STEPHEN FRY - A Giant Amongst Men

They're having a Stephen Fry evening on BBC 4 tonight. Ok, not everybody's cup of tea perhaps, but to me he is the epitome of everything I envy in a man.

Let me say, before I go any further, I refer merely to personality, charisma, knowledge and intellect and am divorcing myself entirely from his sexual orientation, although I'm sure that this has had some positive influence on the incredibly sensitive, erudite person which, to me, he is. I suppose it was the series QI that really led me to the esteem in which I now hold him. I'd read a few of his books, completely missed the Fry & Laurie series, admired him in Blackadder and seen his documentary on depression and that was enough to persuade me to watch the first QI broadcast. Since then, because of the innumerable repeats on Sky, I think I can almost quote the episodes verbatim. Certainly, I can answer every question now and can bore for England should any of the myriad subjects crop up in conversation.

His frank admissions regarding his bi-polar depressive episodes struck chords within me and, although my own depressions are not as deep as his (usually anyway), I have a deep admiration for the way he was brave enough to talk about, and be filmed during, such periods. Why is it that so many great comics are depressives? I was thinking about that last night and it's a bit like Bertie and me. I can feel really quite insular and isolated but suddenly I switch into Bertie mode and change my whole persona. It's a fine coping mechanism although I wonder just how many people actually know the real me? In fact, thinking about it, which of us is the real me? It's not as if I dream of lime-green Speedos and saving the world; Christ, it's bad enough sorting out my life at times, let alone everybody else's.

Anyway, I digress. Mr Fry was the subject tonight and Mr Fry will now once more occupy my thoughts. He has this wonderful knack of disseminating facts without sounding pompous about it and, as a person who thrives on knowledge, I rate that ability highly. Somebody was foolish enough to mention Alexander the Great down the pub yesterday and I just naturally nattered on about Bucephalus, the Gordian Knot and his incursions into Persia and India. I realised that Stephen and I were worlds apart when there was a loud thump as the subject of my dissertation's head hit the table and he emitted a gentle snore. Now, had I have been El Fry, there would have been an admiring audience gathered, hanging on to every word and chuckling gently at the subtly humorous anecdotes.

It's the breadth of his knowledge that amazes me also. One moment he talks of Shostakovitch and the next, the sexual habits of Tadjikistani camel boys (I, of course, know naff all about Shostakovitch). Even his voice has a mellifluous quality that enhances his every word and, quite frankly, I am undecided as to whether to hate the jammy bastard or offer to have his babies (metaphorically speaking).

As I write, he is making the point that it was some considerable time before he realised that he suffered from depression as, to him, the feelings of lowness, loneliness and hopelessness were quite normal and ergo, experienced by everybody. Yet, not 30 minutes ago, HRH Prince Charles was extolling the virtues of his wit. Nature has this strange way of balancing attributes and deficits. He also spoke of suicide and death, not in a dramatic way but trying to explain that, whilst in that pit of despond, death is not a release but all one deserves.

Anyway, I am in danger of drifting into a world of self-examination rather than finishing this homage to an extraordinary writer, broadcaster, director and actor. I will just say thank you to Stephen Fry for helping me understand parts of my life, for entertaining me, for educating me and, most importantly, for innumerable facts of absolutely no consequence which have enriched my life.

Now, who wants a conversation about koala's fingerprints? If you ever read this, Stephen, you know just what I mean!