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not appearing during August. The writing was on the wall. Says Vernon: ‘In converting from a group in which everyone made a contribution, into a pop group which had a lead singer and a backing group, Vivian had become the lead singer and the rest of us were subordinates. Because of Viv’s personal success people allowed themselves to be put in that position.’ More than that, Vivian just did not like Vernon that much, and had tried all sorts of tricks to get him out. Larry had been looking for a chance to play drums and that meant Sam left. The core of the band was now really Vivian, Neil and Larry. ‘It was Rodney and myself who had got things going in the early days and to be turfed out was most distressing,’ says Vernon. ‘They were in a desperate hurry to turn the Bonzos into a pop group.’

      The split was announced in the Melody Maker on 23 December 1967. Vivian tersely commented: ‘Sam and Vernon have left because of disagreements within the group about musical policy. We want to be free to do anything. But not doing “send-ups”. That’s a phrase we hate. And we don’t try to be vulgar to be sensational, we just use vulgarity to make abstract ideas more palatable.’ A replacement bass player was soon on board, in the shape of Dave Clague. He had come to London from Norfolk earlier in the year to work with an associate of Gerry Bron and ended up doing sessions for the Bonzos’ album Gorilla. Says Dave: ‘Vernon and Sam were still around, but I came in because Vernon was ill and so I did half the Gorilla album on bass. When that was done they decided they didn’t want Sam and Vernon in the band and they got edged out.’ He also appeared at the Saville gig with the Bee Gees, but it was not until the end of the year that his tenure was made official.

      Vivian broadened his field of work outside of the band. He was invited to design the cover for the Christmas edition of Melody Maker. It was remarkable in those days of union power and Fleet Street rules that MM’s sub-editors, headed by hardened layout man Bob Houston, even contemplated the idea of an outsider being allowed to touch the front page. There was a moment’s suspicion and just a hint of hostility when the two men finally met in the local MM pub, the Red Lion. Vivian handed over a series of cartoon sketches with a Christmas theme. Houston relaxed when he saw that, yes, he could work with Vivian’s ideas. The all-important Christmas issue with Vivian’s design appeared to great acclaim. At the centre of the design was a picture of Jimi Hendrix sporting a massively enlarged hairstyle and holding a crystal ball. Around young Jimi, Vivian let his mischievous delight in punning – both verbal and visual – run riot. In one corner Santa Claus was ‘clawing’ his way into the scene. ‘Ho, ho, how ripping!’ In another panel, three wise men attired in psychedelic gear looked around for the star of Bethlehem, but could not see it anywhere – it was, as the panel’s headline ran, the ‘Magi Mystery Tour’. One character accused another of ‘Chriswelching’ in front of his wife. ‘I’m sorry,’ replied the other character, adding, ‘I didn’t realize it was her turn.’ In among the festive groaners, perhaps the most understated character was an effete-looking artiste. Eyes closed, his thought bubble ran, ‘Help me, underneath the tinsel and sequins, I’m basically normal! (sigh).’

      There were three major TV performances around Christmas for the Bonzos, a ‘Colour Me Pop’ on the BBC on 21 December, during which they performed a forty-minute set, with some inspired surreal links between the numbers. The pilot episode of ‘Do Not Adjust Your Set’ was shown on ITV on Boxing Day, 1967. It was a great Christmas treat for Bonzo fans, who got to see the Magical Mystery Tour on the BBC that same day. The film was a rare flop for the Beatles, although the Bonzos’ hilarious ‘Death Cab for Cutie’ was certainly a stand-out. The year ended with the band playing at a New Year’s Eve party at the Flamingo Club in Wardour Street, Soho. Celebrations went on until the early hours. They had much to celebrate. After so much TV exposure it seemed 1968 must be the Year of the Bonzos. All they needed now was a hit record.

      January started with Vivian’s marriage to Monica and the happy couple had little time together before the Bonzos got stuck into the television show. ‘Do Not Adjust Your Set’ got into its stride in early 1968. As the result of a technical error, the second week’s episode was shown first, with an unscheduled commercial break, and there was an abrupt ending when the show overran and technicians pulled the plugs. A flood of phone calls from viewers to the TV station and news headlines in the press the next day helped ensure maximum publicity. The mixture of slapstick humour and off-the-wall pop music meant that what was ostensibly a kids’ show began to find a cult following with adults as well. Each episode went out at 5.25 p.m. on Thursdays, billed as ‘The Fairly Pointless Show’. In a typical week the cast included future Pythons Eric Idle, Terry Jones and Michael Palin, who also wrote the script. Comic actor David Jason and Denise Coffey appeared in the show – Coffey would work with Vivian again, appearing as Mrs E. in the 1980 film of Sir Henry at Rawlinson End.

      The entire, fresh-faced cast were featured on the colour cover of TV Times in February 1968 (the Bonzos were also to feature on a front cover) and the first series of ‘Do Not…’ ran from 4 January to 28 March 1968. It won first prize at the Prix Jeunesse International TV Festival for its fourth episode, and another prize in Germany that July, a week after Rupert Stanshall’s birth. It was the launch into stardom for the future Pythons, while the Bonzos did not do as well, largely because they found it difficult to be disciplined. Vivian would not take kindly to direction and the band fooled around so much they infuriated their management and confused the TV crew. As a result many of their best sight gags were rendered ineffective.

      ‘We never found a way of getting them over,’ says Gerry Bron. ‘It was partly because Vivian did not understand television. We would do a run-through. Vivian would be holding a prop in his right hand but it would only work for the shot if he was holding it in his left hand.’ Invariably, trouble would start when the harassed manager implored his artist not to screw up the shot, to be assured his instructions would be followed to the letter. In the final take, he would do the opposite once again.

      ‘He was always very spontaneous, never calculated. Comedians like Morecambe and Wise knew exactly what they were doing,’ says Bron. ‘They would rehearse their act to perfection. If you do something consistently and it’s funny, then it gives the director a chance to work out his shots. But if the artist changes things all the time, then he’s going to miss the gag.’ The show did give the band wider exposure. They performed ‘Equestrian Statue’, Neil singing while sitting on a bike which had a dummy horse’s head mounted on the handlebars. In the instrumental break, Vivian came out to do a camp dance with one of his hideous mannequins, whose arm fell off just as the chorus came back in. In another episode, he performed a fairly lengthy introduction discussing comic books by way of kicking off the story of doomed interplanetary love, ‘Beautiful Zelda’. Many other jokes went on behind the scenes and involved the hapless Lillian Bron, Gerry’s wife and partner. A well-meaning if forceful character, she quickly became a focus for their pranks.

      She was forever being asked to supply outlandish stage props at impossible times and it was rare that the band did not need something at the last moment with a deadline looming: their props might include an outsized mouth from which Vivian could blow kisses, or a set of disturbing poached-egg special FX eyeballs. They performed ‘Monster Mash’ in a full Frankenstein’s laboratory set, complete with horror makeup and a spoons break: ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen,’ announces Vivian midway through the track, ‘the part in the programme that’s going to give me great personal pleasure – I’m going to introduce you to the electric spoons.’ Pointing out mad professor Slater, Vivian continues: ‘You’ll notice that the brainiac device is already in place and the professor is introducing the special magneto bulb into the oral stricture. And, yes, the maximum voltage is up and in a few moments the countdown is going to begin…The professor is confident, he’s dribbling…’⁶ A manic spoons solo concludes with the inevitable explosion. On the morning of recording these kind of numbers, there would be frantic requests for more explosive devices or a copious supply of confetti. The magnitude and stupidity of the items demanded seemed to become ever more daunting. It got to the point where if they did not ask for anything before show time, Lillian got seriously worried. She made an early call to the television company one morning to check that everything was okay. Vivian picked up the phone. He told her that they urgently needed a very large tank of

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