
I haven't got a Grandad, a Grampy, a Gramps or a Pops. I see people laughing and sneering at me in the street, calling me 'Grampless' or 'Popnought' I try to ignore them but I hear them alright, their laughter chattering in my ears like cicadas.
I had Nanas but no Papas, they had both passed over (died, not turned gay) by the time I had cognitive thought. Now I'm doomed to see people my age skipping round the town centre with their Grampa's, rubbing it in my face, throwing boiled sweets into each others mouths and whittling pieces of wood and generally having tons of other pensioner orientated fun. I need to claim me a Grandad, and as it's my game I have first dibs. I choose Alan Whicker. No, not Forrest Whitaker, you weren't listening. Alan Whicker.
If you don't know who he is, then this time I'll forgive you as he hasn't been on TV for years. He's the old guard, a walking piece of nostalgia and a nod to a time when TV wasn't all Horden and Corne. He made television that was actually interesting; social commentary pieces documenting parts of the world most of the UK had yet to see. Always charming, effortlessly dressed in a double breasted suit, tie and matching handkerchief in his pocket (sometimes, if in a hot climate sporting a white panama) Whicker provided a gentle satire and a passage to the unknown.
Although now looking exactly like a melding of both Statler and Waldorf should they have tried out the matter transporter from The Fly, his quick wit and dapper manner have not left him. When two interviewees begin to say how much they love each other in his latest programme, Whicker calmly states 'I'm going to be sick'.
He is currently reviewing all his past documentaries in 'Whickers Journey Of A lifetime' on BBC2 and on the iplayer. You should check it out, it's like Louis Theroux without the faux ignorance, more panache and a damn site more panama hats. Plus he's my Grandad now, it'd be rude not to.
"Grampy, what did you do in the war?"
"Brought in a load of German SS officers in Milan, get over it."
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