Not content with treating us with his dynamic vocal fluctuations, Professor Schama wowed us all with a wonderful range of gesticulatory emphasis which drove home his softly uttered words in dulcet tones of considered analysis. This Marcel Marceau performance meant I would have watched him even if the sound failed.
It was as though, from the point of view of his exuberance, Graham Norton had graduated in History and was in the hot seat at Lateline; it was as though, from the point of view of kookiness, a levelheaded Barnaby Joyce had taken up History and was Ms Sales' guest on the subject.
And then there was the PRIVATE interview, in which Ms Sales demurely brought up the rumours of Professor Schama's being as camp as Gadaffi's tent…
More pictures coming…
Captioned text:
001: After Monday night's main interview with Professor Simon Schama on Lateline, March 15th 2010 , discussing the Obama Presidency in a historical context, co-anchor Leigh Sales decided to get the usually staid Professor to lighten up, by tickling him under the desk with her foot.
002: "Professor, you doubtless have heard the rumours that you're as camp as Gaddafi's tent, but I don't believe that for a moment;" Ms Sales told the esteemed historian, adding, "in fact I find you a very charming if titillating, even yet living a life that is gay, brisk, and debonair, educated manly man."
Professor Schama thoughtfully considered Leigh Sales' compliment, all the while struggling to hold back tears.
003: "Oh, well thank you Ms Sales, and yes, I've heard the rumours," Professor Schama rejoined.
"You've probably read that on Payton L. Inkletter's blog, Fool's Paradise – Infinity on a Shoestring, but by golly, he's just a koala bear from Perth
"A red-blooded bull koala by all accounts, though," Leigh Sales came in.
"By all accounts?" Professor Schama questioned. "It's not what I've heard."
"But what about Missus Inkletter?" Ms Sales returned, "A highly satisfied female, if you know what I mean."
004: "Hurrumph! Give me one independent reference to back that claim up Ms Sales," Professor Schama demanded.
"Well, er…, um, well, his veracity is highly regarded, and when you read his blog it's clear that he does his utmost to more than satisfy his wife's voracious appetite, if you know what I mean," Leigh Sales stumbled.
"No serious historian worth his manicured fingernails relies solely on one sadly suspect source for authenticity Leigh!" Professor Schama sweetly thundered, emphasising his sibilant esses.
005: "Okay, fair enough I suppose, but then how many independent sources would you accept?" Leigh Sales quizzed Professor Schama. "Bear in mind (pun intended) it's a private matter, so it could be challenging to verify."
Embarrassment, or perhaps an urge to giggle, began to mount in the shy professional journalist, and she did her best to conceal it behind a smile.
006: "Five!" Professor Schama boomed with not a moment's hesitation.
Realising that this could be impossible, Ms Sales' natural bargaining ability kicked in, doing the long line of her father's patriarchs proud, who earned the surname 'Sales' back in the mists of antiquity, throwing "Make it two?" at the academic.
"I'll settle for three, and not a source less!" he snapped back, struggling with the esses in the last two words.
007: Realising he'd gained the upper hand at last, Professor Schama decided to change the direction of this 'interview after the interview', and give free rein to his natural teaching predilection, the equal of Ms Sales' salesmanship predilection. "How about I teach you how to be more expressive during your Lateline interviews Ms Sales?" he asked-suggested with a beckoning smile impossible to decline.
+paytontedwithlove+
008: Ever gracious, Ms Sales immediately agreed, asking "You mean using my hands?" to which Professor Schama came back, "Oh yes, and your arms and your face darling, but one thing at a time!"
009: "How's this Professor?" Ms Sales queried the learned gentlebody, diffidently holding her hands up a bit from the desk.
"Sweetie, that's a start I'll grant you, but I'm not moving my hand till you spread those fingers a bitsy witsy more and lift your handypoos a tad higher," Professor Schama snarled with all the threat of a hurling champignon.
+paytontedwithlove+
