To Gull and Back: The Generous Seagull Story.

[Glebe]

"Hullo everyone, Generous Seagull here! I just turned 60 earlier this year, and to celebrate those six decades of entertainment and generosity, my long-awaited and much-anticipated autobiography, To Gull and Back: The Generous Seagull Story (ghost-written by Louis Theroux), has been released! So without further ado, here's an exclusive surmise of of the book, made up of meaty extracts! Enjoy!"

My name is Gerald 'Generous' Arbuthnot Braithwaite Seagull III, and I am a much-loved seagull, entertainer and philanthropist. My story is a strange one, yet it will ring true to anyone who has ever hoped and dreamed!

I was born within the sound of Bow Bells, in Crimpton-on-Sea, Essex, on the 1st of April, 1959. I was a lively bird, and Mother and Father would often take me on jaunts up and down Britain's coastlines. The kind and giving nature of both parents instilled in me a willingness to help, and I would often be found stealing a chip or two from a burger van and flinging it at a hungry-looking child or that!



Eventually, however, it came time for me to fly the nest, and so I packed my knapsack and headed off to the big lights of London City. I got myself a job as a clerk in a special 'seagull' bank, and a pokey little two-up, two-down nest in Crouch End. It was hard graft, and the wages weren't great, but my job managed to pay the rent, overheads and other sundries required of my seagull lifestyle.

One night, I was passing a busy nightclub, when I heard the sounds of laughter from within. I'm not talking about ordinary laughter, but the peals of loud laughter one hears where entertainment is afoot. And so, poking my beak in for a snoot around, I enter the club and ordered a thimble of gripe water. Once ensconced within, I was able to observe the source of the crowd's amusement; it was none other than a young Bernie Clifton and Ostrich. After their set, I was able to worm my way into the dressing room. "Hello, anyone home?" I whispered, feebly. "COME ON IN, THE VODKA'S FINE!" boomed a brash and confident voice. It was Ostrich, with two showgirls on his lap and a large drink in one wing. "Clifton's asleep, the party popper! Still, more booze and birds for us, eh?" he chirruped.

I didn't leave till three o' clock that morning, but in-between the laughter and hi-jinks, Ostrich imparted to me a scrap of wisdom that has stayed with me ever since; "This entertainment lark is addictive, mate, but beware... there's always a Great Eagle ready to sweep down and snap you up!"

In any case, I'd been bitten by the showbiz bug, and was soon honing my act during evenings after work. My first few gigs were terrible, but I soon picked up momentum and, within the space of a few months, had managed to secure a place on a bill that was topped by a young Rod Hull and Emu. I can't remember the name of the place but it was a right dive, and I only remember two things from the night; that Emu got drunk and started attacking members of the audience and that an enterprising bird agent took a shine to me and handed me his card.

That agent was Bernie Gullfont, and within a matter of weeks he was managing me full-time. I quit my bank job soon after, and by the end of that year, I was the one dispensing advice to up-and-coming starlings (in line with my generous nature). It was a slow-but-steady time, but my big break was just around the corner.

One fateful afternoon, I dropped in to see Bernie at his Wardour Street office. As usual, he was already drunk and had a cigar in his beak, but on this occasion I noticed he had company; none other than the legendary Tommy Steele.



"Gennie, Gennie, cam in, lav, have a cigar!" cried Gullfont. "You knaw Tommy, dontcha?!" I wasn't part of Steele's showbiz circle, but we exchanged friendly nods.

"Listen, Gen," coughed Bernie, "I goh a bit of an opportunity for yah. Tommy 'ere is in the middle of a very successful run of Half a Sixpence at the Astoria Playhouse, but 'es only gorn bust 'is leg! You think you could fill in for the rest of the run?"

I was speechless. Playing support to the likes of Hull and Emu was one thing, but being asked to replace Tommy Steele in a smash-hit musical was quite another! "It's not much money," admitted Tommy, "in fact, I barely get paid more than 'half-a-sixpence' each show, but..."

"Fuck the money," I blurted, "I just wanna tread those boards!"

"That's the spirit, duckie!" laughed Bernie. "I'll coll for a facking taxi foh yah!"

Following some quick catch-up rehearsals I was up and running, and caught up with the rest of the cast quite easily. After a few nights I was stealing the show, and come the last night of the run, I was getting flowers flung at me from the audience!

Leaving the stage that night, I caught a glimpse of none-other than Sophie Loren winking at me from the front row! Backstage amid the hustle and bustle, I felt like I was on cloud nine. Suddenly, Bernie approached me with two familiar-looking figures in tow.

"Gennie, luvvie, look who's 'ere to see yah!" It was none-other than legendary comedy duo, Eric Morecambe and Ernie Wise!

"Hello, lad," grinned Eric, wiggling his glasses for comic effect, "We have a bit of a proposition for you. We're trying out some new material in Blackpool between our smash-hit BBC shows, but our support act, Ken Dodd, can't make it 'cos he's fractured his tickling stick, apparently. Any road, y'fancy filling the gap?"



Did I?!? Yes I did! A few days later I found myself at the Blackpool Megadome, before a sell-out crowd of one-thousand people! My act went down a storm, and afterwards I was invited to a special party at Ernie's flat, where he offered me a part in a "play what I wrote." I spent the night downing bottles of expensive champagne, and laughing and dancing with the likes of Tony Bennett, Roy Castle and Blue Peter's John Noakes. I was daylight by the time I got back to my Shoreditch bedsit, but I was still partying away in my head! Suddenly the doorbell rang; it was Bernie, with a check for thirty bob! "And there's plenty more where vat came from, san, I promise!"

"I'VE MADE IT! I'VE REALLY MADE IT!" I screamed at myself in the mirror when Gullfont had left. Without thinking, I quickly ran out and spent my hard-earned 30p on penny chews and a Beano. I had reached the toppermost. The only thing missing from my life now was a beautiful wife and perfect children. Oh, and a big mansion and a fast car, but "one thing at a time," I thought.

Well pretty soon I had my gorgeous spouse. A showgirl seagull called Sadie caught my eye one night at the Cormorant Club in the West End. I showered her with diamond rings and bubbly, and within two weeks, we were married and had moved into a luxury penthouse suite in Knightsbridge. That big fuck-off Roller you would have spotted out front back then happened to belong to yours truly an' all! Nine months later, Sadie gave birth to twins, Sandy and Simon. I was all made up.

The live dates and TV appearances kept rolling in. By the mid-seventies, I was hanging out with the likes of Frank Carson, Tom O' Connor and Meatloaf. It's a little-known fact, but The Beatles even considered doing a special reunion on top of the Liver Building, with me as guest of honour! In the end, I'm glad they didn't, as Googi the Liverpool Duck was also to take part, and I'd heard she was supposed to be a fucking nightmare to work with.



By the 1980's, there was no stopping me. Guests spots on Blankety Blank and Give Us a Clue followed, and I even appeared alongside J.R. himself, Larry Hagman, and EastEnders' Leslie Grantham, on a special edition of Bruce's Guest Night, hosted by my showbiz hero, Bruce 'Brucie' Forsyth. All the while, I never forgot my humble, 'generous' nature, and would always leave thank you notes with a tasty fiver attached in each TV crew member's lunchbox.

Still, it wasn't all rosy in the garden. I made my US TV debut on Late Night with David Letterman in 1985, but my humour and generosity didn't 'translate' to the dumb American audience, and, sad to say, I never actually cracked America. Meanwhile, back home, some young upstart called Orville was making waves alongside his master, Keith Harris. People had started saying that my star was on the wane, but the worst was yet to come.

One morning, Sadie came into the bedroom with a copy of The Daily Heron, which she rudely shoved in my face. "What's this?!" she cried. I read the headline:

'SHOWBIZ SEABIRD ROMPS WITH LADY PENGUINS! RANDY DRUNKEN DRUG SHESH EXCLUSIVE!'

"I'm leaving you," croaked Sadie, through a veil of salty tears, "and I'm taking the chicks with me!"

"Don't go, Sadie!" I roared, but she'd made up her mind. Half an hour later, Bernie rang me. "Sorry, san, but oim ganna hav'ta drop ya from me roster," he said. It was the last I ever heard from that fucking prick.

Meanwhile, I had an obligation to fulfill that night; an appearance on 'yoof' TV show, The Word. Presenter and fifties-throwback Mark Lamarr mocked me from the off, and American 'grunge' rockers L7 threw tampons at me, but I stuck it out until the end credits, where I stormed out of the Channel Four studios. I was to be my last appearance in public for a long time.



With my reserves of cash quickly dwindling, I decided to move into a council house near Hackney, where I proceeded to drink myself into oblivion. I would spend my days parked in front of the telly, vacantly absorbing the likes of Flog It!, Dickenson's Real Deal and, I am ashamed to say, Teletubbies. But being a telly addict was the least of my problems, as I would regularly get through three slabs of Stella, two bottles of Beefeater Gin and 240 Lambert & Butler a day. Pizzas and pasties where the only solids to pass my lips during that sad period, which I later dubbed 'My Elvis' Period'. And all the while, I sat alone shouting obscenities at my imaginary 'wife' in the kitchen.

My only connection to the outside world during that time was actor Mike Grady, who was known for playing Barry in Last of the Summer Wine. The pair of us had become fast friends over the years, and he would occasionally drop by to make sure I had payed my bills and changed my underwear, bless 'im. One day, he arrived in a big, pink limousine, and with a familiar face in tow.

"Generous, let me introduce you to none other than megastar hitmaker - Cliff Richard!" said Grady. "Huh-huh, a-hi, guys!" said Cliff, using the plural 'guys' even though he had arrived with Mike and I was the only other creature present. "Nice to see you!" he added.

"Met you before," I grumbled. "Mad party at Elton John's gaff, 1985. Someone shoved a unicorn up Lionel Blair."

"Uh-huh, can't say I remember that, yeah!" chuckled Cliff. "Uh, do you think you could leave us alone for a minute, Mike Grady from Summer Wine who was also in Citizen Smith and who also played the bellboy in The Return of the Pink Panther?" asked Cliff. "Sure," drawled Grady, and headed out the back garden for a smoke.

It was then that Cliff's tone changed, and he got serious. "Look at you... I mean, just look at the fucking state of you," he smouldered. "Beg pardon?" I replied. "You heard, Generous," he growled. "You used to be a shining star... now look at you!"

Then suddenly he smiled. "Shower, shave and throw this on," he said, tossing an expensive-looking Gucci suit at me. "I'll get Mike to brew a Kenco for yah... you'll need to be sober where we're going!"

"And where exactly are we going?" I asked. "Wimbledon!" cried Cliff. "You are my guest of honour!" I couldn't believe it. I quickly got myself cleaned up, downed me coffee and joined Richard in his limo. "Best of luck!" yelled Mike from my front porch. I later discovered that he robbed me blind while I was away. "Roy Clarke durn't pay much," was his excuse in court.



But it was a different kind of court I was attending now. I knew Cliff would turn heads at Wimbledon, but I didn't think anyone would be arsed with a washed-up old has-been like me. To my surprize, I got a warm welcome. Peter Sampras said hi, Rula Lenska gave me a surprisingly warm smile, and none other than Brucie himself waved at me and cried, "Good game, good game, I hope!"

We took our seats and waited for the match to begin. After a couple of minutes, I glanced around and noticed a familiar-looking figure coming our way; none-other than legendary newsman, Trevor MacDonald! "Oh fuck, it's MacDonald," groaned Cliff. "Listen, if he tries to claim you're in his seat, tell 'im to fuck right off! I'll explain later!"

Thankfully, McDonald moved off and found another seat (though with a sad look in his eyes). After The Whimbreldon was over, Cliff took me for a quiet walk along a mews. "Listen," he said, "there's a group that meets every Wednesday in Frome. Some fellow hard-ups like y'self... Norman Collier, who does the chicken impressions and pretends his microphone's cutting out... Duncan Norvelle, Stu Francis, Bobby Davro, Eddie Large... it's just coffee and biscuits and a chat. But it'll do you the world of good."

I took Richard at his word and attended the sad-group. Pretty soon, I was back on my feet, and preparing to jump-start my showbiz career. Within weeks, I was living in a decent house, driving a Honda Civic and earning a decent few quid doing things like attending the grand opening of a local Co-Op. I started making occasional appearances on TV again, and up-and-coming stars such as Dave Spikey, Noel Fielding and James Acaster where naming me as a major influence on them.



In 2012, I made an appearance on a special ITV4 documentary entitled, Where are the Losers of Entertainment Now? None other than Sir Michael Grade called me, "The Great Forgotten Bird of Entertainment," and praised me for my charity work. I got in touch with old friends, and made new ones, too. Many has been the night when the likes of Brian Connelly, Tim Wonnocott and Catherine Tate have graced my maisonette, for song, laughter and chat. But the biggest honour was still to come...

"Letter for you, Generous!" cried Penny. "Thanks, love!" Penny was a parrot, and my new fiancée. I opened the letter with baited breath, even though it might only have been an electricity bill.

But it wasn't an electricity bill. It was an invitation to Buck Palace, to receive a long-awaited Knighthood! "What is it?" wondered Penny Parrot. "Well, let me just tell you that pretty soon you'll be calling me 'Sir'!" "Why?" pondered Polly. "Because I am to be Knighted!" said I. "Oh right, that'd make sense."



Well, all the hubbub has since died down again, and me and Penny are trying to start a family in Wiltshire, where we live in a big fucking posh manor. Hello! have been round. But it's a humble life, all told. I'm not often on TV now... you may have seen me on Pointless Celebrities, and I still get the occasional call from the I'm a Celebrity... people, but my most high-profile TV appearance in recent years has been a spot on Jonathan Ross' show, which you will only have seen if you were one of the statistics that makes up it's (I'm told) very low viewing figures (I tried to get on Graham Norton but his office never responded).

So it's the domestic life for me. I usually rise at six, put on my waistcoat and sip a cuppa. Then it's off to the stables to see how the stable hands are doing with the horses. After lunch, I'll go over a bit of paperwork in my study, then take the basset hounds for a run in a field. Then I set off for the rest of the day, doing what I do best, and receiving what no round of applause or peal of laughter can match... that feeling of joy you get from being generous to random members of the general public!



ALL MY LOVE,

GENEROUS SEAGULL

To Gull and Back: The Generous Seagull Story is available exclusively from the Dorset branches of WHSmith and Poundstretcher, priced £1.49, or direct from generousseagull.co.uk. Don't forget to use the discount code GENSEAGDISCOUNT to get 20p off your order!

[Ferris]

Not had chance to read yet but posting in here so I remember later. The pictures look like top stuff

[Glebe]

Not had chance to read yet but posting in here so I remember later. The pictures look like top stuff

Thanks Ferris!

[Fishfinger]

Also "not had [the] chance to read it yet" but also looks fine at a cursory glance. Thanks Glebe!

[pancreas]

Very good, Mr Grebe.

[Glebe]

Thank ye Fishy and Pancs.

[Ferris]

Forgot to say - excellent work as always.

[Glebe]

Thanks Ferris - Generous sends his love, as ever - "Caw!"