Last year I wrote about the popularity of ‘Nudist’ films of the late ’50s and early ’60s which featured men and women (only ever naked from the waist up) playing tennis and frying sausages on open barbecues.
I might have made up that last bit.
The ‘posh’ Odeon and ABC cinemas avoided them, but independent cinemas, which most towns had back then, made a lot of money from titles like “Nudes Of The World”, which were often given ‘U’ certificates, because nothing ‘naughty’ happened in them . . . and they were yawn-inducingly boring, according to contemporary reviews.
Bringing you up to date, the wonderful Talking Pictures TV Channel broadcast the British television premiere of ‘The Nudist Story’ (1960), starring Brian Cobby, who later achieved fame as the voice of the speaking clock!
Curious, not having seen any of these films, I watched a five-minute scene featuring two semi-naked couples (the men wore shorts) talking around a patio table. That was enough excitement for one day.
I mentioned this film to a friend who’d been in junior school when ‘Nudist’ films first appeared and although he’d found the cinema posters ‘interesting’, he never thought he’d ever see one.
In 1962, he missed Michael Winner’s ‘pop’ music film “Play It Cool”, starring Billy Fury, during its week-long run at his local ABC cinema, but a month later his mother told him it was showing at an independent cinema, where she was taking him that afternoon.
The warmth of the cinema and the poor quality of the ‘B’ picture sent his mother to sleep and when she woke up 20 minutes into the main feature, she was horrified to see her 13-year-old lad mesmerised by what was on the screen.
Three naked ladies running around a beach!
Grabbing her son’s hand, she stormed out and complained to the manager that his cinema wasn’t showing the advertised film, Michael Winner’s “Play It Cool!”
The manager calmly replied “No, madam. As the posters outside state, we are showing the nudist film “Some Like It Cool” also directed by Michael Winner!”
My friend never did see the rest of the film!

When I was a lad, our house was like a scene from a sitcom, always bursting at the seams with grown-ups.
Our small living room was a veritable circus of friends, neighbors, strange relatives and relative strangers.
You name it: the rent man, the Man From The Pru and even the bailiffs made appearances, all larger than life and overflowing with bonhomie.
Or, in the case of Aunty Glad, overflowing with Dubonnet!
I’d often find myself wedged under the dining table, no easy feat when you’re five feet tall at 12, eavesdropping on the fascinating conversations buzzing around me.
Politics, religion, nuclear war and the great scone debate (jam or cream first? It’s a serious matter!) were all fair game.
No topic was too controversial for my young ears.
Of course, with everyone talking over each other, I sometimes misheard things.
Like the time I thought a neighbour said, “Neither a borrower or a Brenda Lee.”
I was convinced she was criticising the ’60s pop star we only hear on the radio in December, belting out “Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree”.
Then there was Uncle Hugo, who claimed to have explored many “previously unexplored regions” of the world, regions that were no longer unexplored because he’d gone and spoiled them.
I distinctly heard him say, “There are flies, damn flies and stick insects,” while recounting his adventures along the perilous upper reaches of the River Tawe.
In reality, he’d said, “There are lies, damn lies and statistics”.
Thinking of my late uncle (he’s not dead, just always late) reminds me that by 2050, the number of people aged over 60 will top two billion.
Can you imagine the queue at the Post Office on pension day?
And with so many old folks around, my chances of a full house at Bingo are looking grim!
Ah, the good old days! I wonder if Aunty Glad drank all the Dubonnet?

It’s been a while since I attempted to entertain you with theatrical anecdotes, which I’ve either been told personally or I’ve stumbled across over the years.
I’m returning to the subject by public demand, thanks to a letter that poured in from a Mrs Betty Evans of Fishguard Harbour asking for more ‘Theatrical adenoids’. But I knew what she meant.
The name Harry Houdini will be familiar to most readers, but unless you’re a fan of stage magic, you probably haven’t heard of Harry Blackstone Snr (at one time considered America’s foremost magician) or Joseph Dunninger, world-renowned mind reader.
This tale was told by the well-known magician and mentalist David Berglas, whose ‘Berglas Effect’ card trick has never been bettered and who was President of the Magic Circle in 1989/90 and a much respected, active member up until his death in 2023 aged 97.
So, we have no reason to doubt its authenticity!
One night Harry Houdini went out for dinner with Harry Blackstone Snr. and Joseph Dunninger.
At the end of the evening, Blackstone offered to drive the other two home.
Unfortunately, when the three of them got to the car, Blackstone realised he’d mislaid his keys.
Dunninger, the much-revered mentalist, was unable to ‘see’ where his friend had left them . . . and Houdini, the world’s greatest escapologist, was unable to gain entry by picking the lock.
After much deliberation on what was the best way of opening the car door, they had to ask a policeman to help!
You couldn’t make it up!
Just space for one more . . .
After years of playing Number Two (second rate) theatres, comedian Walter Niblo was offered a week’s booking in a Number One – the prestigious Metropolitan in Edgware Road.
Walter turned up at the Monday morning band call with his ancient band parts (sheet music for the band to play him on and off) in a shocking condition – stained, torn and held-together with sticky tape.
The band leader, Ivan Dozin, disdainfully poked at them with his baton and said “These band parts are filthy, disgusting and deplorable!”
Walter replied “Wait until you see my act!”

Let’s be honest, creativity is a wild ride, more like a rollercoaster of ideas than a disciplined writing process.
Picture this: a clown car bursting with one-liners instead of a neatly organised desk. That’s my life in a nutshell!
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been lugging around my trusty little black book.
No, it’s not a secret agent’s diary, though that would be pretty cool.
Instead, it’s my personal vault for every fleeting thought and ridiculous observation that flits through my mind like a butterfly on a sugar high.
If I don’t jot down every spark of brilliance, those gems vanish faster than a magician’s rabbit. Poof! Gone!
Trust me, I’ve had enough “oops, that was a great idea” moments to know that my little black book is a treasure chest of lost genius.
I’ve become a collector of these books, with a staggering 60 scattered throughout my home. I even keep one by my bed because, let’s face it, the best ideas usually strike just as I’m about to drift into drooling sleep.
But here’s the twist: my writing speed is so fast that my notes sometimes resemble ancient hieroglyphics. I could probably start my own archaeological dig to decipher my own thoughts!
Yet, despite the chaos, this quirky obsession brings me immense joy.
One day, I’ll crack open these whimsical time capsules and embark on a journey through the hilarious history of my mind.
Nostalgia may be that one friend who always shows up late to the party, but when it does, it knows how to make an entrance.
So, here’s to the wonderfully zany world of creativity.
Keep your little black book close, embrace the madness, and prepare for a comedy of memories that will leave you chuckling (or scratching your head) for years to come.
Remember, every laugh, scribble, and chaotic thought is part of the show. Happy writing!