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Editorial Reviews. Review. New York Times Bestseller “So, Anyway ambles along in loose fashion, taking its time, stopping to admire the view here and there . So Anyway - John Cleese - dokument [*.epub] This is an uncorrected eBook file . Please do not quote for publication until you check your copy against the. 22 Tháng Năm So, Anyway. by John Cleese.. So, Anyway., Cleese takes readers on a Grand Tour of his ascent in the entertainment world,. Adobe EPUB.
It seemed so gratuitous.
John cleese so anyway epub
What, I asked myself, had I done to the rabbit to deserve this psychotic response? The more pertinent question, though, is: And the obvious answer is that it's because I was the only child of older, over-protective parents.
I have a memory No. Somehow I bang my hand, and just before I burst into tears, I hold it up to my father and howl, "Daddy, look! I've hurt my precious thumb! Is my thumb not precious, I wonder? Dad certainly thinks it is. When the occasion demands, he always says, "Oh, you've hurt your precious -- [fill in applicable body part].
But there's no doubt that he did pamper me, and such early coddling was one of the reasons I embarked on a wussy lifestyle. Throughout my schoolboy days I never felt very manly, or strong, or virile, or vigorous, or healthily aggressive.
At school I avoided playground "gangs," because I didn't understand why anyone would want to behave like that.
I loved ball games, but was always appalled at how rough, for example, rugby looked, even at the safe distance I kept while pretending to play it. When I was seventeen, my assistant Clifton College housemaster, Alec MacDonald, finally took me to task for funking tackles.
Describing my efforts as "dancing around like a disabled fairy," he ordered me to watch while he gave a demonstration of how to tackle properly.
He asked a member of the first XV, Tony Rogers, to run at him. He closed in on Rogers, and then went in hard, just as Rogers tried to sidestep him. The result was that the top of Mr. MacDonald's head came into sharp contact with Rogers' right hip.
MacDonald was unavailable for teaching later that afternoon; indeed he did not reappear for forty-eight hours. When he did, I was too cowardly to remind him that he had specifically told me that "if you go in hard, you never get hurt.
I was not born to be butch, and I have accepted my innate unmanliness without complaint. Besides, it seems to me that cowards very seldom cause trouble, which is probably why there is a history of them being shot by people who do. But while I was undeniably a gutless little weed there was an upside: Better a wuss than a psycho, I say, and I am proud that I have never been able to force myself to watch cage fighting.
If part of my weedy outlook on life came from my father's pampering, a fair proportion was down to my complicated relationship with my mother.
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And in this context another early memory comes to mind. I am lying in bed, falling asleep, when a noise causes me to turn and see shadows moving on the half-open door of my bedroom.
They are shadows of my parents fighting. Dad has been coming into my room and Mum has started attacking him, pummelling him with a flurry of blows which he is trying to fend off.
There is no sound-I sense they are both trying not to wake me-and the memory has no emotion attached, although it is very clear. Just the shadows which last a few seconds and then ,,, silence. As I write this, my throat tightens a little.
The level of violence I'm describing is low: Nevertheless, my beloved Dad, a kind and decent person, is being attacked by this unknowable creature who is widely rumoured to be my mother. Young children have so little life experience that they inevitably assume that what happens around and to them is the norm.
I remember that when my daughter Cynthia was very young she was surprised to discover that some of her friends' fathers did not work in television.
So it would have been hard for me to describe my relationship with my mother as problematic because I had no idea what the word "motherly" conveyed to most people. Dad once described to me how, during the First World War, he had witnessed a wounded soldier lying in a trench and crying out for his mother.
When, over the years, I began to hear friends tell me that their mother was their best friend, someone with whom they routinely discussed their daily life, and to whom they looked for emotional support, I simply thought, "How wonderful that must be ,,," Please do not think that I am loftily labelling her a "bad mother.
In all day-to-day matters she was extremely diligent: Under light hypnosis, I once recalled a German air raid, with the sound of the bombers not far away, and Mother throwing herself on top of me, under a big kitchen table. If it was a false memory, it's still what she would have done.
From a practical point of view, then, she was impeccable. But she was also self-obsessed and anxious, and that could make life with her very uncomfortable indeed. A clue to her self-obsession, I always felt, was her extraordinary lack of general knowledge. On one of her visits to London in the late '80s, a salad was prepared for lunch which contained quails' eggs. John Cleese con So, Anyway The Autobiography Despite having apparently no talent for singing or dancing, John Cleese joined the Footlights club when he took up his place at Cambridge in This autobiography describes the comedian's life and influences from his childhood and time as a teacher at his old prep school to his success as a scriptwriter, comedian and ultimately film star.
Review " Vivid, ridiculously entertaining, and, at times, explosively funny Cleese is a master of crisp comic prose: So, Anyway Remarkably warm and generous.
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Quick Links About Events Privacy.This is the story of how a tall, shy youth from Weston-super-Mare went on to become a self-confessed legend.
The Autobiography por John Cleese Titulo del libro: I revisited the farm many years later, and, just as I thought I remembered, there was a huge chestnut tree in the middle of the front lawn, under which I might easily have lain in a pram. When, over the years, I began to hear friends tell me that their mother was their best friend, someone with whom they routinely discussed their daily life, and to whom they looked for emotional support, I simply thought, "How wonderful that must be ,,," Please do not think that I am loftily labelling her a "bad mother.
How had I managed to attract so much attention? As Matron "Fishy" Findlater gave me the customary new-boy physical examination, I tried to gather my thoughts. I love the fact that he didn't mess around.