Interview
Stuck In A Lift
Alan Davies hates being deemed insufficiently masculine for traditionally male pursuits
Alan Davies unravels why strangers don’t think he likes football, and why he won't wear a fresh pair of socks during his forthcoming Think Ahead tour
Alan Davies has been charming British audiences for over three decades now – be it with his off-beat everyman brand of stand-up, as television’s titular lateral-thinking cerebral crime solver in Jonathan Creek, or just by stating the glaringly obvious (and frequently incorrect) as a permanent panellist on QI.
We might never see Davies pull on Creek’s hooded duffel coat to solve a seemingly insolvable mystery again, despite admitting that if retired showwriter David Renwick “could summon the energy, health, strength and youth to do it, then of course” he’d happily step back into the role. But the tousle-haired comic is currently preoccupied with life as a stand-up once again.
Alan Davies’ first tour in ten years, Think Again, has been critically acclaimed as a soul bearing self assessment on ageing and his own personal trauma, which he detailed candidly in his memoir several years ago. It’s the kind of content that could kill a comedy routine. Thanks to Davies’ eternally boyish disposition and sleight of hand however, his shows seldom feel discordant or uncomfortable. It’s taken him until now, whilst juggling multiple mid-life crises funnily enough, to strike that balance perfectly.
“I talk about that in the show. It’s an overview of how I got into comedy, while all this other stuff was happening in the background that I never talked about,” he says from his home in north London. “I was creating routines and telling stories that weren’t about what I was actually thinking about.”
“Now I’m 60, I’m more able to talk about the whole picture. If the show is a cake, then I’ve got all the ingredients in. I’ve made nice cakes in the past, but this is the best cake I’ve made.”
Alan Davies tucks back into said cake by taking Think Again back on the road from September throughout October. Beforehand, we caught up with him to unravel why strangers are so surprised to find out he likes football and motorcycles, how he could’ve been the Keely Hodgkinson of his generation, and why he’ll never do a gig in a fresh pair of socks.
Who would you most like to be stuck in a lift with?
At the moment, probably Mikel Arteta. I first need to apologise for calling for him to be sacked for about three years, between roughly 2020 and 2022.
So, you were one of the initially doubting acolytes?
Very doubting. Then I went to Selhurst Park at the start of the season four years ago, when Saliba, Zinchenko and Jesus made their debuts. Everything was amazing. I thought, “I see it now,” because there was Saka, this wonder boy on the wing, and they went on an amazing run.
They fell short, then fell short the next year and the next. But they always felt close, and then they brought in reinforcements – principally Declan Rice, but several others – to help everyone over the line. That has been the focus of our summer in north London: going around in a kind of daze.
Prior to that, I would have just said Jennifer Aniston. That’s an easier answer.
Who would you least like to be stuck in a lift with?
Nigel Farage.
He consistently seems to be on the wrong end of foodstuffs, doesn’t he?
It’s a milkshake isn’t it. It’s always a white milkshake too – there’s definitely some symbolism involved. He’s a terrible man. At the moment, there is such an effort to divide us. I heard on the radio that nine million people in the United Kingdom are on antidepressants, which I found jaw-dropping. It made me think the pills must have come out of patent and become very cheap to distribute, medicating about a sixth of the population.
It made me feel that all those people, at one point or another, had felt a dark loneliness. I think that is what it characterises. More than ever, we need to find common ground, come together and help solve our problems. This emphasis on division and conflict is so destructive, so disgusting and morally bankrupt. I can’t abide the Reform Party or what it stands for.
Are you any more hopeful with Andy Burnham in charge?
I wish him luck. Whichever side of the political spectrum you’re on – and I’ve been a Labour Party member for a long time – you want a prime minister to work. You want someone to have a proper run in the job. It seems impossible: from day one, you must be swamped with demands.
Prime ministers are dropping like flies. You think of decent, hard-working, serious-minded people such as Keir Starmer, Theresa May and Gordon Brown, getting blown away by the job. Prime ministers used to last longer, and I don’t think you can really do the job in a short time. Of course, whoever is in office will face a general election in under three years.
It’s a carousel of celebrity-adjacent characters now.
I honestly think the internet and social media have something to do with it. Misinformation and disinformation are being spread through algorithms that feed people videos from unknown sources. People develop extreme positions about individual politicians very quickly, often influenced by what they receive in their feeds. It’s difficult for a democracy to function properly. There’s no doubt that some of this stuff is being conjured up abroad… It’s all a bit worrying. The intention is to destabilise government – and it works!
What’s the strangest interaction you’ve ever had with a famous person?
I wrote about this in my most recent book. I met Bob Monkhouse several times and worked with him. I always liked him: he was generous with his time, funny to talk to and had loads of stories – so much history in his life. If he met someone new, he would put out his hand, say, “Bob Monkhouse,” and shake hands. It was quite disarming; instead of people saying, “Oh my God, you’re Bob Monkhouse,” they were invited to say who they were.
Foolishly, I tried it once. The person I said it to was the former Olympian Chris Akabusi. He was a very likeable character, one hell of a laugh. He did a lot of television after he stopped running. I met him once, put out my hand and said, “Alan Davies.” He replied, “Hello, Dave.” He had absolutely no idea who I was. The point of Bob Monkhouse doing it was that everybody knew who he was.
What was the last show you went to?
We’ve just come back from the Edinburgh Fringe. We go every year. I think the last shows we saw were a couple of great comedy shows: John Kearns, who I’m a big fan of, and Bella Hull.
I worked with John on Guessable for Comedy Central. Every time he spoke, he was funny. I didn’t know him beforehand, then we became friends. I go and see him in Edinburgh whenever I can.
Bella Hull is a young comedian we saw in Edinburgh. She’s brilliant – really loved her stuff. She’s in her twenties, has been on QI and does work on Saturday Night Live. I think she’s going to become a bit of a thing. Highly recommended.
What’s the worst job you’ve ever had?
I was a sandwich-board man for Epping Flea Market. I had to walk up and down Epping High Street wearing a sandwich board. It wasn’t well paid – I think I was given a single £10 note.
I remember seeing a young, pretty girl working in a travel agents and catching her eye. I was gazing through the window thinking, “I wonder what time she goes for lunch. Maybe I could say, ‘Excuse me, I saw you in the travel…’” Then I caught my reflection in the window. I was bedraggled and wearing a sandwich board. I thought, “This is not going to happen.” It was a terrible job. I wanted to do stand-up, open spots and anything I could to get on stage. In the end it worked out and I started getting paid gigs, but for a few months I was just doing anything I could find.
Sandwich-board people on the street are almost the stereotype of having sunk to the lowest ebb.
There used to be a bloke near where I lived who stood on a street corner holding a big sign that said “Golf Sale”, with an arrow. They didn’t tie it to a lamppost; he had to hold it all day. This was pre-internet: if you had golf equipment to sell, you had to draw attention to it. People needed to know where to go.
What is your guiltiest pleasure?
Probably all the cheese I eat. I have a terrible habit of opening the fridge, standing there and snapping the end off a block of Parmesan. I’m a sucker for cheese, and my youngest has caught it too. He’s discerning about mozzarella and burrata – you can tell he’s a middle-class child.
I completely understand. I’ll stand in front of the open fridge and eat bags of shredded cheese. I sometimes think of The Truman Show: imagine a hidden camera filming me for live national television, watching me eat a bag of cheese late at night. My secret shame.
Snacking at the fridge? Bad habit. My go-to is cheddar, straight down the line. There are many fine examples, but it’s hard to beat a Cornish cheese – though I wouldn’t say that if I were in Devon.
What’s the skill that no one else knows that you’re great at?
I don’t know about a skill, but people sometimes say, “I didn’t think you liked ‘X’,” no matter what ‘X’ is. I used to ride motorbikes and loved them. I haven’t had one for about 20 years; when we started thinking about having children, I gave up my last one around 2007. I used to go to the motorcycle show at the NEC every year, getting on and off the bikes and fantasising about owning them. Someone said, “I didn’t think you liked motorbikes.” Why wouldn’t I? How would you know?
I went to a boxing match – to see Tyson Fury fight – and someone said, “I didn’t think you liked boxing.” At Wembley, after I’d taken my son to see England, a bloke said, “I didn’t think you liked football.” I’ve been to four World Cups and had a season ticket for 40 years!
What is it about me that means I apparently don’t like anything? What do people think I like – non-male pursuits? Not motorbikes, football and boxing. Hedge trimming and crochet?
Hedge trimming is pretty masculine.
It is – and satisfying. I have a couple of power tools!
What’s the worst advice you’ve ever been given?
When I was about nine or ten at primary school, I was very fast. I could win all the running races in the playground. Then we did cross-country, which meant running around Epping Forest for about 20 minutes: all the way up a hill, through the woods, then back down. My brother told me the only way to win cross-country was to get out in the lead and ahead of everyone. The race started, and I took that advice. I set off at such a pace that the teacher running with us was out of breath, calling, “Alan!” The first part was uphill; by the top, I was exhausted. People I’d never even seen in the playground went past me. I came in well down the field.
To this day, I’m embittered about it. I should have relied on my trusty sprint finish: hang on to the leaders, sit behind them, then burn them off. I could have been the Keely Hodgkinson of my class. I have no doubt.
I didn’t think you liked running!
Yes, I like running.
Do you have any superstitions?
Around stand-up gigs, definitely. Since I started, I’ve always had a setlist in my back pocket. Nowadays it’s on the table by the stage so I can actually read it, because I can’t remember as well. I wear the same pair of trainers for every gig. There are about three pairs of jeans and one shirt I think of as the Think Ahead tour shirt. I’ve done about 80% of the gigs wearing that shirt. Until I’ve got all that, I don’t feel ready. It’s basically changing out of one set of identical clothes into another, but in my head they are my gig clothes and my gig shoes. Then I’m ready to do a gig.
It puts me in a different mindset. Even though the show is honest and open, and I feel that turning 60 has allowed me to address every subject and open up so that anyone carrying a secret or darkness can hear me talk about my life and feel that it’s possible to talk, I still need the outfit. That is one of the small by-products while I’m trying to make everyone laugh. I’ve never been one of those comedians who can just get up at a club anytime and say, “Give me the money.” Obviously I could do that, but I’d be thinking: “I’m in the wrong-coloured jeans. Where’s my set list? What am I going to say? My socks smell too fresh.”
If you had to have a song playing every time you walked into a room, what would it be?
The Jam are always my go-to group, but the song would probably change if you asked me tomorrow. I was playing Setting Sons the other day, and I think ‘Little Boy Soldiers’ is brilliant. Let’s go with that.
Have you ever seen Paul Weller live?
Many times. I saw The Jam several times as a teenager. I’ve seen Paul’s solo work and with the Style Council. A long time ago, I made a documentary based on my first book, which was about my heroes. His people organised for me to meet Paul Weller and have him sign my copy of All Mod Cons. It made nice footage because I was genuinely discombobulated. He was such a hero to me when I was 16.
You should have tried greeting him with, “Hi, I’m Alan Davies.”
He’d have called me Dave.
