The Exit Interview: Billy Connolly
Each week, Eleanor Black asks someone to reflect on taking an exit — from a job, a lover, a lifestyle. First up, Billy Connolly on the ultimate exit — being mistaken for nearly dead.
Billy Connolly, 77, is sitting in a car “packed in with pillows” outside a CVS pharmacy in Key West, Florida. His wife of 30 years, Pamela Stephenson, is inside picking up medicine.
When you announced you had Parkinsons, people thought you were dying and were terribly upset. Was that nice?
No it was weird, there were messages of condolence from all over the world and I was definitely all right. It’s kinda weird, people wishing you all the best in your passing. It was my own fault, because when I was making a film they asked me how I felt and I gave the wrong message. I said I was wasting away, which was untrue. It’s because parts of me, my eyesight, my hearing, my walk and all that [have been affected]. I had to go on the telly and reassure people, which is a weird thing to do. I made an ass of the original message and I had to put it right.
How are you managing your health?
I am doing okay. I’ve got a lovely doctor in New York, she is very good. She’s got me on good medication, so I am plodding along, doing just dandy. I can’t get out of bed, my wife has to help me up out of bed. I can’t tie my laces or put my socks on, annoying little things like that. But everything else is great, I have no complaints at all. I have been drawing over the last few years and I do exhibitions — it’s done me a lot of good. I get the shakes but it’s in my left hand and I draw with my right, so I’m okay. I was on tour in Canada and it was freezing and I went into an art shop across from the hotel and bought a sketchbook and some pens, never having drawn in my life. I went home and I said to my wife, “Look I don’t care how bad they are, tell me if they are getting any better.” And she said, “They are definitely getting better,” so I stuck at it. I draw weird people, they are covered in bandages, I don’t know why. People think I’m a nutcase. My wife’s a psychologist, she just shakes her head and walks away.
You have written about being fascinated by death.
When I was a child I used to go to watch funerals. I was kind of obsessed with death but I’m not anymore. I’m cool with it. I’m not going to be here in 20 years and I don’t have any fear of it. I’d like to die in my bed, in my sleep. I have loved old people since I was a little boy. In public parks there used to be sheds where men would play dominoes and I used to love going in and talking to them. They all had knives for cutting tobacco and they would show you their knives. They called themselves the Old Contemptibles, and they were great guys, really interesting to talk to.
Now that you are an old man, how do you find it? It’s okay, it has its moments but it’s not as good as being young. I wouldn’t try to kid you that it’s lovely.
It’s been a year since you retired from stand-up. Do you miss it?
No, it’s lovely. I pass the time by reading and drawing, watching TV shows about murder and people in prison. I don’t miss it for a minute. I had 50 years and that’s plenty. I go to concerts and I see people perform, I go fishing. It’s a full life.
Do you have a bucket list?
Only to go to Tibet. I have achieved most things I wanted. The international aspect of [my career] makes me most proud. They used to say, “But will they understand it in Edinburgh?” because I was so Glaswegian. Well, they understand me in Okefenokee, so I’m okay.
What do you put that down to?
Telling the truth, speaking about stuff [the] audience knows about. If you talk about your school, people compare it to their school. I tell stories about the wee things that annoy me, like people who wear backpacks to get off planes and hit you in the face as they go past.
What is your favourite thing to do these days? Making it to the morning. My favourite thing is when I wake up and Parkinsons is the second thing on my mind it’s a good day. I list to starboard now, I don’t know why. It’s annoying. Pamela just shoves me up straight. Ha ha ha ha ha! My driver has arrived.
Tall Tales and Wee Stories by Billy Connolly (Two Roads, $30) is out now.