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Autumn 2012 and Noel’s House Party returned to our screens. To the astonishment of many, little had changed about it since it was axed in the late 1990s. In an interview conducted in anticipation of its return Noel explained its enduring appeal. Noel was in his usual mode for such an interview: sedate and wistful, slightly resigned.
“Yes, the House Party’s back…and, er, very much preserved the way it was.”
Why is this?
“The format was always good, er…is good. I think in many ways the audience were possibly a little bit hasty in losing interest last time around and possibly even downright wrong to stop watching it as they did.”
This is a bit of a turnaround, working for the BBC again, reviving an old programme, some have even suggested you must have had a lobotomy to agree to do it!
Noel chuckled coolly. “I haven’t, but it’s likely I’ll eventually need one.”
Will there be gunge?
Noel sighs a long suffering sigh. “Yes, there will be gunge. As you know, I wish there wasn’t going to be but, there is and there will…”
-
Additional publicity had been drawn from the failed Gotcha involving Alan Sugar which he himself had ultimately vetoed.
“Look,” explained Sugar, impatiently, “I’m not interested in wasting my time with Edmonds’ bloody silly little schoolboy pranks. There’s nothing funny about me or my programme. It’s not a bleedin’ circus, it’s serious. Look, am I laughing now? No. I’m effing serious. Except when I’m telling jokes, o’ course and everybody laughs at those – if they know what’s good for ‘em! They should have put those in instead.”
-
Week three of the All New NHP and, so far, no female gungings. But that was all about to change…
Thirty-three minutes into the programme and immediately following a seemingly never-ending Gotcha Oscar segment featuring Professor Brian Cox and a helicopter simulator. The reveal is finally made to the tearful Professor by Noel, who is dressed as a coroner (which is converted from his usual airline pilot/customs officer garb with bushy beard and aviators) and back in the studio the award is made to a more cheery and sporting Prof. The audience applauds.
“And now…”, says Noel, “from astro-physics, to stargazing…of a very different kind, tonight’s NTV comes from…”
Ding Dong!
Noel switches to a whispering, silly voice: “Oooh! There’s somebody at the door!” and begins to jog, lifting his arms and legs excessively high in the air as he does so, until he reaches the arched faux-gothic revival door.
He opens the door to reveal Emma Crosby all glammed up in a short, slinky red dress. There is rapturous applause interspersed with a lot of wolf-whistling. The close-up reveals a modest amount of glistening jewellery.
“Ah! Emma!” Edmonds nearly swoons.
Some wolf whistles persist.
Noel turns to humorously scold the audience “Alright! Alright! Calm down you lot!”
“Sorry I’m late Noel…”
“Aw! That’s alright”, he simpers, “Did you bring a bottle?” Noel glances back excitedly at the studio audience.
“Oh! I didn’t think I’d need to with you having your own vineyard and distillery here at the house. I thought there’d be plenty.”
“Shhhh! We don’t want the village bobby to hear about that. Besides, the villagers will get all over-excited.”
There is an awkward pause. Crosby smiles expectantly. Suddenly, Noel scoffs out a laugh, realising that he has additional lines to deliver before her next cue.
He switches back to his ‘Noel’ character. “Actually, what am I thinking of, Emma? I should be the one entertaining you. Do you fancy a drink? I tell you what, why don’t you come this way and take a seat and Blobby’ll bring you some nice bubbly, or something…”
Noel takes her by the arm and escorts her across the stage towards the steps up to the gantry. Leggy Crosby hesitates and stumbles a little and with a hand placed to her mouth she whispers, smiling, “Oh, no!”
“Oh yes!” insists Noel, gently but firmly gripping her arm. “This wasn’t quite the way we scripted it, was it?”
The camera follows their backsides up the stairs, paying particular attention to hers, as they climb to the familiar single-seater carriage. There is the sound of heels clunking as Crosby ‘settles’ into her seat and Noel busies himself fixing a seat belt around her waist.
“Oh, look at that lovely dress! Did you get that especially for the House Party?”
Crosby just laughs into her hand. “I don’t believe it.”
Just for a moment, Crosby places her face in her hands as the ride commences and whisks her swiftly backwards away towards the drop. A mix of the backing track to Daft Punk’s Get Lucky is immediately cranked up as musical accompaniment and the audience begins to clap along.
Once we join her on the ground floor, Crosby appears a little reluctant but puts on a brave face. The car trundles on as stage hands squirt her with water pistols and a soda syphon. She yelps as the fizz pelts her cleavage. Meanwhile Noel is positioned above with a bucket of yellow gunge – which presently descends with a violent splatter, giving her hair and dress a proprietary coating. Our traveller is heard to utter an “Ugh!”
The car makes its way into the open and comes to a rest for a moment at the rear of the main stage so that Mr Blobby is able to direct a billowing stream of foam right into Crosby’s lap which fills the car and eventually subsumes the attractive broadcaster entirely. The car resumes its altogether brief journey carrying the quivering blob of foam and disappears around a corner whereupon it meets a pair of soggy, wet, car-wash style rollers. An “Ooooh! No.” is audible above the general din.
The excess foam having now been ‘wiped away’ a more recognisable, but thoroughly soaked-to-the skin Crosby emerges from between the flapping fingers of the rollers. Her hair, flattened and wet – her dress distinctly darkened and streaked with yellow and bobbles of foam – the car is next driven through a sheet of blue and green translucent gunge formed by an overhead row of drizzling nozzles.
Accompanied by flashing lights, the gorgeously gooey newsreader hunches and braces herself as she is next pelted bodily with a number of large cream and custard pies by stage hands dressed as chefs and waitresses.
Crosby emerges from the fireplace where the car duly comes to a halt. The 5 News hottie is laughing in disbelief, her face is ludicrously messy, her hair a mass of slimy tangles and her dress and heels are soaked and ruined. She might well think it’s over but Noel has re-appeared near a lever mounted below the mantelpiece, where – after a swift glance to the audience – he brings it firmly to bear.
The car reverses, returning Crosby to the throat of the fireplace where, to her shock, several streams of white gunge are emitted from below and fire at her lower half. She positively squeals and crosses her legs again. The gunge runs down those lovely pins in torrents. Finally, multiple streams of thick, nasty glossy black gunge descend from immediately overhead forming an umbrella off her head before enveloping the hapless lass completely.
The car moves forward out into the studio lights and we see a shaking, vaguely woman-shaped blob, its glossy, grey-black surface marbled with cream and yellow and animated with slicks, slides and trickles. Laughing hysterically all the while, a pair of glistening, blackened fingers dripping, gooey strings from them wipe away some of the gunk from both eyes, and we briefly glimpse those pretty ones beneath. This action has to be repeated several times as the oozing is relentless and she finally tilts her head back sweeping a solid curtain of hair to the rear. She is still barely recognisable as she wags her finger.
“I’ll get you for this, you…you…rotter!”
Noel, flinches then retreats in his usual energy-inefficient knees-up fashion as Crosby flicks slop at him she’s gathered from her lap.
“I sense somebody’s suffering from that ‘wet’ feeling. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you a very wet and messy Emma Crosby – thank you very much!”
Laughing sportingly, she acknowledges the audience as they applaud.
