Where: Planet Hollywood, 600 George St, Sydney.

Time: 8.30pm - 4am

Cost: $250

Contact: 9267-7827

Tickets include unlimited beer, wine and soft drink, basic spirits, cocktail platters, a champagne countdown, a video DJ and special guest entertainer Bob Downe.

It's a lovely Sydney morning when I arrive, full photographic crew in tow, at the Gazebo Hotel to spend a day with Bob Downe. There's a whisper of spring in the air and it's a perfect day for shopping, chatting and nailing, as HQ has requested, the definitive profile of Bob. As Bob's long-term manager (we met in 1984 at the Glebe Food Fair), I have a very special insight into his proclivities. And of course, we're such unlikely partners: one of us a sophisticated, late-blooming bohemian; one a big fish in a very regional pond. Trouble is, though, we just can't agree on which description applies to whom.

When I spoke to Bob the day before on the phone, he had just flown into town for a well earned rest from hosting his show, Good Morning Murwillumbah. He enthusiastically agreed to an in-depth interview and a photo shoot. The cover! So Vanity Fair! Of course he'd do it. Did he mind if people followed him around with make-up and cameras? No, doll, not at all. So we'd be there at 9 am then...

"What time? NINE O'CLOCK!? Well, you can let yourselves in, then," he snapped, hanging up the phone. Now, catching the lift up to the penthouse suite at the Gazebo - a 1960's Kings Cross icon, it's been Bob's Sydney hideaway since a tiny incident at the Sebel Town House years ago meant that he'd needed to find lodgings elsewhere - I mull over the questions I want to ask him.

Along with the lift's Muzak version of "Anarchy in the UK", a thousand questions fill my head. Did the Bee Gees REALLY fax Bob that famed white suit? Did Georgie Fame really ring to admit that Bob's "Yeh Yeh" is the definitive one? Where did Bob's mother, Ida Downe, find the family's L-shaped caravan, and just how close to the amenities block in the Now-Or-Never Caravan Park is it parked? How does it feel to be Murwillumbah's most confirmed bachelor? And just how long is Happy Hour at the Classy Lady Bar & Grill?

Bob has thoughtfully wedged a Toblerone in the door of his room at the Gazebo, so the crew and I make our way in. We start to set up as the prince of polyester lies snoring, semi-lightly. I realise that in all the years of our professional and personal association, I have never seen him in repose. In fact, now that I think about it, I doubt that anyone has. Always moving, always single, always restless, always keen for a new old suit or song. Like Rod Stewart's "Maggie May", the morning sun when it's in his face really shows his age. Still, it has to he admitted, Bob's a pretty fresh 40, with or without his Kryolan 7W pancake.

Our crew tiptoes around at first, but when a halogen lamp blows and he merely stirs slightly, everyone relaxes. Matt the stylist gently picks the shards of glass out of Bob's hair, and still there's no movement. Believe it or not, it's only when we switch on the TV - after two hours of setting up and three test Polaroids - that the dulcet tones of Bert Newton bring our star to life.

Now, it has been said of me that I wake up unusually happy. Not so the King of Sing, especially when faced with an entire photographic crew. Beige bewilderment turns to white anger when I merely remind him that he'd told us to let ourselves in. "What are you DOING?" he screams. "What are those cameras doing in here?" His hands fly up to his head - instinctively checking and adjusting his famous, suspiciously unchanging hairdo in one deft, practised move. He clutches the covers protectively around him. Surely he was expecting us? Apparently not.

We're off to a bad start.

Bob's mood is transformed, however, after a bowl of Coco Pops with full-cream milk, and a rather lovely jazz standard by Chelsea Brown on Good Morning Australia.

BOB: Now, THERE'S a pro. Chelsea told me that Bob Fosse's choreography did her back in doing the film of Sweet Charity - but does it show in the final product? Of course not. She is simply FIERCE in that Pompeii nightclub scene, and that's what we remember. Love her. Put that in - I love her.

MARK: You've got good reason to admire that kind of skill. I mean it's only in recent years that you stopped getting your head kicked in by dancers in those British TV appearances.

BOB: [Eating huge mouthful of cereal to block the question out] Sorry, what?

MARK: How do you cover a wrong move?

BOB: I just keep smiling and never look down. Then they think it's someone else's mistake.

MARK: Variety's such a disappearing patch of showbiz history, can you share some of your tips?

BOB: Now, let's think. Firstly, of course, if they're looking at the shoes, there's something wrong with the act. Replace all your old fillings with white ones. Don't touch anyone's hair. Ever. And no dead air! Just keep talking, especially when you're being interviewed by Kerry Ann. Grab that wheel - and don't let go! This tea's cold.

[The tea is always cold. One of Bob's endearing traits is never, ever finishing a cup, and he always leaves a mouthful or two of food on his plate. I offer the theory that the likely reason for this is that there's just too much to gossip, whine or hitch about ...]

BOB: Well, if you want to Put it that way, yes! Yes, I'm interested in the world, particularly in what's going on among my peers. Yes, I have opinions and the need to express them. What's so wrong with that? All the women in my family are like that. [Bob's mobile rings, and he quickly checks the caller display.] And now, if you don't mind, I'd like to take a call from my mother.

Twenty-Four minutes and 42 seconds later, I remind him of our first appointment of the day, a suit-fitting at Zink & Sons, the tailors in Oxford Street. As we crawl down the gay mile in a mid-morning cab, Bob reminisces fondly about the strip: "I discovered Oxford Street quite by accident, you know. I was looking for fruit and veg."

MARK: And wound up with meat and potatoes?

BOB: No, look, listen, I did! the coaches from Murwillumbah used to pull in at the back of the Koala Motor Inn. [Incredulous silence in the taxi, broken only by Alan Jones on 2UE.]

BOB: Oh, look at you all, pretending you've never been on a fucking coach!

[I make a mental note to ask him, much later in the day, about the compulsive swearing which so distresses his mother, Ida, and his 98-year-old Nana, and has surely limited his Australian television prospects.]

By now, we've arrived at Zink's and a scene resembling Old Home Week is unfolding. Bob introduces the whole magazine crew - by name - to Robert, the tailor, and proudly points out he's been coming here for more than 20 years. Tailor and client chat animatedly, oblivious to the attention and the fact that Robert is measuring Bob's inside leg seam.

Bob is much more concerned with the renovations at the venerable shop, and is horrified when Robert informs him that the brown flock wallpaper is going. Meanwhile, the suit being fitted can only be described as Glen Campbell meets Harlem pimp.

MARK: Lime green seersucker!! Perhaps the bridesmaids could be in orange?

BOB: Darling, it's for a finale. You simply wouldn't understand. Let's face it, if it's not from the sale bin at The Gap in San Francisco, you wouldn't be interested.

MARK: So Bob, do you have a signature style?

BOB: [Exasperated] Look, Mark, why do you keep asking questions when you already know the answers? I found my look in the 70s and stuck to it. Is that a crime? My brother has the Posh Shoppe boutique in Mur-bah, of course, with all the imported labels - Jag, Country Road, Staggers, the lot. So that was a good start for a North Coast boy. Then, thank God, I found Robert at Zink's here in Sydney - and he was the only other Australian I ever met who didn't think Tommy Nutter was some sort of cricketer.

[I explain to the crew that Tommy Nutter is a now-deceased but legendary London tailor to the stars, from the Carnaby Street era. It's the kind of arcane reference for which Bob is famous, and which peppers his stage act.]

I will admit that it's surely true that we don't see eye to eye on fashion. His constant on and off-stage sniping about my appearance - and lifestyle - has reached a crescendo lately, prompted by my appearances on Channel 10's Good News Week. Really, readers, can I help it if they didn't ask him? And just as I'm about to gingerly bring up the subject of our diverging careers, one of the stylists is silly enough to congratulate me on a recent trio with Marcia Hines and Paul McDermott - within earshot of Bob.

"He's stolen my vocal style - and he thinks he's so trendy!" Bob starts in, ostensibly to Robert, but with enough projection to hit the windows of Hum records, on the opposite side of the street. "I just cower if I'm at home in Murwillumbah when Mark comes on the TV. He's such a POOF!"

The venom flows, the tension rises and, suddenly, everyone has found something to do and is looking very busy. Ever the tactful tailor, Robert brandishes a deliciously old-fashioned tartan fabric book. It's a fascinating and very welcome distraction. ("Do they have a tartan for people who aren't Scottish?" asks Bob with apparent seriousness.)

It's a pity he feels such a rage about my GNW work, because when I call Paul McDermott to get his take on Bob, Paul is delighted to talk.

"I'd heard of Bob Downe in the late 80s", he tells me. "I'd received many letters from him actually, and I hadn't thought to respond. I lifted up a stamp one day and realised these letters were sequentially numbered, up to 45.

"And when we finally met at the '89 Edinburgh Fringe, it was in a very strange way - we [The Doug Anthony All Stars] were about to go on stage, but during the lull between houselights down and curtain up, Bob managed to get ahead of us, and proceeded to perform an entire opening set. He did this every night of the season, to huge acclaim, despite our best efforts to stop him."

Hmm. I ask Paul if there has been any tension in his relationship with Bob since my appearances on GNW. "Actually, I have felt compromised when you appear with me on GNW, Mark," he says, "because the next morning after a show is broadcast, my phone message bank is full of hang-ups. Now, I'M NOT saying that it's Bob, but there is a pattern. And I do regularly find severed Ken doll limbs stuffed into my letterbox. In fact, I'm about to take an AVO out on him. But don't get me wrong - please write that I love Bob. Really."

For a bit of international perspective, I place a call to entertainer Julian Clary at his Majorca hideaway. Bob attended the camp comedy star's 40th birthday party earlier this year, and is exceedingly proud of their close, personal friendship.

"Bob Dine? Who? The line is very bad," says Julian. "Oh, Bob Downe? No, sorry - never heard of him. We had a bit of security problem at the party. You're calling from Australia? Do please send my love to Bert."

It's late afternoon as we make our way back to the Gazebo. Bob has been wholly co-operative except when he forbade us to come with him to a hair appointment in a dusty Pitt Street salon. Now, he suggests a poolside drink and after a quick change of clothes he joins me on the rooftop. I try him out on some free-association-style, off-the wall questions. (Well, off-the-wall for him, anyhow.)

MARK: Who do you really love? really?

BOB: Oh, Christ, Mum, of course, and my mad Aunty Bev, who Mum doesn't approve of, so I expect you'll make something of that.

MARK: What do you love?

BOB: Musk sticks. Upstairs on Boeing 747-400s. Old Women's Weekly's. Colour television...I know that sounds ridiculous, but I've never got over it. If you weren't around before colour, you couldn't possibly understand.

MARK: Who would you be?

BOB: Who would I be? That's so stupid. Me, of course! [Natch, sorry] No. let me think. Shirley MacLaine, or Clover Moore [Independent member for the NSW state electorate of Bligh]. Love her. When I was a kid, I wanted to be Jack Wild in H.R. Pufinstuf. Or Julie Andrews.

MARK: Do you realise you're on your fourth can of UDL?

BOB: [Darkening, suddenly and frighteningly] Oh, right. So THIS is what you've been waiting to get around to! I might just like to have a little relaxation after a long day of you lot poking and prodding and posing me around, and you're going to make a big deal of it....

MARK: No, Bob, I just meant that you've had four cans of UDL - I'm intrigued, you've had a different mix each time. Rum and cola...passion fruit and vodka....gin and...

BOB: Now, LOOK HERE. Whose side are you on? You're suppose to be my manager, not some Axes and Orchids, Pick and Pans HACK! Now, you know FULL WELL that I had a little problem with UDL's for those few years - from 18 to 31 to be exact - and you're determined to get the tragic angle, aren't you? They did it to Skippy, they did it to Bert, and now with your help they're going to do it to me, are they?!

MARK: Bob, honestly! I never knew about your problem....

BOB: [Sneering viciously] Yeah, yeah. WHAT-ever, I suppose Aunty Bev's told you about the creme de menthe incident at my confirmation, too. Well, it's all LIES! It was just lime cordial, neat...."

At this point the tirade starts to become a little repetitive, and a little slurred. I turn the tape machine off. An adoring young cocktail waitress withdraws in tears - a fan in crisis. The embarrassed crew packs up and bids an awkward adieu.

BOB: [Brightening] Thank fuck they've all pissed off! Hey - have you seen I Could Go On Singing? Judy's last film. Dirk Bogarde, hilarious ad-libbed dialogue, scenes filmed in the London Palladium - where I played with Lily Savage, I've got the video; let's watch it in the room. I got Romy & Michelle's High School Reunion out again, too.

Alone, together. Again. Just the two of us, like Edward Albee's George and Martha. Well, George and Mildred, perhaps. I guess he really likes it that way.
Mark Trevorrow

Is it true that Bob and Pastel are actually engaged? "In a TV Week Coverstory sort of way. It's interesting, because I'm an out gay man playing a closeted gay entertainer. All comic characters - that have legs - have strange paradoxes within them. Bob's ugly and ridiculous, and yet he's kind of glamorous and sexy. There's the two opposite things pulling against each other. He's a closet fag but I'm always behind him peeking out saying 'no, he's not, no he's not, no he's not'. So there's that knowing pretendyness. The new show plays with all that. 'Bob's got a new girlfriend - oh, has he now?' There's a lot of Prince Edward and Sophie jokes, put it that way. Pastel's quite in love with Bob, and he strings her along - "

That's really sad, isn't it?

"Yeah. In that brutal, showbusiness way. The thing about Bob is that he's a big old fag but I wonder if he's ever actually had sex with anyone. He does live in a caravan with his mother. Mardi Gras opened his eyes a bit. But let's not even go there about the Mardi Gras - "

This comes as a surprise from the Billy Crystal of Mardi Gras. Does he not want to host it again? "Oh, absolutely I would! I'm there for my tribe! Because my audience is not primarily a gay one, and never has been, so I feel I'm ideal because I'm one of the tribe, and I can explain it to straights. No, it's just that I have huge fights and arguments every time the broadcast is discussed because all these queens go on about how Channel Ten hijacked it from the ABC. That's not the case. The ABC dropped it deliberately under pressure from the new Liberal federal government, and dropped it as late in the day as possible to make sure that no-one else got it."

Some people have said that Channel Ten actually do a better job of it. "That's what I think! They much more capture the fun of it. And also I'd much rather be on Channel Ten reaching out to the kids in the suburbs than preaching to the bloody converted on the ABC."

Trevorrow feels that Australia has become accepting of homosexuality, and Mardi Gras - and its broadcast - have a lot to do with it. "Sydney Mardi Gras is a rite of passage for young people of all sexual persuasions. That's how important it is, it's actually a rite of passage. And that's why when people say to me, 'Oh, Mardi Gras's nothing like it used to be.' Well nothing's like it used to be. It's been a long time since aniseed balls were four a cent, let's face it. And the thing I always say to people is that you're faded with it because nothing's as good the tenth or fifteenth time around as it was the first, and you look at the faces on those eighteen, nineteen, twenty-one year olds, they're in heaven. It's as exciting for them as it was for us, and probably a little bit more because there's half a million people on the streets."

Which leads Trevorrow on to one of his other current obsessions - the gay approach to ageing. "As gay men we're conditioned to be so terrified of turning forty - well I just turned forty and I'm here to tell you that life begins at forty." But did you panic about it? "Yeah! Shocking! For two years before, and of course I did the same thing when I turned thirty. It's such a lie, such a gross, destructive distorting lie that somehow you're nothing unless you're young. And from an artistic, a creative point of view we know that the opposite is true. You're nothing until you're forty if you've got a halfway decent path in life, something worth achieving. But that obsession in the commercial gay scene is just pathetic. But it won't change because sex sells, pornographic images of gorgeous young men are very powerful to use in advertising to sell magazines and products."

Drag Queen Kaye Sera has a theory that the media will always push the image that requires the most upkeep, as they have a vested interest in selling the products. "Oh, absolutely! You look at the average 18-year-old-muscleboy in a nightclub in Sydney or Melbourne, the upkeep and maintenance must be more than it is for a Melbourne-Cup winning stallion."

"God I'm going to get in trouble for this interview," muses Trevorrow.

Would he rather keep some of his comments off-the-record?

"Oh no, Not at all. That's the thing about turning 40, you don't give a fuck what people think. And you've got so much to say!"
John Richards

Perhaps in this we can seek some comfort. The Americans are doing their best to decimate our lamb industry, but they haven't reckoned on some of our other cultural exports. Patrick Rafter, for one. Cate Blanchett, Geoffrey Rush and Heath Ledger. David Campbell. Natalie Imbruglia. Sarah O'Hare. The Umbilical Brothers. Baz Luhrmann's sunscreen song driving everyone crazy. And Violet Crumbles.

On this latter item, I must take some credit. I have been single-handedly waging a one-woman trade war for some years, wielding the humble Violet Crumble and Polly Waffle. I worked out long ago that to win the hearts and minds of Americans, you need to win over their stomachs first. And the way to do it is not with wine and song but with lollies.

I'm a pusher and I've got a whole gang of Americans hooked. Not just on Violet Crumbles and Polly Waffles, but Cherry Ripes, Jaffas, Minties, Iced Vo-Vos and Tim-Tams.

I have just returned to New York after a few weeks in Australia and my suitcases were full of shiny packages. I have a clientele to satisfy and they get mighty upset if I don't deliver. "You're going to Australia? Great! Now, let me tell you what I need ..."

The quiet infiltration of the Violet Crumble into the American lifestyle doesn't seem potent enough to redress the imbalance caused by the flood of Americana into our proud continent ("New York-style" apartments going up in Melbourne, Dawson's Creek and Charmed on our TV screens, local pollies touting New York's quasi-fascist "zero tolerance" policy on crime), but give it time.

In response to the unexpected demand for chocolate-coated honeycomb, some savvy Californians have set up a hotline: you dial 1-800-CRUMBLE and a box of Violet Crumbles is soon winging it's way to you wherever you reside in the continental United States. Truly.

Boldened by my success with the Crumble, I've branched out. Yarra Valley Dairy Persian Fetta is prized in downtown Manhattan. Passionfruit is trendy. (You can buy them for $2 apiece here: I bring in those tiny John West cans.) I can wow 'em at dinner parties by producing a pavlova at the end of a meal. "Oh, we've heard about these from London!" New Yorkers say. "We've been dying to try one!" You can imagine what a ruckus a simple Caramello Koala creates.

Not all my recent imports have been a success, however. My good friend Bob Downe, whose manager, Mark Trevorrow, has managed to find rare King Island Musk Sticks for $7 each, suggested I give musk sticks a whirl this time.

"Australia's the only country stupid enough to make them," he advised. I have to say that musk sticks haven't worked as I anticipated. Most Americans react by spitting them out. Musk, it appears, is not a food here, but a cologne. Bob suggests I try Coon cheese next time.

I haven't lost hope because of this one failure. My friend Christina, a Perth girl in New York, shares my dream of setting up an Aussie cake shop on Manhattan. We figure New Yorkers, starved for good cakes and bread, will gobble up our lamingtons, vanilla slices, honey rolls, monkey faces, napoleons and jelly-coated fairy cakes.

The Brits are one step ahead of us, though. They have a very popular little cafe, Tea and Sympathy, in Greenwich Village which serves yorkshire pudding and devonshire teas and attracts the likes of ex-pats such as Minnie Driver and Rupert Everett.

Nearby, Pete Myers, famous for his many appearances in Kinky Friedman crime novels, sells home-made bangers, cornish pasties and tins of Milo in his shop, Myers of Keswick. The Poms know all about cultural imperialism. If guns won't do it, launch an all-out attack on the taste buds.

In the trade wars, Sugar Not Sport is my motto. American sweets are abominable. Their chocolate tastes like soap. They put peanut butter in everything. We can get them hooked on our stuff, no problem. Let leading businessmen trade in Violet Crumble bars, fly them in under the cover of night in small planes, get the kids addicted, then use their withdrawal as a bargaining tool for dropping the tariff on lamb.

I think that will work. And if it doesn't - well, we can always blame it on the Swiss. They make the stuff anyway.
Lee Tulloch

Bob Downe's mum is relieved that he finally has a girlfriend, and what better woman could he want than the charming Pastel Vespa, Brazilian chanteuse with an uncannily similar dress sense?

Bob still talks about his life - visits to Sydney's Oxford Street ("Quite by accident"), reminscences about K-Tel Record Selectors, tales about his Auntie Bev. More than ever his show is a nostalgia trip into the Time that Taste Forgot. Pastel, European in temperament, talks about her family problems and her feelings for Bob.

The core of the show is the music. Splendid old 70s hits crooned in the corniest fashion with the goofiest faces and most peculiar intonations possible, all of it underpinned by the truly stunning vocal talents of Mr Downe, Miss Vespa and the Musical Director, John Thorn, who plays live on stage. Relive the embarrassing glory of "Afternoon Delight", "You Are The Sunshine Of My Life" and more! Pastel Vespa's speciality is singing radically different arrangements of rock songs, including an exquisitely delicate version of 'Tubthumping'. She's well into the song before you realise you're hearing a fluffy cabaret version of 'Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick'.

They appear on stage replete in polyester, bell sleeves and wide lapels, dancing like a pair of crazed marionettes. Bob Downe is an over-the-top performer, with his claymation features producing improbable facial expressions while his costumes become more and more outrageous. Pastel is slightly more normal - close enough in style so that she blends beautifully with Bob's own distinctive showmanship, but different enough to add variety for those who have seen Bob's antics before.

Retro trendies will enjoy it, but more so those who get involved in the nostalgia with as much embarrassment as hilarity. As Bob Downe himself tells us: "The dag in us all is not very far below the surface".
Narrelle Harris

Sexless and graceless as usual - although his hair is looking suspiciously fresher than ever - Downe has managed to defy the ravages of time to become a hilarious comic creation.

It's a tribute to Trevorrow and, perhaps as Bob might put it, to the power of green gingham that while the years diminish the humor of many acts, Downe remains a consistent side-splitter.

His latest show, Million Sellers, arrives in Melbourne after many performances in Britain and elsewhere in Australia. It also comes less than 18 months after his successful stint in last year's Melbourne Comedy Festival.

But from the outset, it is obvious that while the general themes are the same as always, Trevorrow/Downe knows how to find so many new ways of making us laugh. One look at Bob in canary yellow is enough for some people, but if you enjoy a dose of suburban kitsch, then a night of wallowing with Downe is the perfect hit.

It has been a winning formula for this act for many years: merge the memories of growing up in the Australian suburbs with lashings of camp humor. The opening-night crowd at the Continental lapped it up.

Yes, it's from the same line of work as Barry Humphries' Dame Edna Everage, but Trevorrow finds enough fresh comedic veins of his own.

Every second line he delivers is, in fact, a brilliant one-liner, particularly during the first half of the show, which lags a little after the interval.

More cabaret than stand-up, in Million Sellers Downe mixes the many quips with dozens of songs. And this time, instead of the one-man act of previous shows, he has consented to include a co-star, the fabulously named Pastel Vespa (Fiona Thorn). Half-Brazilian, half-Italian (not to mention the heiress to a motor scooter fortune), Vespa comes with a bad accent and a penchant for wearing clothes at least as loud as Downe's.

And the songs! Vespa's peculiar renditions of Kiss' I Was Made For Loving You and Chumbawamba's Tubthumping just have to be heard to be believed.

But her inclusion - and that of her "Polish half-sister Dusky Vespa" - is a perfect foil for Downe, making plenty of fodder for his regular jokes about closet homosexuality and his on-stage ego. Thorn's partner, John, the show's keyboardist and musical arranger, is another straight man for Downe's humor.

But do not be mistaken: despite the "duets" with Vespa, this is not a show about equals. Mr Murwillumbah dominates proceedings with his megawatt smile, groovy moves and bitchy asides.

Trevorrow has given Downe a bit more room to move in recent years, perhaps buoyed by the fact that his alter ego is now an established comic act in several countries. The bitchy asides are more caustic than ever, for instance, a measure of how confident Trevorrow is.

Another sign is when, just as the curtains close at the end of the encore, Downe whips off his wig to remind us that it is Trevorrow underneath.

It's something Downe would probably hate to admit, but in Million Sellers he's looking as relaxed and comfortable as a John Howard Australian.
Darrin Farrant

It's definitely Mark Trevorrow sitting here now, talking about his new show, Million Sellers, which opened last night and runs until September 5.

Million Sellers is, according to Trevorrow, a two-hour "musical comedy spectacular" with Pastel Vespa (Fiona Thorn), who helped him on his 1997 Jazzy! comedy album.

Written in the United Kingdom, Million Sellers has toured Australia. It has had sell-out shows at the Sydney Opera House.

But the sartorially challenged, buck-toothed character, who has attracted a cult UK following since his Edinburgh Fringe debut in 1988, is never really far away.

"Bob Downe is a really big part of me, something I've been doing to make everybody laugh since I was a kid. He's my kind of clown," Trevorrow says.

Bob was born not just from a compulsion to perform, but also as a survival technique in Trevorrow's teenage years.

"When you're a poof, it helps you not get beaten up at school. Make em laugh - then you're their mascot. You're like the court jester," he says. "Some of the Poofs who were good at sport were okay because they could 'pass'. I could never pass. I was no lan Roberts," he says, referring to the "out" rugby player.

And it seems it still does ensure his survival. "Try getting up at the Last Laugh stage and not making them laugh. You're dead in the water. All I'll say is it's lucky there's a stage door," he says.

"When I was at the Last Laugh 10 years ago, looking down at panel beaters from Moe crying with laughter, the sort of guys I'd have to cross the road to avoid, it was pretty fascinating," he says.

Trevorrow says he'd hate it if other gay people thought he was perpetuating a stereotype.

Bob Downe is a parody of that "TV poof thing that some people do - he's an out gay man playing a closet TV poof, but you know it's an out gay man peeping out from behind".

As the years go by, Bob gets more and more out, Trevorrow says.

"You're not going to come to the show and see me waving the rainbow flag, but it's just kind of what is behind what's going on."

Perhaps the only person who is unaware of Bob's sexual preferences is his co-star, Pastel Vespa.

"Pastel is quite in love with Bob but he's playing hard to get a little bit, he's a little bit oblivious, and he's a little bit of a poof, let's face it," he says.

Somehow, poor Pastel is completely unaware her love is doomed, even in the face of Bob's hosting job at the Sydney Mardi Gras this year and 1998.

"There's a bit of cultural misunderstanding. She's part Brazilian, so she loves a parade. Everything he does thrills her more and more - there's nothing he can do to put her off the game."

And it seems there's little that can put Trevorrow off his.
Helen Westerman

In the show you perform million sellers by the likes of Bon Jovi, Cher and Chumbawumba. How about some Ricky Martin and Shania Twain?
Ricky Martin and Shania Twain.. it's the same old stuff in a new bag, just a very aesthetically pleasing bag. It's the musical equivalent of a New Woman magazine cover. No, we're into classics, songs that will last.

What about some Marilyn Manson?
We'll try if that's what's going to bring in the youngies. We're more likely to do Marilyn Monroe. Or maybe even Boy George's friend Marilyn.

You do a Cher song (Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves). Are you pleased about her comeback?
Cher never went away. She was just taking a couple of years out on the Home Shopping Channel.

And having plastic surgery?
She wasn't having surgery, she just had lots of rest. Though I think the only person who's had that much rest is Tutenkamun.

Have you had a chance to watch much Australian TV since returning home?
I love Sea Change, I could see myself having a rôle in it. Maybe the town could open a cabaret venue, Bob's Bar, with lots of bamboo, and I could burst into song every now and then.

Are you still a Bert Newton fan?
He's the master. It's his world, we just live in it. He's a magnificent improvisational comic.

What was the last movie you saw?
I've seen the South Park movie three times. It's a full musical, so it's right up my street. I saw Austin Powers, but it was too annoying. Those silly sticky-out teeth, daggy old clothes and that ridiculous wig. No one dresses like that.

Are Steps the new ABBA?
No, they're the new Young Talent Time, except the choreography isn't as good.

Do you have a favourite Minogue sister?
Kylie of course. She's the only one who could challenge Bert for national icon status.

When was the last time you cried?
When I got to Myer five minutes after the doors had shut on sale day.

What's the best rumour you've heard about yourself?
That the hair is real and the teeth are fake.

Which famous person do you secretly have a crush on?
Craig McLachlan. I can't wait for the Happy Days musical. I hope I'm in the 150th row for that one!

Who's your favourite Spice Girl?
Danni Minogue.
Cameron Adams

And look, he's even brought along a girlfriend in the form of Miss Pastel Vespa, a leggy blonde with the girl-next-door charm of Judith Durham and the slinky Latino voice of Astrud Gilberto. Together they evoke memories of Sonny and Cher and Ernie and Denise as they tackle classic hit fodder such as Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick, You Are The Sunshine Of My Life and Livin' On A Prayer.

Once likened to a store mannequin, Downe has been praised by UK critics for his winning smile, razor sharp wit and impeccable dress sense. One critic even went so far as to suggest that Downe "beautifully captures the sheer vacuousness of celebrity in a glance".
Shane Robert Cooper

As a minor celebrity fast crawling my way to the middle, I confess I had been especially slow to join the debate. What about the likes of me, Noelene Donaher or Fairlie Arrow? Where should we stand on this burning millennial issue? Hmm?

So I thought I'd better find out more about the republic before my knee jerked into place. And when my dear old showbiz pal Richard Fidler - former Doug Anthony All Star, now cable celebrity dad and leading Yes Coalition light - invited me to a fund-raising republican yum cha in Sydney, how could I resist? I mean, I love yum cha! They don't have those in Murwillumbah.

Of course, in Murwillumbah they're not having a bar of the republic, either. It's a particularly no-go subject at our place, where a blow-up laminated print of me shaking hands with QE2 takes pride of place in the kiosk at the Now Or Never Caravan Park. These days Mum doesn't hesitate in turning away customers displaying an even slightly suspicious bumper sticker.

Meanwhile, Nana Downe has never taken her coronation souvenir Women's Weekly off the coffee, sorry, side table.

Richard Fidler's invitation arrived by email. How up-to-the-nanosecond can you get? Sunday, 4pm, the Imperial Peking Afloat, Rose Bay. Right under those toffee noses. Brilliant! Guest speaker Malcolm Turnbull. Yo! Strong media presence. Lovely! (I've got a tour on, after all.) But of course, with the way things are back home, just to be on the safe side I arrived lying flat in a dinghy, covered in a tarpaulin. God help me if the Murwillumbah Irrigator was there!

As it turned out, the only danger was sea sickness - there wasn't a pork bun in sight and I was rapidly turning from Beige Bisque to Wicked Witch Green.

Thankfully, master of ceremonies, Richard's superbly spiky opening remarks were almost enough to take our minds off it. Almost. I was seated, satisfyingly enough, at Table Two, in the thick of a small group of curmudgeons who took one look at me and stopped talking. I was worried about this until I realised they were senior journalists - they always behave like this, apparently, no matter who they're with. These fellows sat, mullet-stunned, as I voiced a theory with which I'd bored friends for days: As John Howard increasingly allies himself with the No case, how, then, does he expect to remain PM if the referendum is passed?

Anyway, I'd been having much more fun with Gina Riley, Marg Downey and Jane Turner - also at Table Two, in their guises as those hilarious eastern suburbs op-shop wives. It was only later that I was informed these women were REAL eastern suburbs op-shop wives. Republican ones!

ARM chair Malcolm Turnbull was impressive. Not nearly as smart-arsed in the flesh, and I especially admired his lemon yellow jumper. Very subversive, very Sunday afternoon in Vaucluse.

National campaign director Greg Parnes (freshly head-hunted from John Fahey's office!) stirred the troops with a report from the provinces. Tasmania AND South Australia were looking good, both vital in the drive towards an elusive four-state majority. Well, I stage-whispered to my table, why wouldn't they be? I'd just played Hobart and the Tassies are in the euphoric grip of a King Island-led recovery. As for SA - hadn't the ARM arranged two Crows AFL Flags in a row with a forthcoming Port Power coup to seal the feel-good deal? Table Two just glared at me. Sssshhh!!

All of this was a mere side-show, however, with the Great Man present. All eyes were on special surprise guest Gough Whitlam as he sat vice-regally at Table One, that famous look of private amusement intact.

It really looked as if lie might not speak, but of course those devilish republicans know just when to flick the switch to vaudeville. Up he rose, to a thunderously Bankstown Labour Club reception, slightly stopped, almost shockingly aged, but with his beady intelligence completely dimmed.

It was the Whitlam of old - a seemingly impromptu, 30-minute speech after lunch, meander as it might, our fullest fifth-form concentration was repaid with elegantly hilarious and satisfying conclusion. Don't ask me what he said. The way he said it was enough.

The basic gist seemed to be that if Prince Charles marries Camilla, a Catholic, we're all off the hook, no matter what the referendum result. Wow.

No, look, listen, the whole affair was Who Weekly meets the New Statesman. If this is politics, swingers, count me in!
Bob Downe

With a vacuous stare and a knife-edged crease in his pants, Bob Downe - the toothy, kitsch creation of Mark Trevorrow - has set up camp in The Studio and unfurled a nostalgia trip that is almost as awful as it is alluring.

Downe, a loopy, rubbery entertainer stuck in the retro groove, used to come across as a parody of TV game show hosts and tonight show celebrities, building a line of patter that traded on sexual innuendo, camp repartee and irreverent ad-libs. He still does, but Million Sellers has a few more knowing nods of self- parody and is less sneering than his alter ego might have us believe.

Combining the cardboard tattiness of a cheap TV show and kaleidoscopic blobs and swirls projected on a screen, Million Sellers is a riot of colour. The set is rivalled only by Downe in his terracotta safari suit - "In Scotland, the audience thought the colour was 'shite'," he confides - and his technicolour "girlfriend" Miss Pastel Vespa, a sultry blonde who sounds like Margarita Pracatan and comes across as a Eurovision Song Contest reject who has rummaged through every op shop in town. And very successfully, I might add.

Downe's style of comedy is sardonic yet twee. It is enlivened by the slippery motions of his voice and body; the expressiveness of his fey gestures, silly dance shuffles and cheesy smile. Occasionally there's a personal jibe or a political shot casually tossed off in an act dependent on ad lib and a sense that it might veer spectacularly off the rails. Perhaps that is its appeal. At any rate, Trevorrow's lack of pretence and ripe harmonies with Vespa make the trip endearing and fun. Despite their make-believe antagonisms, the duo teams beautifully, as Bob might say, and skilfully blend to croon a tune. "Every song a hit! Every hit a memory!", the Million Sellers spruikers promise, wise to the fact that it all depends on how old you are. With vocal dexterity, gay abandon and synchronised poise, they pluck lounge and elevator songs from the K-Tel selector rack and make them their own. Songs like Afternoon Delight, Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves, Where Is The Love?, Love Grows, California Dreaming, Those Were The Days. You get the drift.

Stitched - by no means seamlessly - around the edges of the solos, duets and medleys is a haphazard monologue of the boy-meets-girl variety, but ultimately, Bob's sexual leanings notwithstanding, it's an affair built on a love of saccharine pop and blinding colours rather than each other.

Opening night nerves and a tendency to lazily say "f---'n' hell" too often undercut the spark that Trevorrow is capable of, but he's certain to gather his wits and persuade that under the aerodynamic wig, the son of Ida and brother of Mark Downe ("he works in retail") can take gleeful flight.
Bryce Hallett

Pastime: Getting back books, records and videos he has lent to friends.

HE'S the prince of polyester, the guru of Glow-weave, the king of karaoke. Others have clamoured for that hair, those pants, that smile, those teeth ... but no-one can beat the lord of lounge singers, Bob Downe.

After starting his entertainment career playing the recorder, Downe, and his alter ego Mark Trevorrow, graduated to television stardom with Good Morning Murwillumbah.

Since then his admirers have flocked to swap their natural fibres for snazzy synthetics and Downe has met and worked with just about everyone who matters - from Queen Elizabeth II to the greats of Australian television, Bert Newton and Kerri-Anne Kennerley.

After rave reviews in comedy festivals across the globe and television appearances at home and in Britain, Downe has become an icon of Australian style, with world sales of beige clothing reportedly on the rise.

He is making a triumphant return to the Australian stage, mainly to show off his rounded vowels and his extensive repertoire of Spice Girls songs.

His show, Million Sellers, provides a bevy of hits, with the help of Pastel Vespa.

When did you discover the joys of getting back all your books, records and videos from friends?

It was a New Year's resolution. Trouble is, I've been lending things since 1971. Unfortunately my collection included lots of formats that have now died - everything from eight millimetre film and eight-track cartridges to stone tablets, wax cylinders.

How often do you do it?

Not often enough . . . I can't remember who's got what. Some of my friends have had my stuff for so long, now they think they own it. I have to borrow it back from them.

What's the appeal?

Those empty shelves are mocking me, and I just cannot listen to the Gypsy Kings again!

What's your idea of a perfect Sunday?

No questionnaires, surveys, no doors or phones to answer. I spend Sunday brushing up on my origami skills and looking at the dead pot plants on the balcony and thinking I must do something about them. When I'm feeling social I'll have lunch with Chelsea Brown, Kerri-Anne Kennerley or Alan Jones.

What's your favourite drink?

Campari and soda with a sugar cube.

What are you like when you're drunk?

I don't know . . . but what the hell are YOU lookin' at pal?!

When was your last wild night out?

Logies night. I was in London, but I didn't let that stop me! I got together with a bunch of Aussie expats - Dannii, Kylie, Rolf Harris and the Seekers - to enjoy the proceedings. Because there was no satellite connection we all listened down the phone. Unfortunately we missed a lot of what was going on because people were talking in the pub, but we still had a good time.

What's your favourite restaurant?

Denny's. It's cheap, cheerful and you KNOW what you're getting. They haven't changed the menu at Murwillumbah Denny's since 1975, so the prices are really cheap.

What was the last movie you saw?

Austin Powers. So ridiculous and unbelievable, with those teeth, that hair and those silly outfits.

What book are you reading?

Anything by Jilly Cooper. (She couldn't think of yet another title.)

What CD are you listening to?

I haven't got a CD player, but I do have Hot August Night belting out on the eight-track. What a shame Neil Diamond looks like a Spanish waiter these days.

What do your friends call you?

"Darling". They can't remember my name.

Who was your first idol?

Jack Wild in HR Puff'N'Stuff. I used to have nightmares about Witchy-Poo.

Where did you have your first kiss?

On the mouth, I think.

When was the last time you cried?

When I saw Madonna's Max Factor poster ... cried with laughter, that is!

Why can't she just be a pop star like everybody else?

Do you have any scars?

Many, and all internal.

Do you believe in ghosts?

No, but I believe in life after love.

What did you dream about last night?

Meeting the Swans. It was very private and I can't go into it now. I mean, we all know there's only one Tony Lockett. (Let's just say I met them for real when I played in a celebrity warm-up game last Sunday and it was so NOT like my dream, it was scary.)

Holden or Ford?

British Leyland. Mum's still got her Marina and my apple-green P76 is still going strong. Did you know you can fit a 44-gallon drum in the boot?

What's the most unusual gift you've ever received?

The gift of being able to say ". . . no, it's LOVELY!" and be believed.

Have you ever stolen anything from a hotel?

A two-metre standard lamp, but they caught me at airport security.

What can't you live without?

My mum. Ida, that is. She cried all the way through Edward and Sophie's wedding, but I just had a little smirk on my face.

What's the greatest invention of the 20th century?

The microphone.

Has success gone to your head?

What a typically ignorant question from a little nobody!! Of COURSE not.

* Million Sellers is on at Sydney Opera House - The Studio until July 24.
Chritine Sams

Actually, it was Bob's new girlfriend, Pastel Vespa, who started the show Million Sellers, beginning a partnership that would make its way through a range of much-loved songs, a bucketload of laughs and the most impressive wardrobe selection this side of an ABBA concert.

Bob Downe's clothing was the envy of every black-clad punter there and he showed off everything from a terracotta safari suit to starched collars that could slice your nose off in a breeze.

Judging by the laughter, the comments and the marriage proposals, Bob Downe (and his creator Mark Trevorrow) got a big Murwillumbah-style thumbs-up from the adoring crowd.

Sarah Southwell, 25, Randwick

It was brilliant. I haven't rocked with laughter like that for ages. The off-the-cuff humour was the best and a lot of the jokes really didn't feel staged at all. I envy Bob's wardrobe, without a doubt! Recommend to friends: For sure. Absolutely. There is something for everyone.

Rating: A definite 8.5 out of 10

Craig Donarski, 35, Kings Cross

It was a great show and great to see something like this at the Opera House, which I wouldn't normally touch with a barge pole. I almost felt embarrassed to realise I had the same records as Bob. It took me back to Tamworth and Taree and I truly believe the smell of a leagues club wafted into the Opera House tonight.

Recommend to friends: Utterly - as long as they have a campy sense of humour.

Rating: A high nine. It would have been a 10 except for the dirty bits on the screen behind him.

Paul McGrath, 37, Edgecliff

He was fresh, he was funny and the whole show was just plain good fun. He's just so imaginative, and as for the costumes, weren't they just wonderful? I want the yellow number.

Recommend to friends: Absolutely.

Rating: 9.5/10

Tracey Williams, 36, Maroubra

Bob was wonderful. I think Austin Powers needs to step aside and Bob Downe can take over. I especially liked singing along to the songs, in fact I'm still singing now! And I was definitely tapping my feet on the floor.

Recommend to friends: For sure.

Rating: 10/10

Georgia Martignago, 30, Bronte Beach

Great, colourful, unique, original. All of it was really good, especially the outfits. I've seen many of his shows before, in fact I'm a really big Bob Downe fan. But bringing in the woman Pastel Vespa was something very different, and it was good. I think she worked very well alongside him.

Recommend to friends: Definitely.

Rating: 10/10

Ali Stevens, Bob's age, Concord

I'm exhausted from laughing - fabulous, what a triumph! (Now I sound like a newspaper review, ha, ha). I want to marry him and I'm going to knit my own wedding dress.

Recommend to friends: Oh yes, they're all coming.

Rating: Out of 10? 280
Christine Sams

Such are the vagaries of fashion and style that it's now cool to flaunt bad taste. Goodbye Carolyn Bessette Kennedy. Hello Bjork. At cult stores such as Pretty Dog in Newtown, nonchalant young women prowl for clothes from new and upcoming labels, the more obscure the better. A sign on the door reads: "Are you pretty enough? We're not sure we want you if you are."

The subtext, explains shop owner Tanya Stevanovic, is that Pretty Dog represents the opposite of sugar-coated, body- contouring Barbie fashions. "Things that are ugly are definitely beautiful," she says.

The catalyst for this style shake-up is that almost everyone has become accomplished in the art of good taste. After the '80s, people are more designer literate than ever.

If you want to be truly up to the minute, you should make choices that subvert the modern lifestyle aesthetic. Individuality rules.

At Make in Elizabeth Bay, Martin Osborne stocks an eclectic grouping of furniture from the '60s: red inflatable chairs, flokati rugs and bubble lamps by Italian designer Joe Columbo. Translation: sales.

Good taste is viewed as creating a homogenised society at the expense of eccentricity. In other words, it's boring. So, armbands, studded belts and even legwarmers are back - just in time for the stage versions of Fame and Saturday Night Fever. The beauty industry is touting green eyeshadow, blue mascara and nail polish that changes colour with moods. The Summit restaurant serves updated versions of prawn cocktail, duck à l'orange, and Black Forest cake. And the style icons of the times are Austin Powers and Bob Downe.

In fashion, insightful designers understand the importance of blatant imperfection. For the Third Millennium spring/summer collection, Claire Dickson-Smith has created crocheted smocks, embroidered bell bottoms, zebra-printed jeans and shearling waistcoats that look as if they were unearthed at a garage sale in Newcastle.

"I don't want to do things that are in fashion," says Dickson-Smith, who cites the misfit character Barbara Hershey played in Boxcar Bertha (1972) as her influence. "No-one knows what's cool any more and if you're definite about something you can make it work, even a pair of ugh boots."

In the words of Austin Powers, oh behave.
George Epaminondas

"Melbourne!" he beamed, enough to elicit warm recognition of where comic genius can emerge.

"I'm not sure if he had seen me as Bob Downe and was just being polite or if he didn't have any idea," shrugs Trevorrow, 40. "I used to list Barry Humphries as someone I was greatly influenced by, partly because of his urbane comedy and acting skills.

"But Bob Downe is inspired by the magical variety of TV when it was in the brilliant and often camp grip of Graham Kennedy, Bert Newton, Bruce Mansfield and Philip Brady - these are the people who have influenced my brand of comedy."

Trevorrow has returned to Sydney after a sell-out tour of his latest show in Britain - a "non-stop neurotic cabaret" titled Million Sellers which, apart from presenting Bob Downe in a new, immaculately coiffed wig, reveals the flirtier side of the character's peculiarly sexless nature.

So larger-than-life has the crooner become that a critic said in The Times: "His ego needs all the room it can get", a compliment as far as Trevorrow is concerned of an uninhibited, joyfully camp and warm personality he unleashed as a "callow" young man in 1984. "I can't watch old performances because I can see the lack of confidence, daring and skill," muses Trevorrow. "Back then Bob was tentative and shy and now he's an absolute monster; the character continues to grow and the only reason to keep going is to improve and, of course, because of my very high rent commitments in Sydney and London," he laughs, revealing a hint of the toothy Prince of Polyester inside.

Trevorrow, who worked as a journalist, including a stint as an arts editor for a glossy magazine, turned his hand to comedy when he co-founded the cabaret group The Globos in the early ?80s. Bob Downe surfaced when Trevorrow tested the solo career waters in Sydney and at the Edinburgh Fringe; the audience lapped him up and so did his maker.

Trevorrow doesn't write his monologues, except for a few short linking passages or cues to keep him on track. "I used to always feel guilty that I didn?t work more on the material," he says. "But when I?m performing I have this sensation that a whole chunk of information is coming from above and through me. Whatever it is, there's a part of my brain which never stops working and all my best stuff is ad-lib. Julian [Clary] goes off to Spain to write a new show from scratch - almost every word is scripted - and it works for him because his delivery is so deadpan.

"Whereas Humphries is more lethal and cerebral, my style of comedy is pure childishness and about unleashing glee in the way Graham Kennedy used to. It's very silly and camp, really, but that?s why it's so much fun and enables the audience to become six, seven or eight years of age and feel totally unburdened of their cares."

While some have wondered if there is much life left in Bob Downe, Trevorrow says he never tires of performing and that he hasn't taken full advantage of the character. "I believe Bob Downe has potential on TV and in theatrical form and I'm talking to Back Row Productions about the possibilities. Million Sellers is a revue show in the true sense - it has a narrative and harks back to The Globos' shows. There's plenty of tunes and 20 amazing costumes, many of them unearthed in retro shops in London and New York. We [he performs with John and Fiona Thorn. She is Pastel Vespa] have the time of our lives and they are beautiful to work with."

Trevorrow is adamant he is not becoming like his "monster". "You become less and less like the character because you are getting better as a performer and actor," he says.
Bryce Hallett

Dave Warner from 2GB radio interviewed celebrities, one of the highlights being Bob Downe's rendition of the SCG classic "One Tony Lockett". Warwick Capper made a very popular return to the SCG as captain of the Red Team and Ernie Dingo showed that his prowess is not limited to the entertainment field.

Initially, however, there's little sign of the camp, kitsch Prince of Crimplene in this bloke in the baggy Gap jeans and Doc Martens. "G'day," he says, emerging from his 10m Winnebago-cum-tour bus. "Did anyone tell you I was a size queen?"

Once wedged into a tiny dressing room backstage at art English provincial theatre, the tall, fit 40-year old embarks on a metamorphosis even Kafka would be proud of. Two coiffed ash-blonde wigs sit like disembodied heads on stands in front of the make-up mirror. Flared polyester suits in a riot of lurid colours hang stiffly from their hangers.

Trevorrow begins dabbing on layers of heavy foundation, his direct, gaze switching from me to his reflection. The more he evolves into the character he's been performing for nigh on 13 years, the more he answers my questions through the looking glass. When the wig goes on the transformation is startling. "Bob has a high impact first entrance," he offers, smiling that the real whiter than white grin, "which is still true to this day."

This was certainly true for those of us who witnessed Bob Downe's solo debut at Melbourne's Last Laugh in 1987. His safari suited, Hush Puppied parody of a regional television presenter from Murwillumbah, who moonlighted as a shop dummy, brought the house down. Part Don Lane, part Ken Doll, he sent up a celebrity, 70s suburbia and himself in between a series of ridiculous song and dance routines, oozing insincerity and a fake American accent all the while.

The daggy yet glamorous Bob Downe was an instant success. Trevorrow's winning formula has played to larger audiences ever since. Now dividing his time between Britain and Australia, he tours both countries with alacrity. There have been annual pilgrimages to the Edinburgh Festival, sell-out shows in London's West End, gigs at the Melbourne Comedy Festival and his rôle as compere of Sydney's Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras for the past two years.

There have also been a book, albums, a host of TV shows and guest appearances including a 1997 Royal Variety Performance, and a cameo as a refrigerator salesman in the forthcoming Yahoo Serious movie Mr Accident. He performs regularly alongside his best mates Julian Clary and Paul O'Grady, also known as the popular British drag act Lily Savage, with whom he toured Australia in 1995.

Having recently and triumphantly completed his "Million Sellers" tour of Britain and Ireland with co-star Pastel Vespa - a ditzy Brazilian cocktail singer, played by fellow Australian Fiona Thorn - Bob Downe's star shows no sign of waning. The transition from playing stand-up comedy bearpits to theatres, coupled with a fictional family history (including his mum and dad, Ida and Neil) and a relatively recent emphasis on Bob's closeted homosexuality have given the character a new lease on life.

There are those who dismiss the act as derivative.

"How could it be when it's exactly what I've done since I was about four?" responds Trevorrow. He once met a graduate of France's famed Le Coq mime school who told him that he was only doing naturally what Le Coq professes to teach. He'd found his inner clown. "And Bob is childish because he's my clown. When I started he was pretty controlled. Now he's more mercurial, with sudden mood swings and foot stomping tantrums. So the more I allow him to be like I was as a kid, the funnier he gets." If he's derivative, he adds vehemently, he's only derivative of a junior version of Trevorrow himself.

Born and raised in Murrumbeena in suburban Melbourne, the third of four children to a builder turned teacher and a housewife, his childhood was the stuff on which acts (well, his anyway) are built. What for many of us was the suburban norm - caravan park holidays, Tony Bartuccio dancers on the Don Lane show, school rehearsals for Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat - Trevorrow would later channel into Bob's hilariously inane patter. He says he knew he was gay from the age of eight - a crush on Davy Jones from the Monkees gave him a clue - but deflected any bullying with his big gob and ability to act the fool. He came out as gay at 19.

These days his sexuality is a "non-issue" with his family. He wishes it were the same with the media. "It's certainly something that interests journalists, because there are so few people who are prepared to come out and say they are gay. Which amazes me really, in such a poofy profession as performing in theatre. So the ones who do come out often regret it 'cos they end up talking about nothing else. But the thing about Bob is that his gayness absolutely informs the work, as it does with Julian Clary or Lily Savage. So it's an irony within an irony. And I know how provocative that is."

After all, Trevorrow is a journalist. He joined the Melbourne Sun as a copy boy in 1977 and was staff writer, then freelance arts editor, of Vogue in the mid-80s. But his love of performing was paramount. In 1982 he co-formed the comedy group the Globos, who enjoyed hits with Tintarella di Luna and The Beat Goes On; in 1984 he launched a character sketch duo with his friend Cathy Armstrong in which Bob Downe was born.

It was only a matter of time before he went solo - in a stretch far exceeding the lifespan of most comedy characters. One of the keys to Bob's longevity, Trevorrow says, is his paradoxical nature. "He's sexless but sexy. Which is like his relationship with the female audience. I'm an out gay man playing a closeted character, so I'm winking out from behind that facade in the same way that Barry Humphries (as Edna Everage) is always reminding audiences that he's a straight man playing a woman, that he's not a drag queen. It's that grey realm, which is contradictory and mysterious."

Trevorrow pauses and adds wryly, "Although I'm sure a lot of people are mystified by the fact I'm still doing the act". Now that you mention it, isn't 13 years a long time to do only one character? Trevorrow's talent, wit and intelligence are there in spades, so why not dispatch Bob Downe to that great retro graveyard in the sky?

Granted, Trevorrow has appeared as himself on Channel Ten's Good News Week, and eventually intends to move into radio and recording under his real name. But as far as the character goes, he's still having the time of his life. "Bob's got a lot darker and bitchier, so he's a lot more fun to play. And people appreciate it on different levels - I get mums and dads who love it for its surface entertainment value, and dykes, fags and students who are totally hip to it."

"Bob's perennially popular because he's so stupid," says Clary. "He's the silliest act in the world. He could go another 50 years if he wants to. O'Grady points to the current plethora of cheap imitators, notably Britain's cheesy lounge singer Lenny Beige, with whom Bob is often compared. "It's easy to pull on a pair of flares." O'Grady says. "But it always amazes me when Bob goes on so full of enthusiasm. He's never phoney.

You see the stand up comics at the Edinburgh Festival struggling to stretch to their five minutes into an hour, but Bob Downe is endless. He has so much material."

Trevorrow reckons the character's good for at least another 10 years. At no point has he thought it was time to finish but, he states with a shrug, he won't be mourning Bob's passing when it does: "I'll know I took it as far as I can go."

A more permanent, move to Australia is on the cards, "before I get cut off from my culture". He keeps in daily touch with Australian news on the Internet and is proud of the fact that Bob Downe is able to play both the Melbourne Comedy Festival and the Sydney Mardi Gras.

"They're expressions of the cultures and attitudes of each of those two cities. I just feel so fortunate that I'm integral when I'm there doing it. It's a great tribute to me, to what I've achieved."

A recent article in The Times alleged that Bob Downe wasn't a popular figure on the stand-up comedy circuit. His character-based comedy, it implied, was an easy cop-out. "Stand-up comedy is a real cul-de-sac anyway," says Trevorrow.

"They'll hate me for saying that. But they think of camp and gay humour as a cul-de-sac. We're very Balkanised about it. Eighty per cent of the stand-up audience are drunk young males; here's this incredible atmosphere of aggression. Thankfully I stopped playing those environments years ago."

Melbourne comic Greg Fleet agrees that many of his colleagues have been only too ready to dismiss Bob Downe as a lightweight. Have been, that is, until they see him perform. "No matter how much people want to hate him," Fleet says, "they can't. In a way he brings people together, because he's just so bloody hilarious."

I'd come along to Bob Downe's show feeling that maybe, after 13 years, Trevorrow must be flogging the proverbial dead horse. He might have had me in stitches back in 1987, but surely tonight I'd be seeing the last gasp of a character well past his used by date.

But here they are in the audience - the mums, dads, kids and grandparents, the hip-to-it gays and students laughing uproariously right from Bob Downe's high-impact entrance in orange safari suit with fly-away collar. We laugh uproariously, holding onto each other during the jokes, ad libs, faux innocent put-downs and oblique references to his sexuality. We crease up at the hilarious, arm-thrusting dance routines, marvel at the arch ad libs and wildly clap the velvety voice that belts out everything from Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves to, fittingly, I Will Survive.

There's a telling moment, however, right at the very end. As the curtains slowly close over our hero, he whips off his wig and dangles it out through the gap. Standing there grinning ear-to-ear is the real Trevorrow.
Jane Cornwell

A SYDNEY agent to the stars has admitted she is having trouble managing her business following reports that she owes as much as $60,000 to clients and staff.

Michelle Trembath, who represents Australia's Funniest Home Video host Kim Kilbey, Bob Downe and, until recently, Nathan Harvey, actor William Snow and Water Rats' Alison Cratchley, has been targeted by former and current clients over payments they say they have not received.

Sascha Huckstepp, an agent employed by Trembath, resigned six weeks ago citing "differences".

"Since I left the agency, I've had actors calling me asking me what they should do," Ms Huckstepp revealed.

Ms Huckstepp, the daughter of murder victim Sallie Ann Huckstepp and formerly an actor, was one of many disgruntled clients and associates to contact The Diary.

Brian Wiseman, soon to appear on TV's Beauty And The Beast, said he had been chasing Ms Trembath since January.

"Actors are being evicted because they can't pay their rent," he said.

Ms Trembath, having initially suggested The Diary speak to lawyer Chris Murphy, later broke down and acknowledged her business is in trouble and she is talking to business organisations to secure financial backing.

Ms Trembath said she was a good agent, but acknowledged being a poor businesswoman.

"I have been through some hard times and want to turn that around," she said. "I'm now in the best position I've been in for a while to do that."

Mr Murphy said his association with Ms Trembath began through his girlfriend, actress- presenter Agnes Bruck, who was represented by the casting agent.

"Michelle has been cash strapped but she is getting her affairs in order," he said.

"I think like most, she needs better financial management. I have no doubt that with the right support, she'll meet her commitments."

Murphy's girlfriend, Ms Bruck, added that she is sticking by the agent. "She is a really good agent," Ms Bruck said. "She haggles and haggles for good auditions and she believes in me."
Annette Sharp

London has been his base for the past three years, and he'll continue touring the UK when 'the demand is there'.

Ironically, Downe is quitting England at a time when his extensive, live, headlining tour is sold out around the country.

"He loves London and won't be leaving forever," a spokesperson told me on the weekend, "but there is such great demand for Bob in Australia right now, particularly on television. The tele market is the market he really needs to make it worth his while in whatever country he decides to reside".

Although Downe has featured on many UK television shows during the past few years, raising his profile somewhat, he has not landed his own show, something for which he's yearned since being based in London.

"The comedy scene in Australia, particularly Melbourne, is booming right now, and Bob feels he would be better based there instead of London", the spokesperson said.

Geoff Bartlett has mischievously called his new book Comedians in the Mist. It's a reference to an interview in the book with Good News Week's Paul McDermott, who tells Bartlett that anyone interviewing a comedian is like Jane Goodall studying chimpanzees in the 1960s.

McDermott informs him: "She was with them night and day and they were aware of her presence and consequently they began acting up and playing to her. I think if you ever have someone like yourself in a journalistic role, you need a hatch.

"You have to be in the little covered hide and then you'll be able to see what really happens. But if you're sitting at the table with us, having a cup of tea, then you're just going to get lies. Even Jane Goodall said afterwards that she really should've had a hide."

Despite the warning (and the book title, with which Bartlett appears to have confused Goodall, the legendary chimp expert, with Dian Fossey, the legendary gorilla expert), Bartlett doesn't believe his book is full of lies. In fact he hopes to be a "conduit", presenting the thoughts, feelings and opinions of 21 of the country's leading contemporary comedians.

He has spoken to Amanda Keller, Sue Ann Post, Greg Fleet, Trevor Crook, Vince Sorrenti, Red Symons, Billy Birmingham, Peter Berner, Julia Morris, Tommy Dean, Anthony Morgan, Mark Trevorrow, Peter Saleh, Magda Szubanski, Mikey Robins, John Clarke, Paul McDermott, Mary Coustas, Jean Kittson, Greig Pickhaver and Wendy Harmer.

"A lot of the time you see comedians being interviewed and they get questions like 'Were you the class clown?' 'Did you get picked on at school?' 'Are you a manic depressive?'

"I've been hanging out with these people for five years and they are a fascinating section of society. They do have a really unique perspective on life and I really like the way they frame their arguments and their thoughts ... I knew if I gave them enough time to explore their thoughts they'd come up with some fascinating stuff."

Fascinating indeed. Magda Szubanski argues that comedians grow to resemble the comedy personae they create, Red Symons explains how to deconstruct a joke mathematically, John Clarke reveals he grew up without a television set, Julia Morris is candid about how her high profile managed to beat the pants off fellow cast members on Full Frontal, and Peter Saleh recounts how in one lousy gig he managed to alienate 700 people, his family and the Egyptian Ambassador with two gags.

Comedy has always been an essential part of Australian entertainment, from Roy "Mo" Rene, through to the postwar RSL clubs, The Mavis Bramston Show in the '60s and the TV sketch comedy shows of the '90s. However, Bartlett does believe there is such a thing as a uniquely Australian comedic style.

"Not so much in the content, but in the manner of the comedians," he says. "Mark Trevorrow [Bob Downe] says the great thing about Australian audiences is that they have no theatre manners whatsoever, whereas in England people will sit quietly and give you time to establish yourself. In Australia, the second they don't like you they'll start talking or get up and start ordering drinks from the bar. He says the result is you get very strong focused comedians who work very hard to keep the audience happy. We produce very strong comedians.

"John Clarke says the thing he likes about Australian and New Zealand humour is that quite often there'll be a joke going on in the room that not everyone knows about. Australians talk much more with their eyes and ears than your standard delivery of comedy so it works on a couple of levels."

Wendy Harmer argues that Australian humour has to be particular to this country, because comedy depends on context. She remembers one difficult stand-up tour around America. "With comedy if you don't understand the culture intrinsically it's almost like you're working with one hand behind your back. The only Australian reference point for Americans at the time was Crocodile Dundee ...

"The nights I did the best was when the American comics all said 'The crowd's too drunk, I'm not going out there'. I'd put up my hand and say 'I'll go'. And I had a ball because finally you could get your teeth into something."

Mary Coustas believes her "Effie" character works because Australia reserves its heart for the battler.

"If you've got a character who's a hairdresser, who's never been formally educated. Someone who is prepared to put it out there 'cause she's got nothing to lose then it's a lot different. I wish we were a bit more sophisticated to allow for more middle and upper class characters but we don't empathise with those people as a rule," she says.

Julia Morris thinks Australians are fond of self-deprecating humour. "When I'm in an audience and the artist is self-deprecating, I feel more comfortable because I know that they're not going to pick on me. As a result, I can get into the comedy a lot quicker. I honestly don't mind bagging myself. I know what my faults are, so I'm relaxed with them. Besides, it's a really Australian thing to do."

One comedian who is not in the book, but who has been in the business for 60 years, agrees. Slim DeGrey, 80, began his career in Changi prison camp in Singapore during World War II, where for three years he helped write, direct and perform a different comedy show every two weeks. He was around to see the birth of stand-up comedy, which began in America and was transported to Australia in the 1930s. And he was also there for its first heyday, when stand-up flourished in the RSL clubs.

"We get a lot of fun out of knocking people and sending them up. That's why political correctness is definitely against our humour, because a lot of it has been about knocking the Italians or the Aborigines or the French or the Germans or whoever. So political correctness has put a bit of armour on comedy. Not that it makes a lot of difference; most comedians don't take a lot of notice," DeGrey says.

"Over the years we have developed our own style, our own idiom rather than copying overseas performers like we did in the early days ... There's also a lot of discipline and good ethics in Australian comedians. I worked for a few years in England and it was a jungle. They'd eat you and pinch your material. Here there's more camaraderie."

His son, Calvin DeGrey, also works full-time as a stand-up. He sees Australian humour as a blend of the British and American because we have been observing both those countries for years.

"We really are a mix of the two. We understand the humour of both sides and so we have a flavour of both. But we also have developed something of our own. The Americans are proud of landing on the moon; we're proud of inventing the Hills Hoist, so we are different. Australians are more laid-back. They're not uptight like the Yanks or self-conscious like the Poms."

Calvin DeGrey says the stand-up genre, which began as one bloke telling a good joke, has evolved into more observational or political humour.

"But the secret is still in the timing and the delivery ... Australian comedians have to be strong and resilient because we're still working in pubs where you're up against the poker machines and the rock and roll band. That makes us strong and adaptable."

John Pinder is the man who founded the Last Laugh comedy restaurant in Melbourne (a city presently hosting the International Comedy Festival). Pinder is sometimes credited with starting the "new wave" of comedy in Australia in the early 1980s (he denies this, seeing comic development as a continuum presumably going back to Eve's first pratfall). He thinks trying to sum up a whole country's sense of humour is fairly absurd.

"Of course Australian comedy is particular to this place. Comedy is reactive, it's a means of communication that has to bounce off a base line and people won't laugh if they don't understand the base line. I don't laugh at jokes about esoteric rocket science because I don't understand rocket science. I laugh at jokes about my world and my life and that is Australia."

He's wary of analysing comedy anyway. "Most people don't give a rat's. They watch something or listen to someone because it makes them laugh. Trying to analyse behind that is really boring. I think it's also a bit dangerous.

"Laughter is a very fragile thing and probably those questions about how it works are not worth answering. We don't want to reveal the mechanisms behind the craft. It just spoils it for other people."

Comedians in the Mist: The serious business of being funny in Australia, by Geoff Bartlett (HarperCollins), $19.95.
Jane Freeman

YOU KNOW that thing we all do - making up silly voices and dances to accompany our favourite songs in the privacy of our own bedrooms? Well, Bob Downe does it, too - only live on stage in front of several hundred strangers. "The Windmills of Your Mind" sung with a keyboardist and jokey, cross-eyed intensity, anyone? You have got to admire someone so willing to risk mass humiliation. Downe comes from a long and honourable tradition of one-joke wonders, comedians who have founded an entire career on a single schtick. Need I say more than Julian Clary? The trick is to find a joke strong enough to sustain the audience's attention for more than two and a half hours. And, perhaps surprisingly, Downe just about pulls it off.

Styled to excite, tailored to endure and priced to please, Australia's King of Sing will be introducing Miss Pastel Vespa, pictured with him (right), a leggy-blonde with the girl-next-door charm of Judith Durham and the silky, Latin voice of Astrid Gilberto.

As they croon their way through medleys, duets of popular classics, think Sonny & Cher, Jackie Trent and Tony Hatch, Joan Collins and Anthony Newley or maybe not.

Bob Downe's Million Sellers '99 reaches the Grand Theatre, Swansea, on March 30.

Bob, like his friend Lily Savage, is a "crossover" performer, attracting enthusiastic followings on both sides of the sexual divide.

"The two audiences co-exist quite happily," says the comedian Mark Trevorrow of his doll-like creation, a self-styled Australian TV host who's as camp as a row of tents and whose hairpiece generates enough static electricity to power a row of street lights.

"There's a side to the comedy which the gay audience gets and totally appreciates - but which the mums don't have to worry about."

Bob Downe has been a hit on British stage and TV for the last five years or more. He's had his own New Year's Eve special on ITV ("That was their worst Christmas ever. The controller lost his job over it") and can currently be seen on the BBC's cable and digital channel, UK Play.

This weekend, he'll be at the City Varieties in Leeds, as part of a national tour. "It'll be my sixth or seventh time there," says Trevorrow. "It's The Good Old Days theatre, and that's very much Bob's sort of thing. He'd love to dress up as a pearly queen."

In Australia, Bob is even more of a phenomenon. Earlier this month, he presented the TV coverage of Sydney's famous Mardi Gras parade - a gay carnival that's now the continent's biggest outdoor event. The TV show pulled in record ratings.

"Bob works on two levels," says Trevorrow. "Here's an openly gay man playing one of those closeted, campy, Larry Grayson-type entertainers who always pretended, when pressed, to be straight. They'd get married and have children which they'd squire around town very obviously.

"But on the other level, there's a mainstream audience which actually loves Larry Grayson and that kind of entertainer."

Bob's new show is an old-fashioned revue, says Trevorrow. "We've got 50 songs if you include medleys, plus sketches."

Last year, he took Bob's act to the US for the first time. "I did a guest spot on a friend's show in Greenwich Village, and the reaction was explosive. I stopped the show before I'd even opened my mouth. Just the look of the character was enough."

The Americans, he says, are several years behind Britain and Australia in comic tolerance. "French and Saunders are cult figures over there - they're not in the mainstream. Neither is Absolutely Fabulous."

That being the case, Trevorrow is concentrating on Australia and the UK for the moment, spending six months of the year in each. Last year, he toured with Lily Savage; currently he's back at his accustomed place on the top of the bill.

"We've just started the tour. We pulled in a thousand in Edinburgh at the beginning of the week. Wonderful."

And despite his acknowledged gay following, nearly all of those, he says, were straight.

"I'm now getting all the mums who came to see me on Lily's tour last year. I'm doing the best business I've ever done."

Shopping: Each stop on his Scottish odyssey offers amazing acrylic opportunities. The impressive charity emporia of Motherwell's Brandon Parade and Paisley's High Street may well yield a new safari suit or Top of the Pops compilation LP. At Dens Road Market in Dundee, there is an embarrassment of Downe-style detritus: tan leather coats with huge pointy collars, kipper ties, lurid paintings of weeping boys clutching deceased pets. But it would be a shame to visit the home towns of five football clubs and not leave with a shiny team top from each. And if the black and white stripes of St Mirren are a touch tasteful for this guru of ghastliness, Dundee United's lurid orange ensemble will surely appeal. If nothing else, it will compliment his skin tone.

Socialising: It is little short of a disaster that Downe's visit to Paisley does not fall on a Sunday, when he could enjoy the ambience of St Brendan's Silver Spur Club, the Linwood church's semi-legendary country and western night. Happily Flares, Dundee's splendid Seventies theme bar is open every day and Downe can be assured of a hero's welcome. While in Motherwell, if he feels the need of a nice cup of tea, the Penny Farthing tea room has decor which will tone impeccably with his syrups.

Eating: This is unlikely to be a highlight of Downe's Scottish tour, especially as his gigs start late and finish even later. Too many chips do not a comfortable pair of casual slacks make, but he should on no account miss Valente's in Kirkcaldy. It's an early gig (8pm) so if he hoovers through the musical numbers he should be finished in time to head for the Overton Road branch (far superior to the one downtown) for the supper of the century.

Bob Downe appears on Tuesday at the Motherwell Theatre & Concert Hall, Windmillhill Street; Wednesday at the Adam Smith Theatre, Kirkcaldy; Thursday at the Town Hall, Paisley; Friday at the Rep Theatre Dundee

Styled to excite, tailored to endure and priced to please, Australia's King of Sing will be introducing Miss Pastel Vespa, pictured with him (right), a leggy-blonde with the girl-next-door charm of Judith Durham and the silky, Latin voice of Astrid Gilberto.

As they croon their way through medleys, duets of popular classics, think Sonny & Cher, Jackie Trent and Tony Hatch, Joan Collins and Anthony Newley… or maybe not.

Bob Downe's Million Sellers '99 reaches the Grand Theatre, Swansea, on March 30.

This year, Bob Downe returns, this time armed with wonderful Amanda Keller as co-host and Vanessa Wagner on the street to compere this cultural event. "It's my third year if you count the year with Tottie," laughs Bob Downe's alter ego Mark Trevorrow. "I fried Tottie's bacon. I was just a guest that year and then I thought I'd bring another costume, and later that night they'd say 'How quickly can you change', so it was great fun. I've performed at the park a couple of times. Once with my group The Globos, and another time as Bob, but I've never been in the parade. And I'd love to, I'd really really love to be in the parade one year, but who knows when it's going to happen. If I keep doing the broadcast, I guess it's not really possible."

Although it all seems effortless on the screen, there's a lot of background work going on to present the live show. "It's very hard because a lot of stuff that has to do with Mardi Gras happens on the night. You get a list of the float numbers, but because it's a huge logistical thing, the parade never goes in order. It's a huge amount of co-ordination required for the people on the street sending messages up to us, so we know what we're commenting on, because we've only got one chance to get it right. It's a very much seat-of-the-pants."

Part of the success of making Bob Downe one of the co-hosts has been his extensive involvement in the gay and lesbian communities over the years which seems to all filter down into his on-screen antics. "That's the great thing about Mardi Gras. It's not only the parade and party, the month before is a huge arts festival which just gets bigger and better every year. That's one of the reasons why it goes well for me.

One of the things people said to me last year when I was the sole host was, for the first time, people felt that it was good that someone knew what it actually was all about and what was going on. I think that if you've been part of the community, I don't see how you couldn't know. I've been to most Mardi Gras parties and parades since the mid/early 80s, so it's good that I can put all that experience into the commentary.

In fact, one of Trevorrow's most vivid memories of Mardi Gras, in particular the infamous toilets, are included in a recent Mardi Gras book which was edited be Richard Wherrett. I've been dining out on those stories for years, it's lovely because they're the sort of stories... well, there's nothing that you could really do with them as Bob, because Bob's such a little innocent, isn't he, so therefore I was really grateful to Richard for giving me somewhere where they could run."

With a new Bob Downe series running in the UK, and Bob finding his way onto everything from E! News to Good News Week, you can expect to see Bob Downe back in Australia for 'Million Sellers' around August/September singing and laughing his heart out with friend Pastel Vespa. "I've never had my own show here; all that stuff's happening in Britain. That's what this year is all about with regular reporting and doing the Mardi Gras broadcast. I'll tell you what, I'll get my bloody picture in the Channel 10 foyer if it kills me."

The new series highlights the best of British as our intrepid Australian presenter Karaoke's his way around the country celebrating the people and sights of each town he visits.

The show incorporates pop classics both old and new and each episode will feature lyrics on screen for the viewer at home to sing along to.

Bob Downe All Over Britain is filmed in Bristol, Cardiff, Liverpool, Blackpool, Manchester, Berwick Upon Tweed, Newcastle, Nottingham, Lakeside Thurrock, Southend, Margate and London.

The shows also feature Bob's Big Guest where Bob interviews a local personality as well as Bob's Big Spot in which Bob takes the opportunity to belt out some of his favourite tunes.
The series aired from 13th February 1999 on BBC Digital's UK Play.

She'd be my ideal co-host because she's pretty, she's blonde and she's got a brain. Of course I'd happily swap her for one of the Minogues because Kylie and Dannii have lots of experience as presenters, and I believe they've got a very cute brother!"

Minogues aside, Trevorrow/Downe is very happy to have Keller as his co-anchor, particularly in light of his solo stint last year, which he describes as terrifying because the fact that it was the twentieth anniversary of Mardi Gras meant that there were around three hundred floats, and the parade moved much more quickly than it usually does. "So there was a lot of panicky, leafing through notes whilst I desperately tried to keep Bono talking and tried to get various other drunken guests to shut up. It was me and the parade continuously, and I had maybe thirty seconds between each guest, so it was terrifying. And especially terrifying was that when Dannii sat down I didn't recognise her".

This year marks Trevorrow's third as host of Ten's Mardi Gras coverage. He's previously done both the aforementioned solo performance and a co-anchoring piece with 'Sex / Life' presenter Totti Goldsmith. He also made several cameo appearances when the ABC was screening the parade, but is adamant that he prefers the parade being televised in the hands of Channel Ten.

"I think that it's fabulous that it's on Channel Ten, and I have a lot of arguments with other queens over this. I'd much rather it was on Ten, reaching out to people in the suburbs in prime time, especially the kids, and changing their prejudices and challenging their preconceptions over what being gay is, than preaching to the converted on the ABC."

Trevorrow was actively recruited by Ten after it acquired the rights to the broadcast after the ABC dropped them only weeks before the parade in 1997, after which Channel Ten and 'Beyond Productions' managed to do a deal with Mardi Gras at the last minute and take it on. Hosts have to be approved in consultation between the Network, producers, and Mardi Gras itself, so it is a difficult process to find a host everybody is happy with. Trevorrow obviously met their criteria, as he was pursued quite actively. "I suppose because I was nationally known already, and because I'm a card carrying poofter!"

Given Trevorrow's prior experience in hosting the event, it is no surprise that he has no shortage of fond memories of past parades. "I thought Bono's guest appearance (1998) was especially good. He was very Irish and lyrical; I thought he was magnificent. He was a bit pissed, but then the Irish only talk well when they're pissed, so I thought he was superb! Bono represented a perfect example of someone who bridges the gap.

He's someone who the kids really respect, and to hear someone like Bono saying 'it's cool to be gay' I think is a very powerful message to be sending to them ... and the first year the Marching boys were led by Lana Turnip, who's one of our great Oxford Street beauties, and she's not afraid to let her midriff out - and boy, what a midriff it is".

As for a least favourite Mardi Gras moment, Trevorrow doesn't really have one, but despite having a fabulous time hosting the parade, it does come at a price. "You don't actually get to see the parade, you sit with your back to it looking at a f-ing TV monitor; you're at the parade but you're not seeing anything. But bad moments ? There aren't any - I'm not like Julian Clary, I love them all, hairy backs included!"

So what can punters tuning into this year's broadcast hope to see? Aside from the usual glamorous costumes and some pre-recorded inserts for their viewing pleasure, audiences can expect to see the usual array of mystery guests. "We always say the guests are top secret only because we've no idea who's going to turn up at the party. We ask every celebrity within a 10,000 mile radius, pray that some of them turn up, then get them pissed enough to go on. I think I'm giving a bit too much away there..."

As for Mark Trevorrow and his significant other Bob Downe, 1999 sees no slowing down of his usual hectic schedule. Straight after Mardi Gras they're off to the UK to do a three month tour, with his "cocktail partner" Pastel Vespa. He's also popping up, as Mark Trevorrow, in a few books being published to coincide with Mardi Gras including 'True Stories - >From Lock Up to Frock Up' edited by Richard Wherrett, which boasts a story from him, as well as a snippet in 'The Little Book of Gay Love'. As Bob Downe, he's scored a regular gig for 'E! News', doing, amongst other things, a weekly round-up of daytime television, and an upcoming interview with Englebert Humperdink; and schedule permitting, he'll be doing some more appearances on the fourth series of 'Good News Week', which will be appearing before long on Channel Ten. Asked whether he'd like to comment on 'GNW' host Paul McDermott's oft-debated sexual preference, Trevorrow loses his hold on the leash and Bob Downe momentarily leaps to the surface: "Paul's sexual preference ? ... oh, he roots anything that moves, darl, roots anything that moves. if you sit still long enough, he'll hump your leg - and you can quote me on that!"

Bob Downe and Amanda Keller can be seen co-hosting the 1999 Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras parade at 8:30 pm on Sunday February 28 on Channel TEN. [Australia]
Gavin Pitts

MICHAEL DANIELS caught up with Trevorrow by phone from the Network 10 offices by phone while he munched away on some cheesy biscuits.

"I've had a very very busy day," says Trevorrow between bikkies, "but the most exciting thing was communing with Bert Newton this morning. You don't talk with Bert, you commune! I've been in a show biz temple! I love him, I seriously love him...I think he's a seriously class act. And I'm dreading the day they ask him to host the Mardi Gras, because I'm dead in the water!"

Trevorrow and I chat for a while about our old high school, Murrumbeena High, which no longer exists. Murrumbeena High is now a housing estate...but it turns out we both snuck off to the same place next to the school grounds for a quick fag (so to speak). "I used to edit the school newspaper," Trevorrow tells me, "I edited 30 issues. It was in a racy tabloid style! We set that place on fire! It was a great school. I can't believe they knocked it down and sold it off, the fucking bastards!"

I asked Trevorrow what he thought about Jeff Kennett proposing to take the Mardi Gras away from Sydney. "Well, dream on Jeff! I know you've got big hair, but that's about as far as it goes! I don't even think false eyelashes, top and bottom, would do it for Jeff. He's gotta do something with that chin, but I think it's going to take more than Natural Glow to take the Mardi Gras out of Sydney.

"On a serious note, it's a bit of an insult to the wonderful people that have developed Midsumma. Does Jeff actually realise that Melbourne has the second most vibrant gay festival in the country? It's just a little bit of an insult to the people who have sweated blood to make that work...which it does beautifully. You can blow it out your arse Jeff, or at least pop a feather in there!"

What does Mardi Gras mean to Trevorrow? "Mardi Gras means everything to me...increasingly. The first Mardi Gras I performed at was in '86 (with the band The Globos). I've lived in Sydney for the past twenty years now, so I've been going to it, or working on Mardi Gras stuff for many years now. My sister told me last year that she felt for the first time she actually understood what Mardi Gras was all about, she felt that it was being explained properly. I think Mardi Gras is of paramount, supreme importance to the Australian gay and lesbian community. Even if you don't go, this is as important to us as is Stonewall to the Americans."

Where did Bob Downe come from, what was Trevorrow's inspiration to create the character? "I'd been doing Bob since I was a kid, just to make everyone laugh. He was created from all the television I used to watch when I was growing up in Melbourne. This morning I was telling the wonderful legendary Bruce Mansfield that very same thing. And he was telling me he was amazed at the amount of people who remembered a character he used to do on the original Hey Hey It's Saturday of a morning called ‘Chinese Superman'. That's the kind of television that inspired me: the original Hey Hey, IMT, all the sixties stuff like Sunnyside Up, all the cheesy Melbourne variety shows. People ask me who my two greatest influences are, and I would have to say Graham Kennedy and Barry Humphries, but I think these days, I'd put Graham and Bert Newton before Barry. Graham was just magic on IMT and Blankety Blanks."

Trevorrow has got his work cut out for him this year with Network 10. Good News Week, on which Trevorrow is a familiar face, will be moving to 10, and Bob Downe is now a regular reporter for E! News. "I'm gonna get that picture in the Channel 10 foyer if it kills me! I'm now at the entertainment capital of Australia!" Trevorrow laughs. "Good News Week is now going to be in an hour long format, with two shows a week, one being a weekend edition. All the original production team will still be behind it, Paul McDermott, Mike, Julie...I get slapped on the wrist for complaining [that] there are now going to be ads. ‘Just tape the damn thing and zap through the ads. You can go out for a meal, come back and watch it and just race through the ads'."

Trevorrow will be hosting Mardi Gras alongside the wonderful Amanda Keller, "Oh she's gorgeous!" Trevorrow enthuses, "Sharp as a tack, a blonde with attitude. Together we can share the info, and the 'tainment!"

During last year's broadcast there was a plethora of special guests, including the Minogue sisters and Bono from U2; who can we expect this year?

"Fingers crossed-none of these are confirmed obviously," Trevorrow says, "but we're hoping to get Paul McDermott, and Chastity Bono, and who knows...Cher or Miss Shirley Bassey could be somewhere in there. Who knows? It's so impossible to know. The thing with Mardi Gras is they don't know themselves up until the week before. Having Cher there would be absolute fucking magic! But I really think everyone should calm down and start thinking Dannii. We won't get Madonna until she's way past her peak! Madonna will be on a major downer before we finally get her!"

So who would Trevorrow's ultimate Mardi Gras guest be? "It would have to be Bette Midler. She's such good value, she's a legend!"

The groups have urged the Federal Government to ban The Little Book of Gay Love, published by Penguin.

The book sets out quotes about homosexuality from various people, including playwright Joe Orton, drag queen Ru Paul and comedian Mark Trevorrow.

One quote urges the reader to "try a boy for a change, you're a rich man", describing the experience as a "Luxury of life".

Another says: "A thing of beauty is a boy forever".

The publication, one in a series of Little Books, will be widely available next month.

Fair Trading Minister Judy Spence advised people opposed to the book to contact the Commonwealth Classifications Board.

She encouraged people to boycott the book.

"This type of statement certainly has the potential to sound like an endorsement of paedophilia and that's a cause of concern," she said. "If it's meant to be humourous, then it's in poor taste."

Shadow Attorney-Genral Lawrence Springborg urged Queensland booksellers not to stock it.

The Rev Dr Adrian Farrelly, spokesman for Catholic Archbishop John Bathersby, said he was appalled the book could be legally published and distributed.

"The publication of any material which presents sexual relations between children and adults as acceptable is immoral and offensive in the extreme. If we are committed to protecting and caring for our children, all Australians will agree that the book hould be banned," he said.

Victims of Crime president Ian Davies also called for a ban.

"It's totally inappropriate. One of the greatest problems we have got is these acts of paedophilia and abuse of children. A lot of people in the prison system are there because of abuse," he said.

Penguin spokeswoman Gabrielle Coyne said no complaints had so far been made to the company about the book.

She said it had not gone befor the Classification Board because all the material had been published before.

"Those quotes have been in existence for years -- they are not new and have been readily available for years," she said.
Julia Coffey

Mark Trevorrow lets out an exclamation of bliss as he sinks his teeth into an Australian Monte Carlo Biscuit. "Oh, m-m-m-m, Australian biscuits are so big, sweet and creamy," he coos. "Overseas they are mingy (mean and stingy)."

Like his alter ego Bob Downe, Trevorrow is never stuck for words. Providing Channel Ten's running commentary on the spectacle of the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras will be a snap for this man. Downe, the wide-eyed, slinky cabaret and comedy star, has turned the former Melbourne journalist into an international star with his own television and stage shows in London.

"The reason Bob works so well on stage is that I have been doing it since I was a kid," Trevorrow says. "I would put a record on and do a number for the family." He started seriously developing his talent after he and some friends caused a riot at a party with their comical antics and neighbours called the police to quieten them down. It was the start of something big - a band called the Globos, who went on to have a national top 20 single called Tintarella di Luna in 1982.

Trevorrow first performed as Bob Downe in 1984 and a few years later he was knocking the socks off audiences at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. This is his second year as television compere for the Mardi Gras telecast. But he longs to be in the parade and experience the euphoria on the street.

Trevorrow, now aged 40, says the Mardi Gras is an important affirmation of diversity. "Even as a tiny child it is indicated to you that being gay is not an acceptable thing, it's not an okay thing to be," he says. "I wish when I was a kid growing up in Melbourne in the 1960s something like the Mardi Gras existed." He was 19 years old in 1978, a cadet on the now defunct Melbourne Sun Newspaper, when 53 people were arrested in Sydney in a street protest on International Gay solidarity Day.

Trevorrow, who knew he was gay from about the age of eight, has no recollection of the event and doubts it even got a mention in the Sun. The event was the forerunner to the Mardi Gras, which became a celebration of tolerance attracting up to 650,000 spectators - the largest free outdoor event in Australia. In 1978, the Sydney Morning Herald published all the names and address of the people arrested.

Now the paper is a major Mardi Gras sponsor. "How times change," Trevorrow says. "That's what you call a triumph over injustice and adversity." After the Mardi Gras, Trevorrow will return to London to perform his new show, Million Sellers. "It's a rock 'n' pop spectacular," he says. "It's a show where you leave humming the melodies, every song's a hit."
Lisa Yallamas