Born in Sunderland, Tyne and Wear, in 1974, George Clarke is an architect and television presenter. After gaining a first-class degree from the School of Architecture at Newcastle University and a postgraduate diploma from the Bartlett School of Architecture, UCL, his media career began in 2005 as the host of Channel 5’s Build a New Life in the Country. He has since launched a string of architectural franchises on Channel 4: George Clarke’s Remarkable Renovations, Amazing Homes and Old House, New Home, as well as campaigning for better social housing. His children’s book, How to Build a Home, is out now.
This was taken in the garden of Oxclose, our estate in Washington. That wasn’t my bike – I must have seized the opportunity to sit on my sister’s while she wasn’t looking. Hence the cheeky expression. There are more photos of me on a bike than not as a child, and, to this day, two wheels – well, a motorbike – remains my preferred mode of transport.
I was quite shy back then, which people probably wouldn’t expect of a TV presenter. But when I was at home with my mum and dad, I could be a bit more silly and comfortable. We lived in a two-storey, modernist 1960s house with three bedrooms and one bathroom, and I spent all day outside on my bike. I was a very happy boy.
A few years after this photo was taken, my dad died in an accident. He was 26, I was seven. We would go on to leave that house in Oxclose and my mum met someone else. It was a really tough time. There was no therapy. In the north-east, nobody talks about anything. It was kind of brushed under the carpet, and we moved on. Devastating, but I understand the culture of the 80s, and it’s impossible to have ill feelings towards anyone.
I reached a crossroads after Dad died: I could either crumble and lose the plot, or find the best in an awful situation. The grief was horrific – I still carry it with me every day – but I accepted that everything happens for a reason. My dad only had 26 years on the planet, so I was going to make the most of every day.
My love of architecture came from my grandad, who was a builder and would buy me books on buildings. My favourite was the glossary of architectural terms, which he got from a book sale in Sunderland library for 10p when I was 12. From that moment onwards, I knew what I wanted to be. A few years later, I was sent to see a careers officer when I was picking my options for A-levels. I told him what I wanted to do and he said I’d need to take maths. As an architect, maths is something you can see – the height or volume of a space. But maths at school was abstract to me. It made me break out in a sweat. When I told him I didn’t want to do it, he said: “Well, you’ll never be an architect.”
After that meeting, I was so angry, but decided to take the positive out of the negative and thought: “I’m not having you stop me.” Instead, I got the Yellow Pages out and wrote to every architect in Sunderland, Newcastle and Washington to ask for a job. Aged 16, I left school on a Friday, and started working as an architect’s technician on Monday.
As a teenager, I was a bit of a geek – very studious. I was never the cool, trendy guy who could pull the super-hot girls and have the best gear on. If I was at a party, I would be the one having a chat with a nice girl in the corner, but I’d be quite shy about it. I did love football, though, and going out drinking. In terms of cultural tribes, the options where I lived were teddy boys or mods. I was bit more into the latter, wearing Dr Martens and donkey jackets, but it never felt right, so that didn’t last long. Everybody in my social group had nicknames but I never had one. They didn’t even call me Clarkie. It was just George. That probably shows how boring I was.
When I became a presenter, I had to come out of my shell. I had all the knowledge and the passion, but none of the confidence. I was 29 and writing an academic book about architecture when a friend set me up with a meeting with their agent. A few days later she called and said: “Have you ever thought about doing television? I’ve just got off the phone from a channel who have been casting for an architectural show. Will you do the screen test?” I told her I wasn’t interested. But she persisted and called the next day. I said: “Rosemary, I said no,” and she said: “George, it’s an hour of your time. Just do it.” She was right. It was the best decision I ever made. Well, that she made.
The first thing they said to me at the screen test was: “Tell us about yourself.” I must have sounded really rude. I said: “What do you want to know?” You don’t ask a lad from Sunderland to talk about himself. I think they were expecting me to say: “I’m brilliant, I’m amazing.” I couldn’t do that. The exec’s next question was: “Tell me why you love architecture.” I don’t think I shut up for 20 minutes. When my agent called to say I’d got the job, I had to think about it. I’d just had my first son; my architectural practice was unbelievably busy; I used to go to Newcastle from London every Friday morning to teach students. I didn’t want to be on TV. But as it was just a small job I decided to do it, and take it slow. I didn’t want to be known as “the Jamie Oliver of architecture”.
These days I’m still a geeky nerd – according to my kids, anyway. Even though I get invited to red-carpet events – and I’m sure they’re really nice – I don’t go to them. I’m just not that bothered. I’d prefer to be at home with my kids and my girlfriend. Because of what I do, people do tend to joke that they don’t want me coming in their home. My ex-wife worked on Pop Idol and, once, we got invited to Will Young’s house. He said: “So, George, is there anything that really bugs you about my house?” I said: “There is one thing … ” and rattled off a load of suggestions. I remember Will looking at me like: “I wish I’d never asked that question.”
I was a very sensitive little boy, and I still have a big heart and am very aware of people’s emotions, which is why I always cry on my programmes. I hate it, but I can’t help it. TV has made me tougher in other ways, though. There were times growing up where I didn’t like being so quiet. I used to get annoyed with myself for not being outgoing. Then TV came along and made me feel more comfortable in social situations. I don’t really get nervous about anything now – even a live broadcast in front of 5 million people.
Other than that, my brain is virtually the same. I’m still passionate about architecture, books, football and the north-east.
I’m 50 years old this year, which frightens the life out of me. But, on the other hand, I think: that’s amazing. I’ve lived for 24 years longer than my dad. Because of that I live every day to the max – not by working hard or doing extreme sports, but appreciating the little things. My family. A nice coffee. My motorbike.
