Squinting into the bright West London sunshine, Andy Kershaw lights the first
of a flurry of cigarettes. “I've never felt so mentally and physically fit
in my life,” claims the former Radio 3 presenter, his familiar Rochdale
accent booming. “Since I've given up the booze, the weight's poured off me.
I found a pair of 28in jeans in the back of the wardrobe. It's the first
time they've fitted me for 20 years. I'm still smoking like a steel-worker
though.”
This morning marks an important milestone for Kershaw. Three years ago this
month, he moved to the Isle of Man to start a new life with his partner of
17 years, Juliette Banner, and their children, Sonny, 11, and Dolly, 10.
However, their dream soured instantly when Banner - formerly a North London
restaurateur - “found out about an infidelity” via an old text message on
Kershaw's phone. Over the ensuing months, the DJ's personal life and career
unravelled spectacularly - and very publicly - as he sank into a red wine
and beer-fuelled breakdown, which saw him lose contact with his children and
spend 44 days in jail for repeatedly harassing his ex-partner.
Today, however, having signed a contract to write an autobiography, Kershaw,
who's 49, says that he is well on the road to recovery and wants BBC bosses
to know that he's fit enough to return to work. He's also just recorded a
soul-bearing interview with John Humphrys for Radio 4's On the Ropes, which
was supposed to be broadcast today, but was pulled from the schedules at the
last minute. With so much at stake, it's no wonder that he seems wired and
jittery as he prowls the carpark outside a recording studio, smoke billowing
from his nostrils.
The outdoor life on his adopted home, the Isle of Man, clearly agrees with
him. He looks tanned and lean - a far cry from the “miserable and pathetic
figure” that he was branded by a court official little more than a year ago. Kershaw's
self-described “years of turmoil” have clearly taken their toll. At his
lowest ebb he was “drinking [himself] to oblivion, just to get to sleep” and
although he stopped drinking last autumn - after help from a support group,
at the urging of the island's authorities - his face is heavily lined and
there are dark rings of exhaustion around his eyes. He finds it hard to sit
still for more than a few minutes at a time. Barely contained energy
crackles from him, as he tries to keep his answers measured. Occasionally an
ugly temper flares too.
“No, I didn't have any concern about doing it at all,” he snaps, when asked
whether he'd been anxious about being grilled by the Today presenter. “John
Humphrys has this rottweiler reputation, but only politicians with something
to hide need be fearful of him.”
Does he expect to be back on air soon? “I've no idea. It's an aspect of my
life over which I have no control. I've no idea if my job's still open. I
haven't had a formal offer.” Amid the tabloid soap-opera of recent months,
it has become all too easy to forget that Kershaw is a distinctive talent,
who championed world music long before it was fashionable, winning a hatful
of Sony gold awards in the process. He has served the corporation for more
than 20 years, working in both TV and across BBC radio networks. As a
result, friends suggest that the DJ was disappointed at the way BBC managers
treated him when he suffered his breakdown - particularly when set against
their handling of Jonathan Ross and Russell Brand over the furore
surrounding their prank phone-call to the actor Andrew Sachs.
Moreover, Kershaw has previously pointed out that unlike fellow-jock Johnnie
Walker - who was suspended in 1999 from Radio 2 after allegations that he
took cocaine appeared in the News of the World, yet remained on the
corporation payroll while he was off air - he has not received wages from
the BBC since the summer of 2007. Cash, he says, is very tight. “I've learnt
the true value of money. But you learn to survive. You cope.”
Does he feel betrayed by the BBC? Kershaw gathers his thoughts, anxious not to
offend his former employers. “Jonathan Ross has certainly been rehabilitated
as soon as was thought possible,” he replies carefully. “I'll leave you and
your readers to draw your own conclusions about Jonathan Ross and Johnnie
Walker and their rehabilitation. All I would say is that I would love to do
my programmes again and I've never done anything - and certainly not on air
- to bring the BBC into disrepute or disgrace.” He won't say any more, but
the frustration in his voice is clear. “What happened to me was a personal
tragedy, the destruction of my family life, the denial of any contact with
my kids for more than a year and the end of a 17-year relationship,” he
says. “I still have two pieces of the jigsaw of my life to put back into
place. One is to have a normal relationship with my children. The other is
that I'd love to get back on air to do some storming radio programmes for
the BBC.”
Kershaw's spiral into despair and alcoholism began in April 2006, when he and
Banner moved into a seafront property on the Isle of Man, in search of a
healthier life for their family. According to the DJ, he was buying the
removal men a drink in the pub, when his world turned upside down - after
borrowing his mobile phone, Banner discovered an old text message referring
to “a leg-over in the Reading area”. The discovery that Kershaw had been
unfaithful - what he has described as “a fling at the Womad Festival with a
journalist” - ended their relationship. “It was the almost instant
disintegration of our Isle of Man dream,” Kershaw says ruefully. The couple
finally split up six months later, with Banner moving out with the kids.
“It was entirely my fault. My family life then fell apart and I tried to cope
with it by drinking myself to sleep every night. In the short term, it was
very effective - an instant and efficient way of coping with anxiety,
reaching oblivion. But in the long term it does much more damage. It wrecks
your judgment and racks up your anxiety levels. And you can't start to claw
your way back until you recognise that.” Indeed, so impaired was Kershaw's
judgment that he began to pester his former partner with drunken phone calls
and demands to see the kids. The following summer, as the situation
deteriorated further, Banner was granted a restraining order preventing him
from contacting her, thereby making it far harder for Kershaw to spend time
with his children.
Enraged, he was arrested a number of times for breaching the order and, in
January 2008, he was sentenced to three months in jail. The court heard that
Banner had described the DJ as “menacing and provocative” as he approached
her and her new partner, Jim Imrie, a prison officer,carrying a garden fork.
Kershaw claimed that he did nothing more than innocently cross paths with
Banner after digging for lugworms on Peel beach but, passing sentence, the
High Bailiff in the Manx capital, Douglas, told the DJ: “You seem hell-bent
on destroying yourself” and said his life was “turning into a Greek
tragedy”.
Kershaw served 44 days in what he describes as Dickensian conditions in a
prison awash with heroin and vermin. Yet on release, his “threatening”
behaviour continued and he was re-arrested three days later. One text
message he reportedly sent Banner at the time bragged: “I'm the hardest man
on the island.” The High Bailiff recommended that Kershaw leave the Isle of
Man and spend time recovering in the company of his mother and his sister
Liz. But shortly afterwards he breached the order yet again, by giving
Banner “a rocket” over the phone, after discovering that letters he had
written for his children had not been given to them.
After an arrest warrant was issued, Kershaw moved around the UK, staying with
friends. He finally returned voluntarily to the island in December, where he
was handed a suspended sentence and “supervision order”, which
included anger-management classes.
“All this for breaking a restraining order that does not apply to my kids,
only to my ex-partner and her current boyfriend,” he sighs. Has he ever been
violent or abusive towards Banner or anyone else? “I've never done anything
to harm anybody,” he says. “I've never laid a finger on anybody. You can
probably count the number of rows we've had on one hand. There's certainly
never been any physical abuse of my children or my ex-partner. I've never
tried to horsewhip her new boyfriend. So on what grounds is this denial of
access to my children based? No one seems to be asking but me.” Kershaw
reveals that he recently saw his ten-year-old daughter, Dolly, for the first
time in many months, when he turned up at her school one afternoon,
unannounced. When asked if the visit was prearranged with her mother, he is
momentarily furious. “Look, understand, there is no restraining order that
applies to me and my children! If I'd prearranged something I'd necessarily
have had to have broken the law again. That's the mad, invidious position I
find myself in. So I just went to her school and she was thrilled to bits to
see me. Since then I saw her at a supervised one-hour session at a
children's charitable organisation in Douglas. The charity told me Dolly had
‘a lovely time' and that it ‘flew by'. Next week, she wants to spend two
hours with me.”
He is now going through “the proper legal channels” to seek regular access to
his children and attempting to stop Banner and her partner from taking them
to Scotland. “I'm having to bring an action of my own, through the Family
Courts in the Isle of Man to regain what is rightfully mine,” he says. “It
does appear to be an inversion of justice. The criminal analogy would be
that I'm going to court to prove my innocence against the presumption of
guilt. I call it the Woman's Hour position. In these situations, the man
must always be in the wrong, the woman in the right. But I didn't run away
from home and abandon my children. That they've got an absentee father isn't
my decision.”
Musing on the latter point, he fumbles for a notepad in his bag. On it are
scrawled words - themes that he wants to get across in the interview.
“There's no point in stewing in this, wallowing in self-pity,” he says.
“I've had a fantastic life and it's not over yet. I haven't touched a drop
of alcohol since last autumn, and I've no intention of doing so. I
rediscovered my enthusiasm, my energy, my curiosity... I feel about 28 years
old. At this rate I'll be a teenager again soon.” He flashes a brittle
smile. “I'm ready to rock ‘n'roll again.”
