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- [00:08]
A
Hello. Hello. It's. It's great to be here in. My name's Colin. That's probably not the name I would have chosen. I don't think anyone's chosen to be called Colin. I grew up in Nottingham in the 1980s. Colin was a very unpopular name back then. This was in the dark days before the Firth and the Farrell. But. So I'm an actor, a comedian, a welder. Gotta have a backup. Over the years, I've played many memorable characters in comedy, tragedy, Shakespeare. I appeared in Measure for Measure for measure, the extended version. I've spent so long playing characters, I hardly know who I am anymore. Now, as a 45 year old dad thing, I find myself asking the question no one else is wondering, who's the real Colin Holt? What bizarre encounters and lurid sites led him to be the man talking to you today? Perhaps tonight, by exploring my fevered brain, we can begin to understand who I am, who you is and what for. This is the making of Colin Holt. So I've entitled this particular story my Might as well Be Dead. That's a cheery title, isn't it? Cheery start to production. Might as well be dead. That's actually something my dear old mum, bless her, used to say, casual as she walked about the house during my early years on this remarkable planet. Oh, might as well be dead. It's quite a heavy thing to say, isn't it, willy nilly to just throw out. She'd say it about anything. It starts raining, Ah, might as well be dead. Something crap on tv. Ah, might as well be dead. But she tried her best to raise us right. As a kid, I struggled to make the F sound. My mum would do it with me every day. She'd go, come on, little Colin, say fox. And I go, socks. And she'd go, no, come on, say fox. Socks. Once she tried to trick me. She went, say socks. And I went, socks. Didn't work. She used to worry that me and my brothers were hunching our shoulders too much, right? So she'd sneak up behind us and click her fingers and go, strings, strings. But I'm getting ahead of myself. What was I talking about? I do have adhd, so if you distract me, it is a hate crime. Does anyone else have adhd? We all do. Yes. No, I was gonna say, we're recording in Brighton. Does anyone not have adhd? But you have it. You shouted you have it. No, no, I feel you might. What's your name? Kathy. Yeah, it's coming off you in waves. No, you have not. Anyone actually been diagnosed, so to speak? Yes. Hooray. If some people, if you don't know what ADHD is, it's a type of neurodiversity, obviously, like, you know, autism and all the sort of made up ones. Honestly, some of them are ridiculous. There's one called hyper recognition. That's recognizing people too much. I feel like I've known you for years. What's your name? No, I grew up in Nottingham in the 1980s and we didn't really believe in mental health. You know, I'm not sure we believed in health, but most people I knew couldn't even spell adhd. We didn't need words back then, did we? You know, you remember. What was your name? Easy. Easy. Is that an instruction? Your name's really easy. Well, it's not really my name. No. Yeah, I got that. But you remember Eazy back in the day? We didn't need all those words, did we, back then, like neurodiversity and autism and adhd. We just had a simple phrase that covered everything. He's not right. And that's. That's all we need about that. Look at him. He's not right. What's he doing? Essentially, if you still don't know, ADHD means you're either very annoying, very entertaining, or both. But either way, you don't have to suffer us for too long because we either turn up too late or we drift off mid sentence before we've. So I live here in Brighton. I do live here in Brighton, so don't follow me home. But it's lovely. I do love it. It's very tolerant. It's a bit like being in sixth form all the time. You know, everyone lives near each other. You know, everyone's on a project, but no one's really working. But forgive me, Brightonians, but sometimes I feel like Brighton people, you know, you can be a bit too clever. Clever for me, you know, I mean, a bit clever. Sometimes when you talk about neurodiversity, they say things like, yeah, but aren't we all kind of neurodiverse? Aren't we all a little bit autistic every now and again? I get it. And I'm like, do you realize how offensive that is? Do you know what I mean? We can't all just be a little bit autistic every now and again, because if we're all just a little bit neurodiverse every now and again, then I'm not special. So I am Colin Holt. I got as far as giving you my name. I'M named after my dad, who was also called Colin. He believed in sticking to what you know. I was born in Nottingham, the youngest of four, including the dog and I. I never really felt that I fitted in with the others, you know, especially the dog, who was always giving me the side eye. Nottingham is a city populated by ducks, right in the middle of the country. And as midlandsy as the Midlands could be. I used to dream of running away somewhere exotic, like Derby. Nottingham in the 80s was also a place of dreams of artistic frustration. The desire to dance and sing and twat about. Always scared that someone would deck you for it. What are you dancing like that for, you big bender? Every day hummed with a constant low level anxiety that any minute you get life wrong and be pounced upon. This one neighbour we had, right, let's call him Barry. He was forever coming round, banging on the door, loudly pointing out all the faults with our house, all the stuff that needed doing, telling us all his frightfully boorish opinions. Alright, are you going on then? Oh, look at that wall. Right, cracking it. You want to get that sorted? I say hereabout council not picking up bins. Disgraceful, isn't it? All these foreigners treated like kings. I'm right though, aren't I? They are different from us. You want to get that light fixed, it's right. Knock it into it. Just like a non stop soliloquy of everything in his head, with no pause to breathe, telling us every thought he'd ever had without stopping. I appreciate that I sound like a massive snob saying all this, I realize that. But what was snobbery, you know? And what was my neurodiversity struggling to cope? I'm neurodiverse and allergic to banality. As you can imagine. I have few friends. I never really got on with the other kids. I didn't have a proper Nottingham accent, you know, so everyone thought I was right. Posh architect. Him I talks. Thinks he's better than me. Don't eh, Using all them big words. But it wasn't that I thought I was clever. I had what I now think of as the Neurodiverse accent, which is the same wherever you're from. You could be Geordie Scouse from Knott's. If you grow up Neurodiverse, your accent's always like this. Hello, can I tell you about all the different Transformers? I could name every single Transformer. Optimus prime, all of them. The normal world often seems so loud and confusing. Becoming characters was my way of navigating through it. I had to study faces, mimic voices, try to understand people's reasoning and motivations, try to appear normal and not the absolute freak I feared I was. I think Mum and my whole family were trying to do the same. They just didn't have my incredible, God given talent. I'm going to tell you a story now, a story which I think says it all. It's a true story. Apart from all the bits I made up. It's all about real people. You're in it a lot easy. But it's all meant with love, understanding and acceptance. And if you don't like that, you can sod off. So picture the scene. It's 1986, Christmas, Nottingham. I grew up in an area of Nottingham called Maple, right? Mapley's known for two things. And when I say known, I mean in Mapley. Mapley Top and Mapley Hospital. Mapley Top was like the high street up the hill, right? My mum used to say, let's go up top, shall we? Should we do it? She'd get her on the bus and go up Top. It was like the most exciting thing you could do. And when my wife Kat first met my mum, my mum was like, should we go up top? Should we go up top, Kat? Not top Cat, but should we get. Should we get her on the bus and go up top? Kat's like, what is this place? Up top. What is this place? It sounds magical. Sounds like Las Vegas. She gets there, it's three shops and weatherspoons. My oldest brother, Steve, he's always going up top to have his dinner, right? And he rings me up to tell me what he's had. Oh, I had a lovely dinner, Cole. All right? Nice. It was only five pound. I said, what was it, Steve? He says, it was only five pound. They were right Now. I says, what was it, though? He says, oh, it's piled right up on your plate. It was only five pound cheese. I said, what was it, Stephen? He says, oh, it's piled up on you. Please. Five pound cheese. I said, was it just cheese? For some reason, he's a one, Stephen. For some reason, he's always called himself the Neen. He's given himself a nickname and the nickname is the Neen. No one knows why. Sometimes it's Auntie Neen. We don't know why, but he sends my kids birthday cards that say, happy birthday, love from Uncle Stephen. Auntie Neen. I said, why'd you put Uncle Stephen Auntie Neen? He says, so they're not confused. Everyone's got one in the Family? I've got loads. My other brother is Pete. For some reason, Pete's always talked a bit like Sean Bean. I don't know why, but he says everything like he's in Lord of the Rings, like a wise warrior. Could I have a chip butty, please? With mushy peas? Thank you. He's a believer. He's always looking for something to believe in. You know, Christianity. I love it. Buddhism. Why not? Once he tried to convince me the film the Matrix was real. Yeah. Cole, this will blow your mind. Who's the main character in the Matrix? Neo. What's Neo backwards? The One. It's not though, is it? It's ow. When I was a kid, Pete used to go, don't end up like me, whatever you do, Cole, don't end up like me. Don't have the life I've had. I was like, Pete, you're 15. So that was Mapley Top, anyway. That was Mapley Top. Mapley Hospital, on the other hand, was the mental hospital near us back in the 80s. It was this ominous Victorian tower, right? And it was right outside my bedroom window. My mum used to go, don't show me not right. Don't let them see you're not right, Colin. They'll put you in my place. You'll never get around. Sometimes you'd see smoke coming out the top. She'd go, yeah, that's embarrassing. The schizophrenics. My wife Kat, she's from a more middle class background, you know what I mean? Posh background, you know? Has anyone sort of married into a posher background? Anyone done that? I mean, say, married into it? It's been 15 years. They haven't quite accepted me. But the biggest difference for me going from that world into the posh one is just the quiet. It's so quiet. My God, it's quiet in my house. You weren't allowed to be quiet. Everyone had to keep talking all the time or someone would think something was wrong. Do you know what I mean? Why aren't you talking? It's not set out for 10min. What's going on with him? He'll end up in my play. But in that house, it was just so quiet all the time. The first time I went in, I felt like I'd gone into Narnia. And when it was all like, da da da da da da da da da da da da da da. Classic FM on the radio, nobody's screaming. All the knives and forks are in the knives and forks drawer, not in the bread bin. I walked in I was like, ah. Oh. I think I actually orgasmed the first time I walked in. And they've never really forgiven me for that, to be honest. But I go into the house, mother in law's there, you know, like, come in, Colin, come in. Like Mr. Tumnus, you know, welcome, Colin, come in. You know, everyone's wearing gilets, you know, everyone's trousers fit. It's a magical world. But I feel like when I go into a posh world, I sort of become like a creature. Do you know what I mean? I sort of. Thank you. You know, like, I don't know how to be myself. Like, thank you for having me sort of cap in hand, you know. Would you like a cup of tea, Colin? And I'm like, yes, please. And she goes, earl Grey. And I go, I don't know what that is. She goes, grab yourself a cup, Colin. Not that one. Okay. Not that one. We've got you a beaker, Colin. Thank you, thank you. But they're lovely people. They really are. First time I stayed over there, I was chatting with my wife, Kat, and her father was there, you know, just sort of stood by the side waiting. And I was like, is he okay? And she's like, oh, yes. He's just waiting for us to finish talking. You know, I'd never had that experience before, people waiting for you to finish talking before they also start talking. Anyway, we finished talking and then he just went, just so you know, I put a glass of water by your bed. Okay, Lovely, lovely. I looked at Cat absolutely baffled. Kat said, did you not have that growing up? I said, genuinely, I don't think we drank water. But anyway, while Kat was waking to the haunting strains of Prokofiev, the thing, things I'd hear on a daily basis in my household, Mum would just come out with these all the time. She'd walk in, sit down and just go, oh, ain't it awful? Oh, they all want shooting, don't they? Ah, they all want shooting. All of them. And that could be anyone. Nazis. Yeah, fair enough. Call me old fashioned. Nazis want shooting. Hooligans want shooting. Auntie Muriel across the road, she just borrowed a coffee cup, never gave it back. She wants shooting. So anyway, Christmas 1986, the snob that I am, I say, mum, can we just play a game? Like a Christmas game, you know, like I imagine all the normal families in the normal houses did, they just played a Christmas game. My mum goes, right, we're doing a Ouija board. You know, a Ouija board. You've heard of A Ouija board. It's a way, of course, of contacting the dead. You get a board with letters, numbers. One to a fiftieth, nine, ten. I can do them all. You write? Yes. You write. No. You put a glass on it. You summon a ghost into the glass and it answers your questions by moving the glass. I don't know how it works. It's science. So there we are, doing this Ouija board, Christmas Day. There's my mum, there's my dad, Big Cole. He's a real man. Tough guy. He'd have you, easy, rip your head off. But then he put it back because he was kind of. You're a big bloke. Great big belly on him. You remember IP used to be when men could be men. Just ler it out, mate. Let that belly out. Don't even worry about it. Great big beard, just full of crap. You know when people say men should be allowed to be men? Why can't we have real men? I was around in the 80s. Real men were absolutely disgusting. The thing I remember most about my dad blessing Big Cole was just him farting and burping all the time, just constantly walking the room. Oh, bloody hell. What were that? Oh, bloody hell. What were that like? He'd never done it before. He was surprised. Oh, bloody hell. Who that? I mean, with hindsight, he was probably gluten intolerant. Christmas 1986, we're doing the Ouija board. Mom, Big Cole, my dad, my brother Pete. He always looked after me. Pete, right? My big bro. He once said, from now on, Cole, we're not cold. Pete and Cole, we're called Thunderwolf and Lightning Wolf. He was Lightning. Him wolf. I was Thunder Wolf. I said, why's that? He said, because when thunder calls, lightning strikes. He was about 21 at this point, which is actually really sweet. You know, I love all my family and I love that. It means if I'm ever in trouble, he'll be there, no matter what. I just have to call his name and he'll be there wasn't there 10 years later when I got mugged in Alleyway in Manchester, there wasn't. I'm there going, light him on fire. Crawl around me mate. Nowhere. It was actually me and my friend got mugged together. We were on our way back from drama school singing songs on the musicals. And I don't know why they picked us. We'll never know. It's a mystery. So we got mugged. They separated us. They took my mate off with the cash cards and I was Left in the alleyway with this little sort of ratty dude. And it gets quite awkward. Just two men in an alleyway, you know, with air, for like 20 minutes. So he addresses this and he goes, I bet you want to whip me, don't you, mate? And I'm thinking, yes, I want to kill you, but I'm a drama student. So I say, hit you? Of course not, darling. And he goes, good, good, because I've got a mace in my pocket. I said, all right, okay. So what do you mean, a mace? He says, a mace? He goes, what mace? Like pepper spray mace? He goes, no, no, I've got a mace in my pocket. What mace? Like nutmeg? He goes, no, a mace. I said, what do you mean, like a medieval ball and chain? He goes, yeah, a mace. A flail. So don't mess with me, all right? I mean, I know technically he was wrong. It was called a Morning Star, but I wasn't going to split hands. Anyway, it turned out afterwards he didn't have any weapons, right, because if you're mugging someone, you get caught by the police. It's better for you if you don't have any weapons. Do you know what I mean? Little tip for you. In which case, why didn't he say he had a knife or a gun? Why did he say he had a medieval ball and chain? So I said, all right, I won't mess with. Then we stood around for a bit, you know, and then he goes, what are you doing New Year? I said, well, it sort of depends on this ends up, doesn't it, really? But it was all right in the end. We cast him in that year's Taming of the Shrew. So anyway, yes, the stories. There's Mum, me dad, Big Cole, my Uncle Keith. Very old man. You say the word theatre like this. Theatre. Don't know why, Cause he's from Nottingham. But he's like, hey, Cole, do you want to go to the theater? I say, theatre. It was a Royal Concert Hall. We saw Shawaddy Wadi. They were excellent. Keith had a photo of himself as a boy by his bed. And when he went on holiday, it sent postcards to the boy. Dear Keith, having a lovely time. Love, Keith. Not right. So finally, my eldest brother Stephen, Auntie Neen, once Stephen came up to me and he said, hey, Cole, guess what I've done, mate? I said, what? He said, I've wiped my bum with an antiseptic wipe. I said, why'd you do that? He goes, to see what happens. I said, what happened? He Goes, it really hurts. Do you want to do it? No. Steve keeps a fridge switched off in his front room. I said, why you got a fridge switched off in your front room? He goes, that's where I keep my Christmas presents for next year. Why'd you keep them in a fridge switched off in your front room? He goes, I know where they are, then. So you sort of see why my neurodiversity was missed, really, don't you? So there we are, Christmas Day, gathered around the table, about to do this Ouija board. Absolute smorgasbord of undiagnosed neuroses. Mum says you get one question right. Don't muck about, don't say anything daft. Pointing at the neem. She starts us off. Is anybody there? Classic. And the glass moves. Yes. Everyone's like, is that you? No. Is that you? No, no. My dad. Big Coal. What is your name? Oh, bloody hell. The glass moves. G, O, T, P, M, Z, F. Gottams. Pff. My mum goes, yeah, yeah. There was a Gottan's Puff lived here. Really? Yeah. Mr. Gottzenburp, I think you. I think he was Polish. Pete, were you murdered in this house? Why do you say that? Lightning Wolf. I'm getting really freaked out by this point. I'm 7 years old. Were you murdered in this house? Yes. Uncle Keith takes it up a level. Do you mean us harm? Jesus, Keith. What? Yes, that for? And why did you say theatre? You're not right, mate. You're not right. Do you mean us harm? Yes. There's one person left, right? My brother Steve. The Neen slash Auntie Neen. He's in touch with the afterlife. He can ask it anything he wants. Any question at all. My brother Steve, are you a gorilla? My mom said a gorilla. What do you mean? Like a monkey? Oh, isn't it awful? Yeah. That's what I want to ask. Are you a gorilla? Yes. And then it kind of fizzled out, to be honest. Now, I'm not saying it's impossible that a gorilla called Mr. Godden's puff was murdered in Nottingham, in the Midlands, and then return to haunters in the mid-1980s. But it sounds unlikely, doesn't it? But every Christmas ever since, at some point, my mum will just stop whatever she's doing and go, hey, do you remember when we got haunted by that gorilla? So that. That is my true ish story. That is at least part of the making of Colin Holt doing a Ouija board on Christmas Day. What does it tell us? I'm not actually sure, but what gets me is that no one at any point stopped and went, hang on, what are you doing? You're doing a Ouija board on Christmas Day. He's seven. Stop. But that was just normal for us, you know, maybe we were all neurodiverse, but like Barry says. Oh, everyone's bloody getting it now, isn't it? They're giving them diagnoses out like sweets. I reckon half of them are making it up, mate. Never had none of that in the past. Just got on with it, didn't ya? It was better back then, wasn't it? I don't know if it was, Barry. You know, I look at the previous generation, I'm not sure they were okay. I mean, take my gran. Apparently she just went to bed for two years. That was just the legend. Yeah, she just went to bed for two years. That were just normal back then. That's what you did. Wasn't were better. I'm not sure it was better. People just weren't allowed to say anything. And there was a world war and a holocaust and before that World War I. Millions of people killed for the reason of. You know, maybe I'm speaking out of turn, but I don't think that sounds like a terribly functional society. And before that, we had the Victorians. Yes, they had, frankly, delicious hats and facial hair and charmingly amusing bikes, but I'm not sure that offset the poor houses, workhouses and slavery. Before that, we had the plague. I'm skipping bits. And then before that, the dinosaurs. And look what happened to those pricks. And amongst all the death and devastation through time were all these people muddling through who were not right. But it's been nearly 40 years since Mr. Gossmop joined us on that Christmas Day. He's never been back. My brother Pete is now a therapist, trying to help all the thunder wolves, you know, don't end up like me, whatever you do. Steve the Neen is writing a book. He phones me up, he says, I've written thousands of words. I said, what's it about? He says, oh, it's thousands of words. I said, yeah, well, what happens? He goes, oh, it's thousands of words. My dad, Big Cole, sadly no longer with us. I did get to say goodbye to him. I did get to see him just before he died. I didn't think I'd make it, but I managed to get back to Nottingham. He was lying there on his deathbed. I walked in, I said, hey up, dad. And with Herculean effort, he managed to lift his head, turn and look at me one last time and go, hup. Oh, bloody hell. Gone. Gone. And my mum. Well, I'd like to share with you two things which I learned recently which have made me rethink a lot of my admittedly rather snobby perspective on my past. You see, my mum, despite all the mad, often destructive stuff she comes out with, despite all the things she's constantly fretting about getting wrong because she's not right, my mum is the most creative, imaginative person who gave me any of my gifts I have. The only reason I'm here doing this and not her is because I was born with a tiny bit more luck and privilege than she was. And she wouldn't be able to get to Brian. She won't get on trains. She thinks they're evil. But she told me a story recently, right, and this is something she's barely told anyone before. Don't worry, I made sure she was okay with me telling it here. She told me that when she was a girl, she tried to take her own life. The policeman who found her brought her home to her father, my grandfather, someone I never met. The policeman told her father what had happened. He shrugged. And you know what he said to her? Oh, well, he might as well be dead. And that's the voice she's heard in her head ever since. Might as well be dead walking round all her life with that in her head. And I've been the same a lot of my life. When I can't cope with a world I don't understand, my instinct is to think, yeah, might as well be dead. Suicide rates among the neurodiverse are much higher than among the neurotypical. If you're convinced there's no place in the world for you, then, yeah, you feel you might as well be dead. But perhaps the opposite is true. I know struggling with all this is hard, and the world is tricky to navigate sometimes, but it's still packed tight with beautiful things. A world where you can learn the name of every single Transformer ever. Optimus prime, other Transformers. Then you can flip it maybe and say, you know what? Might as well be alive. And the other thing I heard recently, I was talking to a friend who I'd known for years from comedy, and I had no idea, but he grew up on almost the exact same street as I had. And we got to talking about the old Mapoli Hospital, the Black Tower outside my window, and they knew all about the history of it. And it turns out, far from being this terrifying Victorian hell hole that people were thrown in and Never seen again. When it was first opened in the 1920s, it was the most progressive mental hospital in the world. It was the first place to let patients out into the community. There were no bars on the window, there were no locks on the doors. And for many patients, yeah, they were struggling with mental health, but it changed their lives. They had talent shows, table tennis competitions. So they're looking down on us, walking around going, oh, ain't it awful? Might as well be dead. You don't want to end up in Maple Air. Patients are up there playing table tennis, singing club traffic. Can't I drinks out for you? So who are the madder ones? The ones inside or outside? But I'm so proud of my mum because she gave as much love as she could despite being given so little. For some reason, neurodiverse kids often struggle to make the F sound as I did. And every day my mum will be with me going, come on, little Colin, you can do it. Say fox and I get thut. And she goes, no, say fox. And I go, socks. Say fox. Socks. And then one day I went. And she went, that's it. She goes, I goes, yeah, come on, Flip sake. Mum, can you leave it now? I've got it. And she says, that's it, little Colin. Now, strings, strings.
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Could you talk about being invisible or double denim? Who knows what's next on the new series of Just A Minute, belting out
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a rendition of Golden.
- [27:32]
B
Whatever the topic, our panel has just a minute to speak. Without hesitation, deviation or repetition. Join Zoe Lyons, Desiree Burch, Paul Merton and many more for the new series of Just A Minute With Me, Sue Perkins.
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It's funny because it's true. Listen on Radio 4 and the full
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B
box set is available now on BBC Sounds.