Is David Walliams gay? It shouldn't matter, of course. And, as someone who
didn't bat an eyelid at George Michael and Elton John trilling “Wrap her up,
I'll take her home with me/Wrap her up, she is all I need” in a 1985 duet,
I'm probably not qualified to answer. But the question follows the
co-creator and co-star of Little Britain around like one of his comedy
catchphrases. Jeremy Clarkson once put it to him on TV - Walliams's
characteristically evasive response being “Well, I don't want to have sex
with you” - while The Sun went through a phase of asking it every other day,
printing a “gay/straight swingometer” according to the latest Walliams
gossip.
So let's get it out of the way: David, are you gay? "I think we should live in
a world where it's not really an issue," he replies, sidestepping the
question. "There was a famous French film star, massive in the Sixties, a
real lady magnet and he was known to be bisexual. Someone said to him, 'Ooh,
you're rumoured to have sex with men', and he said, 'So what if I do?'
That's kind of cool."
For what it's worth, is my hypothesis: David Walliams is not gay. And it seems
to me that the evidence stacks up as follows. First, while Walliams has,
admittedly, remarked that he is “70 per cent heterosexual”, 70 per cent is
still more than, say, 40 per cent. Secondly, while Walliams did once kiss
Will Young on Parky, his sexual conquests have famously included Geri
Halliwell, Abi Titmuss and Patsy Kensit, and, if he is in the closet,
sleeping with a succession of beautiful women would seem a laborious way of
staying so.
Thirdly, there is The Boy in the Dress, the reason we are lunching at Peploe's
wine bistro in Dublin. The book has been dubbed by its publisher as
Walliams's “first novel”, a description that the author dismisses with a
chuckle (“I'd call it a children's book”). It tells the story of a young boy
called “Dennis”, who is unremarkable in all but one respect.
How is he remarkable, you ask? Well, there's a clue in the title, and I don't
think I'd be giving too much away by revealing that Dennis, while being
attracted to the opposite sex, enjoys getting dressed up in girls' clothing,
and posing as “Denise”.
The details of Dennis's and David's biographies do not correspond precisely.
Dennis/Denise is a keen football player for instance, whereas Walliams has
attended only one football match - “Arsenal versus another team. Matt took
me and I sat in his box”. But there are countless parallels, not least that
Walliams leaps at opportunities to prance around in frocks in public, and
was nicknamed “Daphne” at school because of his campness. After the waitress
has run through the specials and we've opted for two courses, Walliams,
immaculate in a blazer and crisp white shirt, towering over me even while
seated (he is 6ft 2in), talks around his reasons for writing the book. “I
just wanted to tell a story...I just wanted to express myself...the dress is
a metaphor for being artistic...” But in the end, as the food arrives -
Irish smoked salmon for him, French onion soup for me - I blurt out a
direction question. Does he realise everyone's going to interpret the book
as autobiographical? “They are,” he laughs. “And they'd be right to.” He is
whispering. The franker he is being, the quieter he speaks. “My elder sister
used to dress me up when I was young.”
And there was the whole Daphne thing... “Yes. But I played up to it. If I'd
got upset they would have won.” He nibbles at his fish.
So basically, what you're saying in this book is, “I like dressing up, but
fancy girls”?
“Well, I didn't want it to be seen purely as a metaphor for that, but...the
truth about...transvestites...” Barely audible now. “...people who are
prepared to say they are...” A self conscious laugh. “The truth is that it
doesn't really mean you're gay. As anyone who has watched Kilroy, and seen
transvestite truckers and soldiers being interviewed next to their
long-suffering wives, will know. Anyway...”
Anyway, indeed. It's a good book. Charming, funny, with lovely illustrations
by Quentin Blake. I'm not sure how many parents will want their kids
following the adventures of a cross-dressing boy, and Walliams says the book
has already proved “too controversial for Blue Peter”, but you've got to
admire his bravery.
As with Little Britain characters such as Emily Howard (“I'm a laydee!”),
Vicky Pollard, and Marjorie Dawes, it is essentially a celebration of
difference. And, reading it, one is struck afresh at how someone from such a
boring and comfortable background - Walliams's father, who died last year,
was a London Transport engineer, his mother a laboratory technician, and he
went to the fee-paying Reigate Grammar School - can create characters that
say so much about modern Britain.
But then, more than anyone else I've met, Walliams, who was born David
Williams, and changed his surname for Equity purposes, is a bundle of
contradictions. A ladykiller, who is gayer than Christmas. A hedonist, who
swam the English Channel for Sport Relief. A man who so often looks aloof in
pictures but who, in the flesh, is actually very warm.
And then there are the profound contradictions of his career.
Clearly, there is nothing little about Little Britain any more. When he talks
about plans in the pipeline for the sketch show, he almost sounds like the
head of GlaxoSmithKline discussing a product launch: a US version of the
show (lots of new characters) will launch this month on HBO; if it does well
there might be a movie and an international tour. But at the same time,
having already appeared to critical acclaim in a Stephen Poliakoff TV drama,
he talks about wanting to “do a Chekhov play” and is now making his
theatrical debut in a production of Harold Pinter's No Man's Land at the
Gate Theatre in Dublin, alongside Michael Gambon.
“I did have a joke with the other actors one night - ‘Oh, Matt is in tonight.
Do you mind if we work in a few catchphrases?'”
Is a serious acting career a priority? “I want to learn. You know, Michael
Gambon's 67, I'm 37. He's playing the lead in this, and he's in the Harry
Potter films, and I would like to be in that position when I'm 67. I've got
to learn very publicly, which is the hard thing.”
With the play due to transfer to the West End next month, the critical
response is weighing on Walliams's mind and his anxiety reflects a complex
relationship with the press. In the five minutes we spend waiting for the
main course he says that “newspapers are disposable” and what they write
about him “doesn't really matter”, and that it is important to correct
factual errors because “other newspapers take inaccuracies as starting
points”.
I suspect he is naturally relaxed about what is written about him, even
finding speculation about his sexuality entertaining, but the phenomenal
success of Little Britain often forces him into rather surreal and
challenging situations. He walks a friend's dog, for instance, and is
subsequently featured in the “stars and their pets” section of a magazine.
He goes out for dinner with Rob Brydon, pops into a shop for a pint of milk
and a tabloid subsequently reports they were thrown out for chucking toilet
rolls around the store. Another newspaper reports that he is dating someone
he has never met, and lists a string of exes who, he says, “never includes
the ones I was in love with - they were before I was famous”. And then there
are the fans. In July a stalker, who threatened to kill Walliams during a
four-year campaign of harassment, was sectioned under the Mental Health Act.
Considering one of the letters from Sarah Bartholomew, 29, read “I will kill
you or abduct you to stop you seeing anyone else”, Walliams's response is
remarkably humane.
“It was scary, not least because you fear for the health and safety of the
person doing it.” The main courses arrive: fishcake times two.
“People project a lot on to you. Just before I came and met you, I opened a
letter which contained some rather dodgy pictures...” Nude ones? “Not naked,
but slightly sexy.” A laugh. “The thing is, 99 per cent of the time, if
people like you, it's not worrying. Sometimes we'd be in town for a week on
the Little Britain tour and some people came to the show every night. Part
of you goes, ‘Oh, that's strange'. But it's sweet, really.” Walliams
continues, explaining that one of the reasons he doesn't mind fans is
because he is such a fan himself - he collected autographs as a boy, and
still does so, having recently acquired those of Johnny Marr, Morrissey and
George Lazenby. He was particularly thrilled when Sir Paul McCartney came to
watch Little Britain on tour and greeted the former Beatle by thrusting his
bare bottom into his face, while performing as the mental patient character
Anne.
Does he enjoy touring? “Yes, but it's quite lonely too, because you get all
this praise from 12,000 people, and then you go back to your hotel room on
your own and sit there watching Newsnight.” Ah, the tears of the clown, a
subject Walliams recently explored when he played Frankie Howerd in a BBC4
dramatisation of the late comedian's off-stage self-loathing, guilt and
misery. Walliams himself has talked about a bout of depression that once
landed him in hospital, before Little Britain made it big, but is reluctant
to do so now, going only as far as saying that he is much better.
“I think happiness is something you catch. You can't be happy all the time -
it would be like you were...” He plays with his cuffs. “...stupid. I mean,
when I see my nephew I get happy, or when I do a performance on stage and I
feel I acquitted myself well, that makes me happy. But I am content.”
Are there things he still really wants to do? “Something like The Office is
pretty much perfect. It would be very rewarding to make a show like that.
Though I'm not sure that actually we'd be able to do it, because our style
is more low-brow...” The waitress reappears to ask if we want dessert and
Walliams declines, saying that he has a friend coming to meet him at his
hotel and needs to be off. As he puts on his blazer, there is time for one
more question: if he were to give his younger self some advice, what would
it be? There's a long pause, and perhaps sensing the seriousness of the
preceding conversation, he says: “Well, I'd tell myself not to worry about
girls not liking you very much at school...” Every eye in the restaurant
follows him as he gets up and strides towards the door. “...because when
you're on TV they'll like you a lot more.”
Dennis felt a twinge of embarrassment. Only women bought Vogue
ONLY 17 SCHOOLCHILDREN ALLOWED IN AT ONE TIME read the sign in the newsagent's
window. The shop was run by a very jolly man called Raj, who laughed even
when nothing funny was happening.
Dennis visited Raj's shop most days on his way to or from school, sometimes
just to chat to Raj, and after he picked up the copy of Vogue he felt a
twinge of embarrassment. He knew it was usually women who bought it, so he
also picked up a copy of Shoot on the way to the counter, hoping to hide the
Vogue underneath it. But after ringing up the Shoot magazine, Raj paused.
He looked at the Vogue magazine, then at Dennis.
Dennis gulped.
“Are you sure you want this, Dennis?” asked Raj. “Vogue is mainly read by
ladies, and your drama teacher Mr Howerd.”
“Umm...” Dennis hesitated. “It's a present for a friend, Raj. It's her
birthday.”
“Oh, I see! Maybe you'd like some wrapping paper to go with it?”
“Um, OK.” Dennis smiled. Raj was a wonderful businessman and very skilled at
getting you to buy things you didn't really want.
“All the wrapping paper is over there by the greetings cards.”
Dennis reluctantly wandered over.
“Oh!” said Raj, excited. “Maybe you need a card to go with it too! Let me
help.”
Raj bounded out from behind the counter and began to proudly show Dennis his
range of cards. “These are very popular with the ladies. Flowers. Ladies
love flowers.” He pointed out another. “Kittens! Look at these lovely
kittens. And PUPPIES!” Raj was really excited now. “Look at those lovely
puppies! They're so beautiful, Dennis, that they make me want to cry.”
“Er...” said Dennis, looking at the card with puppies on it, trying to
understand why it might make someone shed actual tears.
“Does this lady friend of yours prefer kittens or puppies?” Raj asked.
“I'm not sure,” said Dennis, unable to think what this “lady friend” of his
might like, if she existed. “Puppies, I think, Raj.”
“Puppies it is! These puppies are so beautiful I want to kiss them all over!”
Dennis tried to nod his head in agreement, but his head wouldn't move.
“Is this wrapping paper OK?” asked Raj, as he pulled out a roll of what looked
suspiciously like unsold Christmas wrapping paper.
“It's got Father Christmas on it, Raj.”
“Yes, Dennis and he's wishing you a very happy birthday!” said Raj confidently.
“I think I'll just leave it, thanks.”
“Buy one extra roll, I'll give you a third free,” said Raj.
“No, thanks.”
“Seven rolls for the price of five?”
Dennis only got Ds in maths, so wasn't sure if that was a better offer or not.
But he didn't want seven rolls of Father Christmas wrapping paper,
especially in March, so again he said, “No, thanks.”
“Eleven rolls for the price of eight?”
“No, thanks.”
“You're a madman, Dennis! That's three rolls free!”
“But I really don't need eleven rolls of wrapping paper,” said Dennis.
“OK, OK,” said Raj. “Let me just put these through the till for you.”
Dennis followed Raj to the till. He glanced briefly at the sweets on the
counter.
“Vogue magazine, Shoot magazine, card, and now you're eyeing up my Yorkie
bars, aren't you?” said Raj, laughing.
“Well, I was just...”
“Take one.”
“No, thanks.”
“Take one,” insisted Raj.
“It's OK.”
“Please, Dennis, I want you to have a Yorkie bar.”
“I don't really like Yorkie bars...”
“Everyone likes Yorkie bars! Please take one.”
Dennis smiled and picked up a Yorkie.
“One Yorkie bar, thirty pence,” said Raj.
©David Walliams 2008.
Extracted from The Boy in the Dress by David Walliams, with
illustrations by Quentin Blake. Published by HarperCollins Children's books
on October 1, £12
I am a post op transexual, and I am not "gay". I knew from a very early age that I was of the wrong sex. I was a heterosexual male, and I am now a heterosexual female.
Susan, London,
Being a male cross dresser doesn't make you gay. The two are quite different things. Why is it necessary to make this point?
Beth (tv), Edinburgh, Scotland
"The franker he is being, the quieter he speaks."
Why can't anyone - not even a Times journalist - make a comparative form of an adverb?
It should be "the more quietly he speaks".
So disheartening. "Quality newspapers" have certainly changed in the last few years.
Tina Jones, Dusseldorf, Germany
M.O. makes a very valid point, but doesn't go far enough. Clearly the arts in general should be banned until the credit crunch is over (with the possible exception of Oliver Twist). We should also suspend laughter.
K.O., London,
M.O London - why read the Books section if you think it's irrelevant? Stick to the finance section.
CL, London, UK
Isn't this something of an irrelevance in the current climate?
If I want to know about this, there are plenty of tabloids...
M. O., London,