It’s goodnight from him And it’s goodnight to this: Saturday bathtime, a home win, The bliss Of a night in the glow Of a rented TV; A family spread out On two chairs, one settee. It’s goodnight from him And it’s goodbye from me To a comedy built on dances with words, An eye for the language An ear for absurd Interlocutions, grammatical fluffs And lines that my brother just called ‘sentence stuff’ but it made us all howl and that was enough. So it’s goodnight from him And goodbye to a time When Saturday night Clicked round like a rhyme In the kind of odd song Ronnie Barker might croon And the words made you smile, But they fitted the tune Like the bloke in the glasses With a face like The Moon Fitted Saturday night; It was over too soon But it kept us all laughing While outside the world Was changing and shifting He cut through the gloom: The comedy furniture In our collective front room. So I’ll light four candles And let them burn down For an actor, a wordsmith, a genius, a clown; And now this tired world Is just that bit more grim: Close the cell door, Shut the shop up. It’s goodnight from him. © Ian McMillan www.ian-mcmillan.co.uk written for BBC R4 Front Row, 7.10.05 Enquiries adrian@uktouring.org.uk tel/fax +44 (0)1684 540366