I have a theory: if you have a happy childhood, you don’t remember much of it. I’ve got a few bits and pieces. We lived in southeast London, not poor, but not well off. Dad was a lecturer, Mum had been an English teacher. I really don’t remember much else.
As a child I wanted to be a soldier. Then I had an epiphany at nine. A sign appeared at school – the local am-dram society was putting on Peter Pan. I got a minor role, caught the bug and wanted to be an actor, until I saw a BBC Noël Coward documentary. What a life, to write funny plays for the theatre, I thought.
I often felt a one-man cliché in the 80s; I thought it was a time filled with pious comedians ranting about anti-sexism and anti-racism. Looking back, as far as I know, I was the only one. I also did routines about the contents of my fridge, but I had this other side that wasn’t that common.
The tampon routine was my most famous, about what the world would look like if men menstruated. You weren’t allowed to advertise sanitary products on TV then. It was outrageous, patriarchal misogyny that female biology couldn’t be referred to in an ad break.
I gave my Friday Night Live sparkly suit to Annie Lennox. She wanted it for a charity auction, not, obviously, to wear it on stage. I gave it to her on the condition that she didn’t tell me how much it sold for. I did not wish to learn that Mick Jagger’s toothpick got £200,000, while my suit went to the only person willing to pay for its dry cleaning.
I’ve cried over unrequited love and I’ve cried with family sadness, but I don’t find I cry all that much.
Elton John once rang me up out of the blue and said: “Elton, it’s Elton. I’ve always wanted to say that.” Those were literally the first words. He was very flattering and wonderful.
I have a Medal of Australia, the equivalent of an OBE, for my service to entertainment. I’ve never been offered anything by the Brits. It doesn’t bother me; I sleep very happily at night.
My material has changed as I’ve grown older. When I was young, I’d talk about being a student and trying to get laid. Through middle age, bringing up screaming toddlers. Soon, it’ll be about having a pair of sad walking poles. I refuse to do bits about how long it takes to piss at 65.
I have had conversations about writing another musical. There was a long talk with Cat Stevens; an approach from the Beach Boys; two wonderful meetings with Tina Turner who’d loved We Will Rock You. Honestly, doing another isn’t something I really think about.
They don’t make sparkly material like they did in the 80s. For the 2022 Friday Night Live revival, I had another suit made. It’s just not the same.
Ben Elton: Authentic Stupidity tours the UK and Ireland from 23 August to 18 November. More details at benelton.live
