Mel on playing pranks on Sue: 'The gorilla gave her a rough fireman’s lift and started dry-humping her'

A week in the life of TV presenter Mel Giedroyc. From birthday pranks with Sue, to turning 50, to tackling the last taboo

I’m going to be 50 on 5 June, which is exciting, but I’m dreading that Sue Perkins has a prank up her sleeve because I pranked her badly for her 30th by booking a gorilla-gram.

I spoke to the agency and gave very strict instructions: ‘Nothing sleazy or distasteful, please. Just keep it jolly and gorilla-based.’ But when it arrived it could only be described as a very limp gorilla. He was a mangy animal who introduced himself as Tony. He had a lot of stubble and a very greasy upper lip. I was worried.

When he found Sue he gave her a rough fireman’s lift, got her up against the wall and started dry-humping her. Then he stripped.

I had said absolutely no stripping. He stripped down to a tiny grey thong, got her on the floor (still dry-humping) and started whispering ‘Mel…Mel…Mel’ in her ear.

So you can see why I’m worried. On 5 June it’s the rematch. Sue has been talking about this for a long time but I can’t think what could be worse. It might be Tony, back for the sequel, but I’d be surprised if he was still alive. He looked quite liverish back then.

In a few weeks I will be going to Lithuania to inter my father’s ashes. We had the funeral in the new year, but it still feels like yesterday. I just hope his ashes arrive safely.

The family have been having big discussions about whether we should smuggle them through Luton airport in a grip-bag. I told Mum I’d take one for the team, that I’d do this for Clan Giedroyc.

My dad was very down-to-earth. He couldn’t bear people moping around – moping and blubbing were two of his pet annoyances. We will show some sadness, but not too much moping and blubbing.

I had a lovely meeting with theatre director Marianne Elliott, who is directing Stephen Sondheim’s Company later this year, and at the end of our chat about me playing the part of Sarah, she said, ‘I would like for you… erm… before we go official, to have a sing-song around the piano with the musical director.’ I was bricking it.

Joel, the musical director, is a New Yorker and total Sondheim aficionado. I went to his luvvie, trendy, penthouse apartment trying to do scales – some ‘la-la-la-la-la-la-laaaaas’ – as I went up in the lift.

We did one Sondheim number, which then turned into a two-hour singing marathon. He kept saying things like, ‘OK: for these three notes you’re in a Disney show, then you’re coming out of a cottage with a white- picket fence, and at the end of the line you’re a diva.’ It was chillingly precise. I loved it but I was exhausted and left a veritable husk.

My mum was a nurse and my niece, Lily, is training to be one, so I have the utmost respect for the profession. Recently, I went to meet some amazing Marie Curie hospice nurses in Hampstead. During afternoon tea with some patients there, I met a lovely lady. You wouldn’t know she had only three months left to live. She was telling me about her plans, making gags, it was a very levelling experience.

Death is such an important part of life (oh God, that sounds really naff!) and is something that we should be talking about much more. The hospice trip dispelled that taboo, and not mawkishly or self-indulgently – it was real and present and faced up to in an extraordinary way.

Mel Giedroyc is supporting Marie Curie’s Blooming Great Tea Party fundraising appeal