My one rule older people need to follow to find happiness, by GYLES BRANDRETH
I arrive at Gyles Brandreth’s West London home 15 minutes early, so I wait out on the handsome stone doorstep. Here to talk to the most productive man in showbusiness about his latest book (of 60), The 7 Secrets of Happiness, I enjoy the sun and contemplate the gravel as I look forward to laughing almost continuously.
Why do I expect to be laughing? Because that has been my experience whenever I have been a member of Brandreth’s audience – whether he was acting as master of ceremonies, an after-dinner speaker or dancing in drag in a one-man musical in a theatre in London’s West End.
He can turn his hand to scriptwriting, singing, dancing and, of course, radio, starring on BBC Radio 4’s Just a Minute. Brandreth is also a seasoned interviewer: Sir Keir Starmer burst into tears as he recalled the moment his father told him his mother had died).
When Brandreth, 76, welcomes me, he’s wearing one of his hideous jumpers (which he designs). We glide through his large home, past a dining room with a 25-seat table, a library and into the sunlit kitchen where french windows give on to a well-tended garden with a raised swimming pool at the end.
His wife of 51 years, Michèle – a stunning natural beauty whose 70-something features can easily stand up to the scrutiny of fierce sun – is sitting at the kitchen table in gym kit having just finished a Zoom exercise class. A maine coon cat circles at her feet purring, its tail upright.
The 7 Secrets of Happiness is entertaining and anecdote-rich but also profound, with genuine pearls of wisdom. It’s a slim volume and a lot of the guidance is stuff that we know already: talking, making friends, listening (to those friends and what they tell you), cultivating intimacy and being playful are a short cut to cheeriness.
And for those who can’t afford psychotherapy, keep a diary. The secret that resonated particularly for me was, in a nutshell: stop thinking about yourself. Self-awareness is good, but self-regard is fatal.
I ask him how happy his own life has been. ‘Obviously into any life some rain must fall,’ he says. ‘None of us escape it.’ He was in generally high spirits until he was cluster-bombed by the loss of his lawyer father, Charles, in 1981, then the death of his best friend, the actor Simon Cadell, in 1996, the death of a sister, Hester, and a brother, Ben, soon after.
Later, in 1997, he suffered the wounding loss of his parliamentary seat of five years (he was the Tory member for Chester) when Labour swept in with its landslide. Brandreth, who had loved parliamentary life and found helping his constituents and colleagues immensely rewarding, sank low again.
Later, after deciding to consult Dr Anthony Clare (of the BBC’s In the Psychiatrist’s Chair) he flew to Ireland to meet the sage. So helpful did Brandreth personally find Clare’s philosophy that the pair decided to knock up a book together about happiness.
I want to know why Brandreth went in the first place. ‘My parents talked about the Second World War as the happiest time of their lives,’ he says. So he wanted to know, ‘How could that be? Bombs falling in London and my father literally risking his life on a motorbike at the front.’
He says that Clare, who had not met the Brandreth parents but ‘recognised the syndrome’, told him, ‘“In the case of your mother there was a sense of community, of shared spirit in London when the bombs were falling. That makes people happy. And in the case of your father, yes the soldiers, sailors and airmen [Charles Brandreth was a soldier] were risking their lives but they were also, on a daily basis, being tested.”
All the research shows that being tested is a key element to finding happiness. You will rarely find people sitting around not doing very much who are happy.’
For the most part, he thinks this holds up, although, he explains, ‘The real truth is, I’ve never stopped to find out whether it is true or not. I’m still spinning the plates because I’m alarmed to discover what would happen [if I did stop].’ He continues to fill his days with activity. ‘Michèle says, “But your parents are dead, Gyles – you don’t have to prove anything any more.”’ And I reply, “But I have seven grandchildren who need the money!’’’
He confesses he feels ‘an obligation to be jolly’. He refers to meeting Frank Muir and Denis Norden, the legendary TV and radio duo who practically created the profession of comedy scriptwriting, when he was six at the Holy Trinity Brompton summer fête in London’s South Kensington.
He identified them as ‘sunshine people – people who come into your life and really do bring you sunshine in their smile and make the world a happier and a better place’.
In the 1980s, Gyles’s knitwear found favour with Princess Diana (above, with William and Harry)
A big part of being a ‘sunshine person’, I take it, is those colourful woollen jumpers, which he’s been creating since the 1980s (he learned to knit in the boy scouts as a child) and now sells through his Gyles & George label, set up in 2020.
He shows me his collection in the basement. ‘I actually like them,’ he insists. ‘People mock. But we sell them in London, Paris and New York. This one is the bestselling jumper: $300 (£236). Diana, Princess of Wales, bought one in the 80s [on the front it says, ‘I’m a luxury’ and on the back it says ‘few can afford’].
There’s a marvellous picture of her wearing it with William and Harry (see right). So that’s why it’s world famous. Kim Kardashian bought a [rather understated] one – plain black with a large red heart in the centre.’ The things sell like hot cakes. ‘The person who distributes them in the States said, “It’s a luxury brand. I think we should put the price up.”’ When he raised it from $250 dollars to $300, he found he sold more.
Brandreth can keep going almost like a human ChatGPT robot, the jokes and anecdotes pouring out without stopping, all of them good. At one point I mention that his school years remind me of the comedian Jack Whitehall’s, and he tells me he owns a painting by Jack of their last cat (Brandreth knows Jack’s parents).
He manages all this output without coffee or alcohol. And yet he is tireless. He founded a national teddy bear museum as well as the first Scrabble championship, and even hosts the Funeral Planner of the Year awards – the winners come on stage and accept the prizes for ‘crème de la crematorium’ and ‘thinking outside the box’ and then ‘instead of returning to their seat, curtains open at the back of the stage and they go through them’.
As Brandreth entertains me his wife radiates serenity. She is not rocking with laughter like me. But nor does she look bored. ‘How much of your happiness is actually dependent on Michèle?’ I ask. He looks taken aback. ‘Let me give you the honest answer: 100 per cent of it is.
After the words “busy people are happy people”, the four most important words in the English language are “listen to your wife’’.’
The book actively embraces such 21st-century ideas as mindfulness, and an open mind is something he tries to keep – most of the time. ‘The rule that older people find most difficult to keep, and one of the secrets of happiness, is “don’t resist change”. Because I do resist change. I don’t want another frigging password. I won’t get into heaven because I don’t know the password.’
But he feels imparting his seven secrets is timely. ‘For most people, for most of the history of the world, life was a b***h and then you died. In our generation we definitely have the chance to find our recipe to make the most of our lives and enjoy them.’
After 90 minutes, Brandreth dashes upstairs to give another interview to someone’s podcast, and Michèle, sensing I am hopeless with maps, walks me from Barnes all the way to Hammersmith Bridge and into Hammersmith Underground Station so I can head to Paddington. Now that is practical happiness promotion in action.
The 7 Secrets of Happiness by Gyles Brandreth is published by Short, £12.99. To order a copy for £11.04 until 21 July, go to mailshop.co.uk/books or call 020 3176 2937. Free UK delivery on orders over £25
