GRAHAM FELLOWS
The brain behind Jilted John and John Shuttleworth, in his own words and by his own hand.
He’s the comedic mastermind behind John Shuttleworth and Jilted John. But what does the real Graham think when protective artifice is stripped away? As he prepares a new, serious solo album, he shares thoughts on life, death and vol-au-vents, and a Self-Portrait drawing.
I’d describe myself as… a weird man living in a weird part of a weird town. Which is a reference to a song on my new album, Weird Town. It’s based on Louth in Lincolnshire where I live. The part of town is where “the 30-mile speed limit starts, and brambles cover discarded prams and old motor parts,” the hinterland between countryside and town. I’d like to try and be a little bit weirder because I’m about to embark on a solo tour and I don’t want to appear boring. I think I’m still discovering myself, oh God yes. This tour [Completely Out Of Character, where Fellows performs as himself rather than his musical alter-egos] is a voyage of self-discovery as well as being like a sabbatical. And, I don’t think I’m an easy man to live with. I don’t mind my own company.
Music changed me because… apart from 19th century novels and the odd film like, bizarrely, Mrs. Doubtfire, music is the only thing that reduces me to tears. I used to get quite moved by The Apocalypse in Yessongs, particularly the guitar solo. And writing songs takes me to a different place, a slightly more reliable world, perhaps, than the real one, in the same way that listening to music does.
When I’m not making music… I like walking and cycling, although recent bouts of sciatica have threatened my ability to do both things, which makes me value them even more.
My biggest vice is… chewing my tongue. I do it when I’m deep in thought, when I think I’m alone. After six months of knowing me my current girlfriend, Miriam, said, “What’s that funny squeaking noise I hear when you’re on the toilet?” I confessed, “It’s me chewing my tongue.”
The last time I was embarrassed was… probably when my girlfriend asked me that question. My formal qualifications are… a diploma in Theatre awarded by Manchester Polytechnic In 1980. I am also a fully qualified Co-op milkman. Ask me the fat content of semiskimmed? I’ve forgotten.
The last time I cried was… playing one of my songs – to myself, alone. There’s a couple of slightly personal ones I’ve written that have made me cry, because they’re about marital break-up or when I wasn’t seeing my kids very much.
Vinyl, CD or MP3?… tricky question, for each has its place. I have a jukebox which plays old 45s, the car has a CD player which I use a lot, but MP3s are just so convenient.
My most treasured possession is… my new kettle which glows in the dark and has various temperature settings. I got it second-hand on eBay, it’s made making tea a very special moment.
The best book I’ve read is… an impossible question so I’ll say Shadow The Sheepdog by Enid Blyton. When I read it aged 10 or 11 it had a very powerful effect on me.
Is the glass half-full or half-empty? …sometimes it can be brimming over and I’ll be miserable, and other times nearly empty but I’ll feel strangely ecstatic. I’ll be honest, a lot of the time my glass is half-empty, but I feed on anxiety to drive me to try and create.
My greatest regret is… I’ve made too many mistakes to regret any of them. I think I’ve made a mess of most of my relationships – if I think about it, I haven’t got any ex-girlfriends who are still talking to me, maybe one, but I don’t particularly want to talk to her. Because I hurt them and I piss them off, probably. I have been accused of being a bit insensitive. Miriam seems to be able to laugh at me… they all laugh at me at first! But y’know, you do learn from your mistakes. To walk round full of regrets is a bit selfdestructive, you might as well go, “Well, that came out of it.”
When we die… I don’t know but I hope the funeral tea is pleasant, with plenty of vol au vents, which seem to be disappearing as a buffet tea item.
I would like to be remembered… A good dad? Well, he did his best. To be remembered at all would be quite nice, actually.