babies away from photo time, I knelt down in front of Bonnie and brazenly produced a cosmetics bag from under the pusher. Acting as though it was a perfectly normal thing to do, I then began covering Bonnie’s face with some of my stage makeup. A thick pancake base applied with a specially made sea sponge; then I gave her just a touch of blush; and then I thought, ‘Well look, while I’m here, I may as well.’ And that’s when I drew on some eye­brows.”

This is an aside – Bonnie is now 23 – fabulous looking, skin cleared. And she’s currently living in Berlin. I talk about her art­work, ’cause it’s quite a confronting thing. And she’s gone off to Berlin to live the life of the Bohemian artist; and she was so poor – she’s living on a sack of potatoes and wine that costs 70 cents a litre, she was telling me – but she actually did contemplate suing as a way of making … she said, “I’ve got your book, Mum – and if I need to, I’ll just sue,” because she was so poor. She might. I was very cautious about what I wrote about them, actually.

And this … well, maybe I should … see, there’s a bit about the circus. I’ve got circus; we’ve got affairs. Mmm. They led … one led to the other. But I’ll read you a bit about circus.

John – who I’ve been with for 28 years – at one point, when I first got a job on TV – which was the big gig, so that was the early ’80s – and John decided he would stay at home and become a house husband. And you know, do all the work and look after the kids, and you know. And while he was at it, he decided he would set up his own community children’s circus. Because that sort of thing doesn’t take any time at all, does it? And this is where things went a little awry in our relationship. All this wonderful circus stuff – and I couldn’t have been more bitter and twisted.

But this is a happy part of the circus, before it went awry.

“It must be stilts in general were giving me the shits. As the parent of a child, stilts … ”

Have we got any parents of stilt-walkers in here? I believe in Brunswick, we have. I reckon amongst this … Anyone? Who’s had anything to do with circus?

I don’t believe it. I really don’t. I reckon in Brunswick … Have you had anything to do with … ?

Denise Scott: Her daughter’s all about circus!

Denise Scott: Yeah, and she’s not here – she’s probably doing something with circus business.

“It must be said that stilts in general were giving me the shits. As the parent of a child stilt walker, it was … ”

I have to say – you know the word “shits”? Because I was. I do swear a lot. And as part of writing the book, I worried about the amount of swearing in it; because I wanted everyone to be able to enjoy it. And I knew people like my mother, who I … as I explain later, I only could write because she has Alzheimer’s; that’s the only way I could write the book, ’cause Mum just loathes what I talk about.

But anyway … but I have to say, because of her Alzheimer’s, she’s really quite rapt in … she thinks I’m a waitress; and she is rapt – she’s so proud of me. So it’s all worked out very well.

But I did try and not swear; and it was the editor who put the word “shits” in. I crossed it out! I said, “No, I think there should be something more literary.” And she said, “But ‘shits’ says what you mean, doesn’t it?” I went, “Well, yeah.” So back it went.

“It must be said that stilts in general were giving me the shits. As the parent of a child stilt walker, it was expected that you discreetly walk beside them in a parade and assist them if they fell. If this unfortunate situation occurred – and it always did – you could simply tell your child to put their hands around your neck, and then you dragged them along behind you until you found a suitable place to try and stand them up again.

It was this experience that prompted me to observe that any parent who claimed they enjoyed watching the Moomba Parade had clearly never had to help their own child walk down Swanson Street on a pair of stilts. Never did that stretch of road seem so endless, so eternal; so like the Nullarbor, stretching on and on and on. Oh, at the start of the parade, it was all squeals and laughter and joking as the kids set off with their long, brightly coloured pants and big, tall, funny foam hats. But by Lonsdale Street, this merriment was replaced by despair, anxiety, and exhaustion.

‘Are we there yet? My legs – my legs are hurting.’

‘Come on, keep going – only another three kilometres to go.’

At the end of this particular parade, all the kids were lying on the grass outside the Art Centre. Parents were massing their children’s cramped little legs and providing drinks and snacks. That’s when we heard the announcement. ‘The winner for best community group in the Moomba Parade is … the Little Big Tops!’”

(That was the circus.)

“This was great news, until John explained to us that as part of the prize, we had to do a lap of honour, around the Alexandra Gardens, on stilts.

‘You’ve got to be joking. This is insane – completely insane. It’s ridiculous; it’s cruelty to children. I’m going to kill John when we get home for putting me and my kids through this hell. Another fucking lap! They can’t be serious!’ I muttered and cursed as I tied Bonnie’s stilts back on.

John yelled, ‘Okay, kids – is everybody ready? Off we go!’ Saucepan lids were banged together, creating the primitive rhythmic percussive beat that singled it was time to head ’em up and move ’em out. That’s when Bonnie said, ‘Mum – I need to go to the toilet!’ I looked at her, willing her not to be serious.

‘Oh, God, can’t you hang on?’

‘No!’ She looked as though she was about to burst into tears, which was understandable. It’s bad enough to wet your pants in public; but to wet them from a great height …

‘It’s alright, Bon. Don’t worry,’ I said in a clearly tense, what-the-hell-are-we-going-to-do worried-sick sort of voice. ‘Come on, I’ll take off your stilts and we’ll find a toilet.’

‘Mum, there isn’t time! It’s coming!’

Oh, God! Oh, Jesus Christ! Where? Where in God’s name is there a toilet in the city?’ And that’s when I saw it – the Art Centre spire. ‘Come on, Bonnie!’

We took off at great speed. Bonnie was impressive, effortlessly weaving in and out of the crowd on her tall stilts. We hurried into the foyer of the great Concert Hall where, much to my dismay, there was a sea of white hair and walking frames. A senior citizens’ concert was about to start.

‘Excuse me, please, I’m sorry – excuse me, but can we get through?’

A couple of women in their eighties turned around and began to crankily berate me for being rude and pushing in. Their heads slowly looked up until they caught sight of Bonnie’s head, standing a good metre and a half above them. I explained, ‘I’m so sorry, but my daughter’s in a hurry to go to … ’

‘Off you go, darling.’ And they made room for us to pass. I heard one of them say, ‘It must be all the hormones in the chicken … It’s a joke, Beryl! Oh, forget it.’

Bonnie and I arrived at the toilet to find a long queue. All of these elderly women accepted without question that Bonnie needed to go in a desperate hurry; and it was they who insisted she move to the head of the line. Knowing from my own mum and her friends just how weak an elderly woman’s bladder could be, I appreciated their generosity.

Finally, Bonnie and I were in the cubicle. Now what? Having to lower a child onto a toilet seat when they’ve got six feet of legs that don’t bend is not easy. Bonnie stood in front of the toilet bowl and I stood facing her. She bent over slightly and put both hands on my head to balance herself. In this position, I managed to get Bon’s pants down. She then bent further forward, wrapped both arms around my neck, and slowly slid down until she was seated on the toilet bowl, and her stilts were sticking out the bottom of the toilet door.

I heard one old lady trip over them and jokingly say, ‘Oh well – there goes my hip.’”

And that goes along; and then it … in fact, this writing about the circus, initially I really did present it like we were some kind of Brady bunch, you know – which wasn’t the case. And in fact, I found out and discovered through writing the book, that it was about to some extent a war that went on between John and I – and even though we did fun sort of work, as to who had the right to work; and who really did do all the housework, and the child minding. And it was all about all those kind of issues that Baby Boomer parents faced; and it was full on, and in fact led to really, I suppose, the … well, to “Chapter 12”, as our family calls it. “Chapter 12” – we never say … we just go, “Chapter 12”.

And it was Chapter 12 that I was … that wasn’t in the first draft. And … because it did involve talking about – well, affairs. And yeah, okay – I just feel ridiculous talking about it; you know, like, why? I haven’t got a Premier or anything to embarrass like that. And … but in fact, I found out that through writing the book, that this was about a relationship and how, I suppose, to keep a family together. And so I didn’t have Chapter 12. And Chapter 12 is about the renovation of No. 26 – so it was sort of crucial that I have it there.

But what happened during the renovation – you’re going to have to buy it, really, to find out. But you know, if you are having renovations – I just don’t recommend you have an affair with the builder. That’s all I’m saying. But you know, whatever.

No, but it was Chapter … yes, I’ll shut up now. Because I do – I want to … I give away too much.

But yes; so Chapter 12 was the big, I suppose, for me, a learning curve, in that if you are going to write a memoir, you really have to do it. And you have to … whilst you don’t have to give away stuff about other people, you do have to go in warts and all. And since I decided to write about the house, I decided that I would have to write Chapter 12. Because it was a crucial turning point.

And so then I had to go through it all again with John; and we’d be out in the station wagon out the front of the house, having arguments from 15 … like, resolving things from 15 years ago. It was all very cathartic, in fact, in the end. Anyway – enough said. I’ll let you ask questions. You can ask anything.

And this last bit I’ll read is about my Mum and her Alzheimer’s, because that also became very relevant to No. 26 and my life there. Because as I say in the show, it’s not in the book – part of it is; but I don’t know how many of you are dealing with people with Alzheimer’s – I few, I would imagine? It’s pretty common. And heart­breaking. And there comes the time when you have to find emergency accommodation for the person – like, my Mum was living at home on her own, and it just became … as was predicted by all the carers and the people, they’ll say, “There will come an event that means you just have to get them out of home then and there.” And the event happened. And I’ll spare you what the event was; you don’t want to know.

And so we found emergency accommodation within walking distance of 26. ’Cause we hadn’t … you know, we knew this was coming. But I don’t know how many of you avoid and go into denial – but we avoided looking at dementia units and all; really keeping our fingers crossed Mum would die before she had to do that. But healthy as an ox; so …

And so it’s in walking distance of No. 26. It’s in Thornbury there; and … so which is fantastic, ’cause it means I can visit her every day. I don’t – but, you know. If I cared enough, I could. That’s how I talk about it in the show. It’s all too true – you start off visiting every … and then you sort of get a bit caught up in other things.

And she’s still there. And I really, really actually enjoy going there, believe it or not. And so I’ll just … this is about the morning we took Mum into the hostel. And John and I had stayed the night with Mum, and Mum – who’s by this stage forgotten to eat, and hasn’t cleaned her … you know, all those things that happen; she didn’t know how to turn on the radio, all that – suddenly that morning, she knew how to do everything again. And she’d cook breakfast, a really nice breakfast, and she’d turn on the radio, and the best table­cloth was out.

“And then my sister, Julie, arrived. And we had to tell Mum that she was going into respite. She’s no fool – she knew what respite could mean. She busied herself cleaning up the house. I packed her small vinyl suitcase, finding a new toilet bag which had a new tooth­brush, tooth­paste, and a cake of soap in a container that she’d obviously had ready in case of an emergency.

For 50 years, Mum had lived in her home. And here we were, on this seemingly normal day, packing her bag; all of us knowing deep down that she would never set foot inside it again. It was time to go.

Mum said, ‘Hang on – there’s something I’ve got to do.’ She went and ironed a hanky, which she put in her handbag. She straightened the towels in her bathroom, and folded the face washer and put it neatly beside the basin.

Julie and I were seated in the Hostel Manager’s Office. We’d been greeted at the locked doors of the Dementia Unit by a happy black curly-haired dog and an enormously fat cat. The Manager explained that this respite bed was in fact a permanent place, if we decided that’s what we wanted. Without hesitating, Julie and I said, ‘We want it. We want it.’

It was then explained that the accommodation bond would cost $200,000. ‘Oh,’ I said, trying to sound casual. ‘And how do we get that sort of money?’

‘Well, does your mother own a house?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, you sell it.’

Oh, Jesus! Between us, my sister and I have never sold a house before, let alone sold our mother’s treasured haven without telling her, to put her into accommodation she had always openly derided. If ever Stephen King’s advice … ”

(Which I talked about in the book … )

“If ever Stephen King’s advice to just dive in and do something as quickly as possible before self-doubt overtakes was applicable, it was now. And I hadn’t even read his book then.”

And it goes on about how we sold Mum’s house.

“And the first time I took our dog, Raffy … ”

Raffy’s a little scruffy sort of mutt, who I’ve talked about in the book before, too.

“The first time I took our dog Raffy to the hostel, he was so overcome that he did a big poo in the middle of the dining room / sitting room area. I didn’t have a bag on me, and I couldn’t attract a member of staff; so I desperately tried to stop elderly people from walking on it. One resident, who at that stage of her Alzheimer’s could only speak French, was heading straight for it.

‘Non! Non, Leonie! Non! (29:52)! Merde! Merde, Leonie! Merde!’

I was doing my best with my limited recall of schoolgirl French. Leonie looked at me as if to stay, ‘You’re standing astride a piece of poo, speaking in weird French, and I’M the one in the Dementia Unit?’

I leant down and apologised to an old lady sitting nearby. She looked at me incredulously. ‘Why are you apologising, darling?’

‘Well, because my dog has just done a big poo at your feet, Teresa.’

She was adamant. ‘You must never apologise for something like that. After all, darling, we all do it, don’t we?’

‘Sure, I agree with you, Teresa, we all do do poo. But not usually in the middle of a public dining room.’

She leant towards me conspiratorially – ‘Actually, darling, I think most of us in here have done exactly that.’”

That gave me a good idea; so on the way out, I just said to one of the staff, “I think one of the residents has … ”

No, I didn’t – see, that’s a lie. See, that’s not in the book, ’cause I only put the truth. I didn’t really say that – I just worked that up for a bit of stand-up comedy.

Now – oh, look at that time! I just faff on. Sorry, I’m the only one with water. It’s a bit … If you’ve got any questions, please feel free to ask. Oh, I’ll just bore you with answers.

Yes – tales of woe story. Judith’s were pretty good tales of woe. I couldn’t compete with those. Judith Lucy is a stand-up comic who wrote a phenomenally successful show about her experiences at Fox Radio in Sydney, where she wreaked havoc with their ratings, and therefore she copped a lot. Whereas when I was working at Vega, we didn’t cop any of that sort of brutality. It was just the hours killed me – they really killed me. The money was great; the hours were shocking.

And also, you were thrown into this thing where suddenly Shaun Micallef and I – who’ve never had a conversation in our lives – have got to be talking on air at six a.m., and getting on – more to the point. And in fact, Shaun’s very – as you would know, if you know his work – very surreal and left field. And I’m like calling a spade a spade, and talking about farts and zucchini prices and stuff; and he’s looking at me like, “Oh, my God.” And he’s talking about Martian ants coming from … and I’m looking at him like, “Oh, my God.” So it was a marriage made in heaven.

But in fact … and we both decided to leave at the end of the two years, and kept our relationship intact. But Judith and I are going to write a show together – that’s what we’ve decided to do, a stage show. ’Cause we love working with one another. She is a really great, great person; and in fact, taught me a lot about writing. And she’s a perfectionist, which I’ve never been. And so when we work together, I’d come up with something – I’d go, “Oh, that’ll do.” And she’ll go, “Well, no, it won’t.” I’ll go, “Oh, it’s alright, isn’t it?”

She’d work it and work it and work it until it worked, absolutely sure-fire. Whereas I’m a bit, “Oh, God, I can’t really be bothered doing any more now.”

Who can control … Hamish?

Audience Member: Hamish Blake.

Denise Scott: Hamish Blake? This is on “Spicks and Specks” you’re talking about?

Audience Member: (33:47).

Denise Scott: I wish I was on “The 7:30 Report” with Kerry O’Brien. It’s “The Seven PM Project” with Dave Hughes. But kind of similar.

I find that … Channel …

Audience Member: (33:59) something.

Denise Scott: And this is really extra­ordinary; because for most of my career, I … well, I’ve been told I’m too old. Like since I … ’cause I was in my thirties when I started; and certainly until “Spicks and Specks”, who cleverly decided that they needed a broad demographic, so they needed some older people on – you know, and then that really woke people up to the fact that, “Oh, you can be funny and be older,” and that people won’t necessarily vomit when they see you.

I have … I must admit, the thing I’ve learned is to never “Google” my own name. Just don’t. I’d be too terrified to read your evaluation forms. But if you need a quote – if you could not mention my huge honker – ’cause that’s the sort of comments you get from people, you know; “Who’s the ugly old cow with the huge honker?” This is a chat room thing I saw that was on “Spicks and Specks”; and some guy wrote, “I think her name’s Denise.” And I swear, I was going, “Oh, I hope it’s Denise Drysdale.” Not that I think she’s an ugly old cow, but I’m thinking, “Oh, please, no.” It was Denise Scott.

And not only was that – they went, “Oh, she’s not even funny.” So I wasn’t … I’m a funny, ugly, old, with a huge honker!

But controlling Hamish – Hamy’s actually … I know I sound like I’m sucking up to everyone; but he’s a brilliant guy to work with. Very, very generous; very generous. And he is – he is cute, and he’s really, really great, and very supportive. So I don’t mind him. A lot of the young boys drive me insane.

Denise Scott: Yep, see, exactly – and that’s … well, that’s what … on “The Seven PM Project”, Channel 10’s notorious for targeting a young demographic, and that’s their aim. And they’re really open about it; so it’s good – like they just would say, “No, too old; no, too old.” And then suddenly, I’m on “The 7 PM Project”, talking about emission trading. I know nothing! I feel just ridiculous. I’m like … say I’m listening to Bob Brown, watching him talk, and thinking, “I don’t know what he’s talking about. I don’t know. Oh, say something, say something.” And this “Blah” comes out – some irrelevant comment.

But anyway. It’s fun. And it’s work.

Denise Scott: What led me to stand-up comedy? Well, in some ways, it goes way back to when I was little. I didn’t know what stand-up comedy was – even as an adult, I’d never really saw it; I mean, there wasn’t much in Australia – I’d never seen it, ever.

So when I was about ten years old, my Uncle Frank – who consequently turned out to have an affair with a milkman, which I thought was exotic – I’d never put that in a book; the family doesn’t talk about it – but isn’t that interesting? And the milkman’s name was “Milton”. Milton the Milkman and Uncle Frank knitted cable-stitch jumpers and bought Avon perfume for Christmas presents. So I knew then – “Hello.” So I wasn’t surprised when I heard Uncle Frank was on with Milton the Milkman.

But Uncle Frank took me to see Joyce Grenfell, who is – do you know Joyce Grenfell? She was in the St. Trinian’s films, and a buck­toothed British actress, yeah. And she was a monologist – she wrote all these amazing monologues. So at ten years old, I went and saw this woman standing onstage alone. I mean, she certainly didn’t do anything crude or crass; it wasn’t like stand-up; but it was … she created … I remember just thinking, “I can see all these … ” ’Cause she did one monologue which was about her as a kinder­garten teacher; and I remember thinking, “I can see all the kids! I can see them all! But they’re not there on the stage.”

And that’s when I became really enamoured with the thought of creating stories out of … well, just standing there, telling stories. I guess that’s when I decided that’s what I’d like to do. And it’s taken me ’til 54 to get there. Because really, the show I did at the Opera House is really the first time I’ve ever just done sort of story­telling. Admittedly trying to be funny all along the way; but … so it’s … yeah, as I say to my kids, “Don’t hurry. Take your time.”

There’s a lot of gob­smacking things that happened; and they really are. And....................

Denise Scott: Yes, but working in … often the world of comedy is a very misogynist world. And it is – it’s very misogynistic. And no matter how people try and … People like Adam Hills, there are people who are absolutely committed to not being that way, and they make a big … Hamish Blake – they make a big difference. But there are really hard­core misogynists out there.

And so the Steve Vizard show, “Tonight Live” – the writers’ room happened to have all men. And there was – there was a few quite sort of deep down misogynistic men. But I actually found that after working with them, you tapped into other parts of their lives, and other sentiments that they had. And in fact, they were quite … I had a very hard time there, because I hosted “Tonight Live” a couple of times, and it went really appallingly. And I got really scathing sort of feedback. And I was devastated, and I wasn’t ready for it; and they were incredibly supportive of me. And that made a difference. I kind of … they were really genuinely good friends during that time. So … but yeah. So I … it was like I’d just leave. They would watch hard­core porn during lunch­time. And I’d just sort of leave.

But as I said in the book, not one word I ever wrote went to air. And I got … that’s what meant we could have the renovation; because I just … I just got paid every week, and not one thing I ever wrote got put to air.

Level of profanity – I have to say, mine’s getting worse. Actually, I enjoy rudeness a lot – I really like it; but I also enjoy truth a lot. So I try and combine the two. Like I do have a point, usually, to what I say. And also, I’m really, personally, I’m very aware of swearing – like, as … I use language really carefully, myself. But that’s something unfortunately my mother never saw – she just heard the swearing, and hated it. But I was always quite … I used it quite carefully.

As for profanity – I think it’s the same as always; often when comics start off, they swear a lot. And it’s weird – sometimes you do find yourself swearing more than you want; it’s weird, and it’s something I do watch. And I also know, like Judith is quite … ’cause she swears; like, but it is absolutely meticulously considered. I wouldn’t go down to the Comic Centre …

And that’s the other thing; I don’t do any stand-up rooms any more, because I’m too old, for a start, but because you also get … like I like performing – it sounds judgemental, but to people like you. You’re really … see, a lot of comics have to learn performing to really drunk guys. That’s the dominating audience. And so that’s where you do your training; and it’s very, very hard to get out of there without stooping – like going down to the commest … comm … common … common de … lowest! Commest, lowered, de … yeah. Yeah.

Denise Scott: No, I didn’t have a mental … I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.

Although I went on “The Big Gig” pretty soon after I started; and Jean Kittson, who was on “The Big Gig”, who ended up marrying Patrick Cook, who was a writer on “The Big Gig” – she learnt a lot from Patrick, how to write comedy. So she would pass that on to me. Like there are some rules – and like being funny helps, but … So I learnt a lot from Jean initially.

But no, I didn’t even know where to look. I just didn’t know a thing about it, or where to look for … you know, like other people like Tony Martin for instance are just total comedy buffs – they know every comedian that’s ever lived; they know their jokes; they’ve researched their writing.

Denise Scott: I had a good sense of humour – like, my family have a good sense of humour. But no, it doesn’t really … it … well, if it does come naturally, it’s hard to translate that onto stage. Because you’re usually quite fearful. And so you’re trying very, very hard, and trying very hard is such a bad look. But that’s what I did for years.

Yeah?

Denise Scott: I always … yeah, like I like performing. And I went to a Catholic girls’ school. Yes, “Our Ladies” in Heidelberg. And … and so, you know, we were always putting on concerts. There’s nothing – it’s like … And so we’d do it, you know, “Rainy day – let’s do a show.” Like Catholic girls are crazy. And I always did funny things in the shows. So that was … yeah.

Alrighty. Any other …

Denise Scott: Of course you can take a photo. Should I look sexy for you? … Oh, this is awkward. But good on you! $25, thank you.

No; I have to tell you – this is just very … did anyone … this is years ago now, it’s such an old story; but it blew my mind, and it just reminded me – Annie Sprinkle? Did anyone go … did anyone see her?

Anyway, Annie Sprinkle, right, is this American sex performance artist. Did anyone go to the show? I did. Did you go? Yeah, at the Athenian? Yeah, wasn’t it amazing? Have you got your Polaroid on the fridge? Do you remember that … because at interval, right, Annie Sprinkle – she must be nearly 70 now or something; she’s pretty old – anyway, and she did this sort of full-on sex show, but in normal theatres – like normal theatre­goers went and saw it. And her big claim to fame was that, you know, she could bring herself to orgasm onstage, you know – that was it. That was sort of like … and I’m … not that I’m going to do it myself, at the Brunswick Library. Look, I will – I will! ’Cause she’s so great. I will – I’m going to do it. There we go. Anyway.

Anyway, at interval, this … sorry, what’s your name?

Audience Member: Sharan.

Denise Scott: Sharan? Sharan, isn’t this true – at interval, Annie – you could line up – remember this? – and have a photo taken of yourself sitting on a chair, right; and Annie stood behind you, with her naked breasts sitting on top of your head. Do you remember? Like, just a Polaroid of you with your head – and you’re looking like you wouldn’t mind one of those. But the breasts sitting on top of your …

And it was like – this was years ago – it was like $25 a Polaroid, wasn’t it? And I remember thinking, “What a great idea for the kids’ school fund­raiser!” ’Cause at the time, I was selling whatever chocolate bars we had to sell.

Alright; but I should leave it there. You’ve got to all get home.

Thank you very, very much for having me. I really enjoyed it.

Female Speaker: This is just a small token of our appreciation – of the Moreland …

Denise Scott: A Moreland bag!

Female Speaker: A Moreland bag.

Audience Member: A show bag!

Denise Scott: A show bag. What have I got in that? Oh! This is … now we’re talking! Oh, I like …

Do you know – sorry, I don’t shut up, Christine, I’m sorry, we’ll stop here – but have you read having … well, it’s actually having one glass of red wine a day? Have you read about that? How it prevents cancer, blood clots, and heart attacks? Isn’t that fantastic? ’Cause if one glass does that – imagine what a whole bottle will do!

Thank you so much for having me!

End of Recording.