Les Dennis’s chair has given way and he is falling, almost in slow motion, backwards off the stage. It is one of those curved, part-office, part-fancy venue chairs with chrome legs, and whoever put it together clearly failed to screw the base on to the bottom with any degree of certainty.
People are quick to respond. Dennis is not yet fully engulfed in the purple curtains behind him when two, three people hosting the event rush to his aid. He is fine, thank God.
And so he and the compere move off the stage on to the LED-illuminated dance floor in front of it. We are all in a wedding hall in Liverpool and there remains a faint hint of marriage: floral displays, white linen.
Talking of weddings, lunch with Les Dennis, which is what is happening, is my gift to my friend Florence. She recently married Alastair King, an asset manager who has been recommended by the Court of Aldermen to become the 696th Lord Mayor of London. This is the first time Florence has ever come to Liverpool.
Lunch with Les Dennis is a friendly and enjoyable occasion. He talks about his career – Family Fortunes, which I used to watch and greatly enjoy as a young child; saying, “I don’t really know” on Extras, and his time on Corrie; pantomime and theatre; much more besides – and people appear enchanted by his jovial demeanour.
His story about being in the wings of Her Majesty’s Theatre when Tommy Cooper had a heart attack, then having to go on and perform while Cooper was being treated behind the curtain, was the only heavy moment. Must the Show Go On? is the title of Dennis’s 2008 book, funnily enough.
The room is a mixture of young and old (more old), local dignitaries and couples on dates. Possibly an odd choice of activity but far better than the cinema. Bottles of £35 prosecco are bandied around quite freely.
As we mingle, Florence invites Dennis to dinner in London almost immediately. He promises to come and I notice when saying hello that he has exceptionally kind eyes. In Liverpool, his home town, he’s there free of charge in support of Local Solutions, a charity that supports young people.
After Dennis regales the room, the applause is rapturous. Then he heads back down south, and it’s time for the rest of us to eat.
Some time in, I become distracted talking to the Mayoress of Liverpool about Dennis’s poor performance on the last series of Strictly, and later find Florence staring at an enormous bowl of croutons which is on a side table next to a coffee urn. It appears we are to have soup.
After this comes a dish labelled on the menu as “Chicken Chasseur”. Yet poulet à la chasseur, that comforting French dish that pairs the bird with a sauce of mushrooms, shallots, tomatoes and wine, is not what this is.
Instead, it is a large piece of roast chicken sitting on a circular hash brown. I’m often troubled by hash browns which aren’t triangular. There is also gravy, roast potatoes – Aunt Bessie’s, perhaps – and a bowl of mixed vegetables.
I had forgotten what mass catering food was like. At some point in my life, I recall this sort of cooking being commonplace. Maybe not chicken breasts on hash browns, but you know the sort – mostly it is a style defined by a squiggle of sauce. In our case, one of ginger and various herbs.
Am I fan? Oddly, yes. But I’m not entirely sure why. I think it’s because it is the only food in Britain that doesn’t come with a conversation. That is to say, it isn’t actually anything at all. It’s just there, it fills you up and it tastes OK, and it’s just fine. A bit like Les Dennis.
I’m very pleased to have spent £100 on this grand day out. Dennis is a wonderful orator. He also sang at one point but unfortunately nobody really joined in, which I think was the idea, and so the rendition was short-lived.
My friend, winsome and softly oblivious to most of the world, is pleased to have gone too. The day was a success, even if the chicken chausseur was dry. And so if Les Dennis decides to take part in another lunch in an events space 15 minutes from whatever railway station, I absolutely recommend you jump at the chance.
