No-one does filth like an old Etonian talking to a middle class audience. And many of his radio monologues were just that – hilarious and filthy. It’s a sad state of affairs that at thirty-two years of age the very thought of discussing sex with my parents makes me feel nervous and wary, but we have always been free to share a laugh at a particularly dirty double entendre.
When I listen to the shows I bought last year on CD I can give or take many of the middle rounds, and can easily skip by some games of Mornington Crescent played under some of the more obscure rule books, I never skip Humph’s parts. Genius’ are often respected and admired, but this one was loved my many, including me.
Listening to I’m Sorry I Haven’t a Clue reminds me of happy times and places. Listening to CDs on honeymoon while driving through the Arizona desert, or sitting in the kitchen with my mother listening in to the Sunday repeat. I will miss Humphrey Littleton.