Well, the world’s still overflowing with mega-disasters but somehow, between the plagues, wars and economic implosions, a tiny bit of good news was able to sneak out, a bit of tinsel on a river of depressing sewage.
Because it turns out that a guy called Richard Harrison managed to find 90 lost episodes of Desert Island Discs. Frankly, I think he deserves double handshakes from the King and a couple of bank holidays in his honour.
That’s because anyone who knows me can vouch for the fact that I’m a hyper-fan. Many of my dearest friends have sat for hours, silent with awe, as I’ve quoted entire episodes (I think it was awe, they might have been sleeping with their eyes open).
For those poor souls who don’t know, Desert Island Discs is a radio programme where for 80 years the great and the good (and the not so good) have explained what records they’d take to an imaginary island, and — while doing so — have told the stories of their lives.
We fanatics always knew about the lost episodes but believed they were gone forever (like the missing plays of Shakespeare), but now suddenly Margot Fonteyn and Dudley Moore and scores of others are available again, and, like all the ones we already had, they’re as rich and fascinating as a library of Russian novels.
Because Desert Island Discs gifts us moments of humanity which you simply can’t find anywhere else. What other show lets you hear Isaiah Berlin summing up his life’s philosophy, then describe how Rossini makes him feel? Or Simon Cowell explain that the sexiest song ever made is This Guy’s In Love With You? Or listen to Sister Wendy Beckett or Desmond Tutu talking so tenderly about faith that it’s a religious experience in itself.
In fact, on hearing the news of Robbie Coltrane’s death, I immediately thought of his wonderful, thoughtful appearance in 1992 … when he chose Bach’s Sheep may safely graze. Why? Because, as a little child, he’d crawl under his mother’s Bechstein while she played it.
Truly incredible. It’s had a few presenters over the years, but for me the undisputed queen-goddess is Kirsty Young, pictured, who hosted from 2006 to 2018. As Stradivari was to violins, Einstein to physics and my grandmother to chopped meat, so was Kirsty, right, to the interview: an indisputable genius. All at once, she was incredible therapist, friend, critic and confessor to her subjects and her laugh is the sound they play on a loop in heaven.
When she interviewed Julie Burchill — someone I’d known for years — it was so powerful I had to stop listening. I think Kirsty was able to obtain more truth about Julie’s complexity and talent than any of her friends had ever managed.
So, in a world looking ever tougher, my recommendation is this: if you can, take 40 minutes this week, pick a show from the archive and — in under an hour — experience a whole other life.
In other news...
I thought last year’s panto would be my first and last (“oh no you didn’t,” said my friends) but Lesley Joseph — ever the benevolent Wicked Queen — has persuaded me to come to Milton Keynes and do Snow White again (to be perfectly frank, it didn’t take much pushing … I think she just said, “hello, Rob,” and I shouted back, “Of course! Yes! I’ll be in a pantomime again!”)
Last year’s show was one of the most gorgeously joyous experiences I’ve ever had on stage. The wall of Christmassy goodwill sloshing about the theatre was like nothing else on earth … I’ve never felt twinklier.
We need all need escapism and joy and delight … and we’ll need it in the coming winter more than ever.
With that in mind, I’ll do my very best to sparkle 200 per cent more than I usually do.
