Andy Richardson: A lot to be said for saying the wrong thing at the right time

We were talking about books, as chefs do. While compendiums of recipes don’t rate as importantly as utility bills, personnel issues or the price of remarkable ingredients, they’re still as interesting to cooks as copper cabling is to electricians.

We leafed through a stunning book, marvelling at the chef’s prowess, the hero photography, the beautiful binding and very nearly idolised the work the way a Taylor Swift fan might her latest album. “Beautiful, isn’t it.” We nodded our appreciation.

We selected another book. Wrapped in a clamshell box, with a gold-coloured ribbon and paper that some French king might have marvelled at, we purred our approval.

“Look at the architecture of that book,” I said. There was a momentary pause as my friends took the cigarettes from their mouths and looked at me quizzically. “The what?”

“The architecture of…”

Above me, angels were positioning a neon sign lighting up the words Pompous Idiot. Architecture is for houses, pages are for books.

“Sorry,” I stumbled, realising my faux pas and getting ideas several railway lines above my station. “I meant, it’s, an, erm, object d’art.”

The cigarettes fell to the floor. I’d forgotten the when-in-hole-stop-digging rule. In the words of Del Boy, I’d become a 42-carat plonker.

“I thought I liked you until you said that,” said my friend. His mate laughed. “You can close the door on your way out.”

In truth, the words Object D’Art have never sounded so unsubtle, so out of place, as when they fell from the mouth of a broad-speaking Tiptonian. We all laughed. Them more than me.

There’s a lot to be said for saying the wrong thing at the right time. We’ve all done it, telling people how much we hate another person, who turns out to be their other best friend.

My description of books won that day’s Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen Award for Grandiose Sententiousness, but there is a man who has a better tale of putting his foot in his mouth. It is the ever-funny Boycie, aka actor John Challis. His story goes something like this.

As a young, tall and handsome man about town, he’d scored cameos in more TV shows than he could shake a stick at while also being called upon to appear at the National Theatre. One summer’s day, somewhere in the mid-to-late 1960s, his agent called him and asked him to meet some clients. They were called The Beatles and they were at the height of their fame; as John Lennon said, more popular than Jesus.

Challis went to see them in an office in London. The door opened and inside were John Lennon, Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr. Challis and Lennon hit it off immediately, impressing one another with their silly voices. Both were fans of The Goon Show and while Harrison and McCartney looked on, Lennon and Challis engaged in Class A bantz.

The Beatles and Challis got on formidably well and their chemistry quickly became apparent. The conversation turned to music and Lennon asked Challis to name his favourite Beatles song. Challis thought about it for a moment, then said this: “Actually, I prefer the Rolling Stones.”

The words had exited his mouth before he could think and though he might have liked to have plucked them from the ether and put them back inside, it was too late. There he was, an up-and-coming actor hanging with the most famous men on the planet telling them that they weren’t as good as their fiercest rivals.

There was a pause. Seconds turned into years. Then Lennon turned to Challis, assessing his remark, and said this: “Actually, I think you’re right. I sometimes prefer them too.”

Needless to say, Challis was offered the part in a forthcoming Beatles movie – despite his favourite band being the one dirtier one starring Mick and Keef.

It’s not just in conversation that we sometimes say the wrong thing. Our new Covid-secure working environments mean some of us are blessed to work in offices where every precaution is taken to ensure we don’t get the dreaded virus. At Weekend HQ, we take our temperature with a non-contact thermometer before cleansing our desks, sanitising our hands and wondering when A-Listers will call us. Temperatures are logged and we can have confidence in our own safety. Amid the glut of 37.8, 37.6. 38.0 and 37.9 scores, there is another metric. It says this: Super cool, hot hot hot and ice, ice baby. I do, of course, also add a temperature beneath my annotations. We have to stay safe and keep smiling in the Era of Covid.