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Sad to see that Henry Kelly had died (though astonished he was only 78 - I thought he was about 50 in the 1980s) and wondered why I felt quite so upset (not so upset that I didn't immediately write "What D am I?" on Twitter).
And I realised that Henry Kelly is an important component in my early sex life or lack of sex life. It hasn't turned into an adult fetish where I insist that Catie puts on a Henry Kelly mask and asks "What W am I?" (though now I've thought about that I might see if she's up for it - just checked, she isn't).
Henry Kelly was the star guest at the Shipham Strawberry Fair in around about 1981 and my main memory of that event is that I somehow ended up behind a stall with a girl from school, not quite making out, but playing a game that involved us wrestling over a 50p piece which weirdly hovered over interesting body parts.
It was very rare for a girl to show any interest in me and I was as terrified as I was excited about this almost innocent bit of horseplay. This girl was definitely interested in me and flirted with me a few times, but as much as I wanted to go along with everything she suggested, I was too nervous to do much about it and worried what my friends would say. We came from different social circles, very much like Romeo and Juliet and I was as scared of being judged as I was of what I would be expected to do if I went along with it.
If I could go back in time I'd tell that young man to stop being such an idiot and get on with it. But then I'd be a 57 year old man encouraging a 14 or 15 year old boy to get busy, which I think might be illegal even if I was both parties.
I saw that girl again a few years ago at an event I did in Cheddar and we shared a smile, but said no more about it.
But that exciting and rare bit of attention behind a stall is forever connected in my mind with Henry Kelly.
Then as I got a bit older I became a fan of Going For Gold, which was not only an excellent quiz, but quite often had attractive and exotic women from the continent on as contestants. It says a lot about how horny I was and about how difficult it was to get hold of erotic material in the 1980s that if I was alone in the house, I would occasionally use Going For Gold as masturbatory material. It was, I have to say, a tricky wank as the camera would cut from the attractive woman to a weird bearded man from Norway or more often that not, Henry Kelly, so you had to time things very carefully. But it does mean that I have probably wanked whilst looking at Henry Kelly more than almost any other man.
Once I gained the confidence to have sex with another person, I moved away from having to have Henry Kelly somewhere in the vicinity to get aroused. Though if his radio show was on when I was getting down to business I wouldn't turn it off.
Innocent and yet still deeply troubling times. But if only today's horny and confused men would wank to Going For Gold (and if that isn't a provocative title I don't know what is) then maybe we wouldn't be in such a mess. Henry Kelly made me the man I am today. A grubby pervert.
I suppose this is why his death has stirred up some complex feelings for me. RIP Henry Kelly. I feel this is the most moving tribute there will be for him.
I really enjoyed my gig in Canterbury tonight. I am in Bath on Thursday and Exeter on Friday and then on to many more exciting places.
Come and see this show if you can. I am as proud of it as I am ashamed of the rest of this entry.
