The ageing process is terribly cruel.
The child of a thousand nervous faces
You’d have to be a sneering Downton Abbey sceptic to spot the anachronisms in my beloved ‘eighteenth-century king’ get-up. Today, His Majesty is holding the royal secateurs.
If you want to look cool, you first have to feel cool. You then have to do a lot of other things.
Despite the smile, I am bitterly aware that this outfit is humiliatingly baggy.
Here, I am guarding some nascent runner beans.
The Kilburn High Road: ‘The closer you look, the better it gets.’ This is a genuine slogan used by the council.
Me and my brother Dan, in 1987 and 2012. As you can see, the age gap has widened from eight years to about twenty.
My parents Kathy and Ian, photographed, as usual, in front of a Christmas tree. I should point out, however, that this tree is in my flat in Kilburn. There’s no way my dad would give houseroom to anything so wonky.
With Grandpa, my mum’s dad and my favourite person in the world at the time.
With Grandad, my dad’s dad. I’d rather be watching Knight Rider.
A typical FRP. Organic produce ahoy!
Having ordered a piano, this young mother is just about to embark on the gruelling weekly fireworks shop.
For many years, I was an only child.
Showbusiness!
The 1984 New College School production of A Christmas Carol – the Fezziwig’s Party scene. I’m third from the left, in the red skirt. I’ve clearly got ‘it’.
I am the legionary on the far right, wearing gym shoes and nervously watching the end of my neighbour’s spear. I have probably already said ‘Vespasian, centurion!’
If you look closely at this typical gathering of a human, a bear, a rabbit and a pig, you may notice that, in reality, they’re all humans.
What possible explanation could there be for this sign?
I have a racist palate.
Regent’s Park loos – an etiquette minefield.
The British Ambassador to the Eighth Session of the European Youth Parliament in Barcelona.
Rob and me as Dick Whittington and his Cat in the 1994 Footlights pantomime. Gus Brown is playing the mysterious benefactor, Ben E Factor: ‘Here is a blank cheque. I only wish it could be more.’
This is from the first photoshoot Rob and I ever did together – we were still young enough to think that irony can take the curse off gurning.
With James Bachman and Olivia Colman, just hanging out – the Bullingdon Club had nothing on us.
Jeffrey Bernard is 21.
Outside my parents’ house when Footlights came to Oxford to do a gig at the Playhouse. From left: Nick Nurock, me, Phil Radden, Robert Webb (seated), Matthew Holness, Jon Taylor (seated), Charles Dean, Tom Hilton, Charlie Hartill (seated), James Bachman, Claire Taylor and Sarah Moule. Not all of these people have now gone bald.
At the Footlights garden party: John Oliver, Des O’Connor (sic), Richard Ayoade and me. I am trying to pre-empt accusations of elitism by holding a champagne bottle, wearing a T-shirt with a Latin motto on it and pulling that face.
With Collie, backstage on tour with The Miser (as we called the production manager). Seconds later, I was to place my entire head inside that shoe.
Swiss College, Cambridge, has since been demolished.
Collie, backstage at the Comedy Awards. Or was it during a Peep Show shoot? I forget.
Only an anarchist would buy pants anywhere else.
Mark and Jeremy are throwing a party.
‘I find these inexplicable delays intensely depressing.’ Waiting around with Matt King, who plays Super Hans.
That Mitchell and Webb Look
Dawn of the Bronze Age.
Due to BBC cuts, Rob and I are forced to share a dress.
Rob and I are disconcerted to be photographed during what we call ‘the process’. (The man sitting down is Simon Kane, who wrote the sketch we’re about to perform. It is about the Romans.)
Context is all.
Smog schmog.
Of course, it’s an honour just to be nominated. Then again, fuck them.
Sam Bain, Jesse Armstrong, Rob and me, at the Fort Lauderdale International Film Festival as usual.
A publicity shot from Magicians.
With Rob Brydon, Alan Davies, Stephen Fry and John Lloyd, for the special QI-themed edition of The Unbelievable Truth.
The end.