Sunday Times article about Bill and Rosie Oddie
17/07/2007 00:00 GMT

Posted by lisa

Thanks to club member the end for spotting this article, which can be found online at http://women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/families/article2028234.ece

The Sunday Times
July 8, 2007

Relative Values: Bill Oddie and his daughter Rosie

Bill Oddie, 65, was a founder member of the 1970s comedy team The Goodies. He has since become the most famous bird-watcher in Britain, hosting shows like Springwatch, and Birding with Bill Oddie, and was awarded an OBE in 2003 for his services to wildlife. He lives in north London with his second wife, Laura. He has two grown-up daughters from his first marriage. Bill and Laura’s only daughter, Rosie Oddie, 21, gave up art college to concentrate on music. Her band, Rosie Oddie and the Odd Squad, release their first single, Genni’s Song, next week and are touring this summer. She lives in Camden, north London

Bill: There was a pretty big gap between my first marriage ending and me getting together with Laura, Rosie’s mum. The end of that marriage — and the fact that my mother disappeared when I was a small child — meant I didn’t trust women at all. So I decided to take advantage of being on TV and being a single bloke in London. We didn’t have comedy groupies, but I certainly put myself about a bit. Well, a lot, actually.

When I first met Laura, I thought it was going to be the same as the others: just a bit of fun. And at first I’ll admit that the attraction was purely physical. My God, she was raunchier than all the rest put together! But then I found myself falling in love with this crazy, beautiful, talented, intelligent woman. So okay, I was in love, but kids were nowhere on the horizon for me. I had two daughters from my first marriage, a gorgeous young wife, we were travelling a lot, I was getting lots of work. Kids would only upset that routine. Looking back, I do regret I made Laura feel uncomfortable about having kids. I just didn’t know if I was ready for it second time around.

All that changed when I found out Laura was pregnant. Typical me, I became engrossed in every aspect of the pregnancy. Some of my happiest memories are of me looking at Laura’s perfectly round bump. We called the bump Wiggly in the Womb.

Being a father again, I soon realised I spent an awful lot of time feeling guilty. I’d berate myself for being away, for making bad decisions, for being a soft touch, for being too grumpy… You name it, I’ve felt guilty for it. I was inclined to tear myself apart, which I’m sure had something to do with what happened to my mother. At the time Laura was born, all I knew was that my mother cleared off when I was one or two. I had no idea why. [When he appeared on the BBC programme Who Do You Think You Are?, Oddie learnt the truth about his mother’s mental problems and admission to a mental hospital.] I was carrying a lot of anger and I’d turn that anger on myself.

Rosie realised this and used to abuse it, shockingly. Every time we went on holiday, she’d say she needed a friend to come with her. Fine. Then it was two friends. Then three. When Rosie was 15, Laura and I were taking seven teenagers on holiday. If ever you’re looking for a reason to end it all, take seven teenage girls to Portugal and wait for them to find out if there’s a disco in town.

When Rosie was 16, I had my first nervous breakdown. The grumpiness and anger turned into full-blown clinical depression. All I wanted to do was stay in bed. Everything was black. Laura said: “What about us? What about the kids?” All I said was: “Nothing means anything. I don’t care about anything.”

Rosie and I did talk about the depressions a couple of years ago, but she said: “Dad, I’m 20. I don’t want to keep analysing things.” Personally, I like analysing things and taking things apart. I still go for my sessions because they’ve helped me see things a bit clearer.

I hope I’ve not given you the impression that Rosie runs away from difficult discussion. She knows the full extent of what has happened to me, and dealt very well with things when I had another little episode the Christmas before last. Rosie doesn’t run away from anything. She might come over all hedonistic and knows how to get wasted, but once her mind’s set on something she becomes very focused.

At school there used to be a big concert at the end of term, but one year it was cancelled because of complaints from the neighbours. Rosie and her friends started orchestrating a protest and she led most of the school through an impromptu version of Ain’t No Mountain High Enough during assembly.

Eventually the concert was moved to a new venue. I thought: “That’s my girl!”

That effusiveness and ability to get on with people is definitely from Laura’s side of the gene pool. I hope the musical bit is from me. Just watching Rosie develop as a musician and seeing her write her first song has been one of the greatest experiences of my life. I am a musical obsessive. I’ve been asked if Rosie’s music career means I am living vicariously through my daughter, and I usually say: “Hang on! I’ve had several hit records, you know.

I’ve released several albums.” Okay, they were silly songs about funky gibbons, but I’m very proud of those songs. The thing that’s different about Rosie is she writes proper songs. Serious songs. She does things with music and songs I could never do. People might say: “Yes, but it’s only pop music. It isn’t Art with a capital A.” F*** ’em. F*** ’em all. Rosie’s music speaks to me. Her songs make me cry. Even if I wasn’t her father, I’d still be a fan.

Rosie: I’m much too young to remember The Goodies being on telly. When I came along, Dad was “that bird-watching bloke”. I knew he was famous, though, because my friends’ parents told me he was. They were always talking about The Goodies.

But me and Mum never went bird-watching with him. That was his zone and we stayed out of it. He’d take me on walks when I was little and tell me about the countryside, but I don’t think I appreciated the stuff he was telling me. It’s only now I wish I’d taken more notice.

Dad’s basically a big kid, which made him easy to be around when I was little. Actually, he was a bit of a soft touch. All he cared about was if I was happy. He was never the sort of dad who stood over you saying: “Have you done your maths homework?” As far as he was concerned, time spent playing the drums or listening to your favourite CD was as important as school work.

I really got the feeling that Dad respected me and what I wanted to do. It was as if he treated me like a little adult. That did cause a few problems at school. Unfortunately, the teachers didn’t treat me like a little adult. I found them to be condescending, so I decided to go on the rampage. I’m still a bit like that. If people use their authority in a bad way, I’ll pick a fight with them.

Dad’s always been mad about his music, but he never forced it down my throat. Mum and Dad were also pretty relaxed about drink and drugs. I think I smoked my first bit of weed when I was 14. Probably drinking Babycham too. They did tell me off, but their attitude was: “At least she’s not passed out on some crackhead street corner, pumped full of heroin and Jack Daniel’s.” If me and my mates were pissed and stoned at home, at least they could take care of us.

Because Dad was always so involved in stuff, it made it all the more confusing for me when he got ill. Mum told me what was happening. Actually, there was no point trying to hide it. There was a totally weird vibe in the house. Dad just disappeared to his room. It’s not like Mum could have said: “Oh, Daddy’s fine. He’s just going to have a long nap for a couple of months.” This was the first time I’d seen this happen to anyone and I didn’t know how to deal with it. There was one day where Dad was taken away to a mental hospital. That image of my dad… but it wasn’t my dad. It was a shell of a human. My dad is full of life and love, but that person was crippled with self-doubt. That was hard. Really hard. I just went to my room and smoked more dope.

Luckily, I had Mum. I don’t think I’d have been able to cope without her. Mental illness can happen to anyone at any time. I have friends, 20 and 21 years old, suffering from mental problems. I’m not fazed by it now. I know that there are scary patches, but you can get through it. The important thing is to actually face up to what’s going on.

Maybe that’s why Dad only used to write silly songs. Maybe he knew that if he delved too deeply he’d be getting into stuff that was too dark. So he decided to write about gibbons instead. If he’d tried to access the stuff that was in there, who knows what would have happened, what incredible music he’d have produced?

All I know is, Dad is a phenomenal musician and has phenomenal talent. When I come to recording an album, I’d love to get him on there.

Interviews by Danny Scott