I was having a coffee al fresco at Euston station whilst I waited for the train to take me up to Manchester for yet another book reading.
A young man approached me.
"Excuse me, are you Andrew Collins?" he asked breathlessly, as if meeting Andrew Collins might be the most exciting thing that could happen to anyone ever.
I smiled, assuming he was joking. No one could ever confuse me for the Mr Punch faced lover of 1983. Surely he was a fan, having a little joke with me, being post modern and pretending to confuse two men who could never be confused, mainly due to the massive gulf in their respective talents (I am the more talented one in case you were wondering).
"No, I am the other one," I smiled. But this young man did not seem to be living his life in ironic quotation marks and seemed so genuinely delighted to be in the presence of the man who wrote "Where did I go to sit in the corner? It was all right," (or whatever it's called) that he didn't hear me.
"I just wanted to say that the podcast you do with Richard Herring is totally brilliant. It's amazing. I really love it."
Should I let it go? Or was I going to let someone go out into the world thinking that I am my own Andrew Collings? It would be embarrassing to have to correct him, but it would be much more embarrassing to live, even in one person's head, as a man who is ruthlessly ambitious, but whose ambition has such paucity that it only extends to hoping against hope that he can sit in for a pregnant DJ at 4am on a station that will shortly be closing down.
"I am Richard Herring," I told him.
"Oh yes, I'm sorry," said the befuddled man, though maybe with the slightest hint of disappointment. "Can I give you this Caffe Nero card?"
He handed it over. It had just one stamp on it. You need 9 to get a free cup of coffee. The man had just handed me the equivalent of about 25p. Like I was some kind of tramp. Who was only getting a ninth of the price of coffee.
"There's only one stamp on it!" I complained.
"It's better than nothing," he responded. Perhaps he was being ironic and post-modern after all. Perhaps he knew all the time what he was doing.
Or maybe he only knows us from the photo attached to the podcast and always assumed that my face must be the one that produces the Mr Bean voice and the boring observations about the Mitford sisters and Andrew's was the one capable of the comic genius of imagining having sex with a tortoise through its shell and .... no, that's pretty much it, thinking about it.
This must have been a moment for him, like the one I had when I realised Tom was the cat in Tom and Jerry and not the mouse like I had always assumed. A moment of heartbreak, when your world turns upside down and you're not sure anything will be the same again.
Anyway I think I should give Andrew the one stamp Caffe Nero card. It feels like it is his.
Funnily enough over the last couple of days Andrew and me have been asked to write a biog of each other for the 6Music website (which if nothing else suggests the station is seeing us a slightly more permanent fixture).
Here is what Andrew wrote about me:
"Richard Keith Herring, the chubby, Marks & Spencer-sponsored, York City-following half of Lee & Herring [1992-2000], Collings & Herrin [2008-] and Collins & Herring [2010-], is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma: a nationally known comedian who has managed to spread himself across every media platform over the past 20 years and yet persists in mythologising himself as comedy's greatest failure. His failure comes only in failing to recognise how known he is, which is nationally. Though his London mantelpiece groans under the weight of coins and old papier mache Lee & Herring props rather than industry awards, Richard's achievements from 30 years in showbiz are all the greater and more noble for having been ignored and in many cases slapped around the face over cold lamb and three-bean salad. Overweight male Doctor Who fans in their thirties and forties openly give him half-filled Caffe Nero loyalty cards in the street and remind him of funny things he said in 1996 which he cannot remember. Women who wouldn't normally see past his grunge-style hair, miniature hands and cavalier attitude towards hygiene throw themselves at his mocassin-clad feet. Commissioning editors in radio and TV queue up to reject his pitches and scripts. Janet Ellis knows who he is. He has the moon on a stick, and he knows how many calories are in it. Cheddar's most famous headmaster's son, Richard Keith has achieved so much over the 40 or so years he has been trudging up and down the steep hills of Edinburgh with buckets overflowing with self-doubt, and yet, he still has so much more to give. He'd like to see Andrew Collins do a radio show on his own. He'd like to see that.""
Despite the implicit rudeness that is actually quite sweet and made me feel slightly guilty (but only very slightly) that mine was a bit less loving underneath it all (though that is very apt and representative of our relationship - I do hate Collings so)
"If you need someone to sit in for a pregnant DJ at 4am on 6music then just call Andrew Collins. He is so desperate to get his "Mr Bean" voice on the radio he will take any job available. Rumour that he has been going around trying to artificially impregnate 6music DJs are without legal foundation. Though Shaun Keavenny is in the process of launching an official complaint.
Collins (born Andrew Collings in Northampton in 1965) has the rare accolade of being the least good one in two double acts, after first teaming up with Stuart Maconie (now a multi millionaire author and broadcaster) and now with Richard Herring (who having been the less good one in one double act sensibly opted to team up with someone worse than him for his second).
Andrew is best known for appearing on the TV show "I Love 1983" which strangely he never actually appeared on. Evenso it is widely considered to be his best work.
Andrew has met Keifer Sutherland, Billy Bragg and the man from inside the gorilla costume in the Mighty Boosh in real life and considers them all (incorrectly) to be his close personal friends. Richard Herring remains nothing but a colleague. Despite their on air chemistry they despise each other in real life and only converse via an intermediary.
Evenso the pair have made the Saturday morning show their own. Until Adam and Joe say they want to come back."
