I DON'T think I’ll ever forget the moment the promenade erupted — not in chaos, not in noise, but in something far rarer: pure, communal joy.
Oh, and in unadulterated, unashamed silliness.
Colwyn Bay has seen big days, proud days, historic days, but nothing quite like this sun‑drenched Saturday when thousands gathered between Porth Eirias and the Pier to welcome home one of their own. A hometown hero. A creative force. A man who shaped British comedy and carried Wales in his heart even when he lived far away.
This was A Python on the Prom — the long‑awaited unveiling of a bronze statue of Terry Jones, sculpted by Llandudno artist Nick Elphick, and revealed by none other than Michael Palin and Terry Gilliam.
Add Carol Cleveland, superfan Suzy Izzard, and a crowd dressed as everything from Vikings to killer rabbits, and the whole thing felt like stepping into a living, breathing Monty Python sketch.
And I was there. In the sunshine. In the silliness. In the emotion. Watching a community celebrate a man who meant so much to them — and to the world.
Arriving into a carnival of silliness
I reached the prom, and the first thing I saw was a group of Vikings strolling alongside King Arthur and his silly English knights - complete with coconut shells.
I did not expect to see so many members of the Spanish Inquisition, while the beach was alive with Gumbies.
It was perfect.
Music drifted across the seafront, families queued for ice creams, and every few minutes someone shouted a Python catchphrase for no reason other than the sheer joy of it. The sun was blazing, the sea was glittering, and the atmosphere was exactly what Terry Jones would have wanted: warm, daft, and full of heart.
As the day went on, the crowd was enormous — thousands stretching along the promenade, all craning for a glimpse of the bronze figure hidden beneath a...shed.
The statue depicts Jones as The Nude Organist, one of his most iconic Monty Python characters. It’s cheeky, surreal, and unmistakably Terry.
And then, through the crowd, came the legends themselves. Taking their place at the Spam Cafe.
Meeting Michael Palin and Terry Gilliam
I was lucky to speak to Michael Palin and Terry Gilliam after the unveiling. They were relaxed, smiling, and clearly moved by the turnout and the love.
I asked Michael what the statue would have meant to Terry.
He paused, laughed softly, and said: “It would mean a lot. He would be extremely delighted and find it extremely funny that he was back in Colwyn Bay without his clothes on.”
Gilliam, standing beside him with a mischievous grin, jumped straight in: "Yes. I want children to grow up touching Terry’s bottom, and that way they will discover all of Monty Python.”
It was impossible not to laugh. It was also impossible not to feel the affection behind the humour.
I asked Gilliam whether he could imagine a better tribute.
He didn’t hesitate: “No, I think Mr Creosote, the one who exploded in Meaning of Life, would have been a bad one. Guts all over the beach would be a disaster. This is perfect.”
When I asked whether Terry spoke much about his childhood in Colwyn Bay, Gilliam rolled his eyes fondly: “Yeah, he would never shut up about it. He’d forgotten, but he had this wonderful romantic idea of being Welsh, even though he was here for three years as a little kid. And Wales meant so much to him.”
He told me about the little hut Terry loved in the mountains — a place that shaped him.
Michael Palin added: “Terry was Welsh in his passion for things and his determination to see things through and get things done… although he lived nearly all his life in England, he was still Welsh, and he still felt that England wasn’t quite the right place for him. Wales was where his home was. And so now his wish has been granted.”
Gilliam, ever the anarchist, finished the thought: “Now he’s stuck here for eternity.”
The crowd around us laughed, but there was a tenderness in the moment — a sense that Terry was truly coming home.
Sally Jones: a daughter’s love, a storyteller’s legacy
When Sally Jones, Terry’s daughter, stepped up to speak, the crowd fell silent. She fought back tears as she looked out at the thousands gathered to honour her father.
Her words were some of the most moving of the day: “On behalf of my brother and myself, we want to say a massive thank you to everyone for coming today and helping us celebrate our dad’s life. What we want the statue to be is a celebration of creativity, a celebration of a creative life – a life spent as a storyteller.”
She spoke about the campaign — how Theatr Colwyn and Joann Rae had sparked the idea, and how more than a thousand people from around the world donated.
She added: “What’s so lovely about the statue is that it is truly a gift to Colwyn Bay… We raised the money in just six months.”
She talked about Terry’s daily writing routine, his passion for truth and imagination, and the way storytelling shaped every part of his life.
Then came the line that revealed the seriousness beneath the silly.
“Dementia took Dad from us, but while he was alive he helped with dementia research, and he made the ultimate donation by giving his brain to science.”
It was brave. Honest. Beautiful.
And when she finally said: “I’m going to hand over to someone else before I burst into tears.”
The crowd applauded not just out of respect, but out of love.
Nick Elphick: the sculptor who poured his heart into bronze
Sculptor Nick Elphick looked overwhelmed as he took the microphone. This wasn’t just another commission for him — it was a labour of love.
“I’m obsessed with him. I literally couldn’t believe it," he said.
He spoke about the funding, the team, the pressure, and the privilege, adding: “Normally funding takes years… I thought it would take ten. Instead, it took just six months.”
But the most touching part was his tribute to Sally.
“She coached me, helped me believe in myself and in the concept… She even let me come down to London and sleep in her office, in Terry’s office. I sat at his desk and went through everything on it and all his archives.”
You could hear the emotion in his voice. This wasn’t just a sculpture — it was a collaboration between an artist and a family determined to honour a man they adored.
And then, with perfect comic timing, he delivered the line that will probably define the statue’s future:
Nick said: “Everyone should come down here and rub his bum for good luck… the bronze will go gold and he’ll end up looking like a baboon, and he would have loved that.”
The crowd roared.
The unveiling: a moment of magic
When the cloth finally came off, after the shed exploded, the cheer that rose from the promenade felt like a wave. The statue gleamed in the sunlight — playful, bold, unmistakably Python. Unmistakably Terry.
Michael Palin and Terry Gilliam stood on either side, laughing, pointing, admiring. Carol Cleveland and Suzy Izzard beamed. Fans surged forward to take photos, some saluting, some kneeling, some pretending to play the organ alongside Terry.
And then, inevitably, they rubbed the bum.
A tradition is born.
A community united by joy
What struck me about the day most was how right it all felt.
Terry Jones wasn’t just a comedian. He was a historian, a children’s author, a director, a scholar, a dreamer. A man who believed in imagination, in curiosity, in the power of stories.
And here, on a sunny April afternoon in Colwyn Bay, his hometown gave him a tribute worthy of that spirit.
This wasn’t just an unveiling.
It was a homecoming. And perhaps the start of many more stories from many more Terrys.
A celebration of Welsh creativity. A thank‑you to a man who made generations laugh. A reminder that silliness is a kind of wisdom.
And a promise — that future storytellers will stand where Terry now sits, cheeks to the wind, looking out over the sea, feeling inspired.
As I left the prom, I looked back one last time. The statue was already surrounded by people laughing, posing, touching the bronze bottom.
Although I wasn't lucky enough to have met him, I knew Terry would would have loved this. Not because it was grand. Not because it was historic. But because it was joyful. Because it was silly. Because it was full of heart.
Just like Terry Jones.
