I'm in South London to meet a filmmaker and broadcaster
who straddles the space between knowledge and naivety.
He tries to make sense of some of the most bemusing
and disturbing corners of our society.
It's the endlessly curious Louis Theroux.
♪ Jump in my car
♪ I want to take you home
♪ Jump in my car
♪ It's too far to walk on your own. ♪
Filmmaker, writer and broadcaster Louis Theroux
won his way into our hearts
as the host of the documentary series Louis's Weird Weekends.
I love it, I love it, I love it, I love it.
The son of novelist and travel writer Paul and radio producer Anne,
Louis's documentaries take us to the most surprising places
and shine a light on our most marginalised
and dysfunctional neighbours.
Just standing there waiting. Well, hello.
Hello, Louis. Hello.
Thank you for doing this. My pleasure.
Now, look, this street looks gorgeous.
Has it changed much since you were here?
Oh, I would say it's changed a lot.
Well, the houses are basically the same
but it's more prosperous-looking.
It was quite run-down back in the day.
And how long has it been since you've been in the house?
I want to say 26 years.
Were there as many planes when you were here?
Uh, yes.
I love that if you talk about planes, then you just carry on.
If I was doing a documentary we'd stop and say,
"Let's wait for the quiet bits." You're a professional...
Yeah. ..hey?
This is alright for Australian TV, is it?
It is, it's fine. Different standards.
What were your boundaries? How far was Louis allowed to go?
Well, there was...
People were less worried about that sort of thing in the '70s.
We didn't worry about, you know, talking to strangers.
I mean, I used to go up the street and just talk to them.
(LAUGHS)
Let's go in.
Wow.
Yeah, it really is more or less unrecognisable.
They've changed it a lot.
When we were here, there was a tiny kitchen over here
and there was wood panelling everywhere.
I mean, it's just, it's unrecognisable.
I am getting this, kind of, weird, sort of,
Proustian association of, like,
my memories are, kind of, bubbling up
but then they keep being, like,
yeah, but it doesn't look anything like that.
So when I was coming in,
I was flashing back to all the times I would come home from school
and put the key in the lock, you know, in my little uniform
or, uh, coming home late from a party,
maybe a little bit tipsy,
you know, aged what? 16, 17?
And so all of that,
all of those associations were kind of welling up.
But now I'm looking around this room and it's an unrecognisable room.
I could be anywhere. Yeah.
So who was living here at the time?
Your mum, Anne, your dad, Paul.
And my brother, Marcel, and we usually used to have a, um,
some sort of live-in help, like an au pair.
My mum was a working mum.
She worked at the BBC World Service.
My dad worked upstairs here, writing his novels.
My brother and I would go back and forth to school
and when we got home, the au pair would make us something for tea.
Did you have your own room?
To begin with, I shared a room with my brother.
Were you competitive? I looked up to him.
So anything he did, I thought, "Well, that's the cool thing."
Like, if he got into a band, some music or sports or something,
I'd think, "Oh, I want to do that too."
And there was a time he said, like,
"You've just got to start getting your own identity, man."
So he even had a little plan.
It was, like, "Look, how about this,
"just let me do my thing and you can be a mod.
"Basically, you like The Who and The Jam, you get a parka..."
And I was like, "Oh, OK, that sounds cool. I'll do that."
So he gave you your identity but you couldn't...
I was like, "Alright, that sounds great."
And so, yeah, I, for a while, I did that
and then that didn't really take
so he was like, "Well, have you thought about funk?"
It must be weird, though,
sitting here going, "Mmm, it's my place."
But it's not. It is weird.
I was just thinking that the light hasn't changed.
Aah!
There's something about that sultry London light in autumn
that is very redolent of what I lived through here.
So tell me about Paul, your dad.
Did you know he was famous?
It was in the background that my dad was, sort of,
a well-known author
but he wasn't someone that anyone of my peer group
really gave two hoots about. Right.
You know, like 7, 8, 9, 10, 11-year-old children
were not super impressed by the idea, like,
your dad wrote a book about taking a train across Asia.
Sure.
It acquired some social currency when,
after he wrote The Mosquito Coast,
David Bowie was a big fan
and David Bowie tried to option the film rights
of The Mosquito Coast.
And this was about 1982,
when Bowie really meant something to me and my 12-year-old friends.
And I remember being so excited.
I thought, "I can't wait to get to school.
"I am going to tell everyone."
Which I then went into school and did and people were so, like,
they just found it so, I think, irritating.
Do you know what I mean?
In other words, I told people and they were like, "Oh, God, great."
But for some reason I wanted them,
I thought, "Oh, they'll be pleased too."
Yes, "And they'll be my friend more."
But they were annoyed.
The life lesson is people don't really...
No!
..take pleasure in your, uh, in your good fortune.
Don't be a boastful little git.
And what about your mum?
She'd get home and, uh,
I don't want to make her sound like a souse,
but my recollection is she would say, like,
"Oh, I'm going to have a gin and tonic."
I think that's perfectly appropriate when you've got two children.
I think it's normal, I want to wind down,
I'll have a gin and tonic. Yeah.
Who was strict? Was your mum strict? Your dad strict?
You know, they were, sort of, baby-boomer generation.
They were trying not to be their parents.
What traits do you reckon you get from your parents?
From my mum I think I get a slight lack of...
..emotional intelligence.
I know that sounds like a weird thing to say
but there is always a slight sense of insularity.
You know, sometimes I don't feel,
I find intimacy a little bit awkward.
And your dad's American so it's a different outlook.
My dad's American and he's not just American,
he's kind of immigrant
Italian-slash-French Canadian American.
He's sort of like My Big Fat Greek Wedding -
loud, big, Catholic family.
You know what I mean? Yeah!
What do I get from my dad?
It would be, I think,
a sense of, kind of, curiosity about the world
but also a kind of puckish spirit of enjoying things going wrong
or finding it funny,
finding, just, the way people carry on quite funny.
So was it a happy house? It was most of the time.
They always had an argument on Saturday morning for some reason.
It was almost like an appointment.
It was because my dad would get dragged along to the supermarket
to do the shop, they did the weekly shop together.
And for some reason, it would put my dad in a funk, I think,
and as soon as he was back, he'd get the shopping out
and he would go straight up to his desk
to, kind of, do sort of 500 words.
I mean, I am a little bit similar.
It is that feeling of, like, you get tense
when you don't feel you're being productive.
So, but was it happy? It was happy a lot of the time.
Till they got divorced. Yes.
Um, shall we go to your school? Yeah.
You have discovered that driving the car can be quite good
when you're filming.
What do you get out of them?
There's something about the space that encourages intimacy.
I don't know. It has a confessional ambiance.
And, uh, we always used to say early in Weird Weekends,
"The truth comes out in the car."
That was like a watchword.
The truth comes out in the car, Julia.
Does it? I think you know that.
Your parents separated when you were 21.
Was it still a shock even though you were an adult?
It wasn't like it hit me like a punch
but there was a feeling of, "Oh, well, OK, that's different."
And then, underneath it did have a sort of impact on me.
In a way that took a while to, sort of, figure out.
It's there. There it is. That's your school?
That's the abbey. Westminster Abbey.
So the back of your school backs onto the Houses of Parliament?
It doesn't touch it but I remember you can hear Big Ben when it chimes.
Look at this. Yeah.
(GASPS)
Oh, yeah, this hasn't changed.
This is exactly what it was. Oh, my God!
Oh, my goodness.
Oh, look at... Yeah, that's something, isn't it?
It is something. Wow.
Gee.
Victoria Tower.
Wow. And this was your house?
Yes, Liddell's.
That was, I was in that one. Liddell's in that one there?
Yeah. This was the hub.
This courtyard was the hive of the social activity.
This was our playground, right. So you played...
Even in the cold?
Even in the cold.
Yeah, you would come out, play football,
hang out, uh, chat, catch up.
It was, it was where you came to flirt with the girls...
Yes! ..if you were in,
when you were in the sixth form.
Although I couldn't really do that because my voice hadn't broken
so I was a sort of little man-child with a very high voice.
So I wasn't taken seriously by the girls but, um...
But it was the place where you'd hang out and see your mates.
But what's incredible
there's the flag flying above the Houses of Parliament
and it's so close.
It's right there.
Yes, we were literally within earshot
of British power and parliamentary tradition.
Were you expected to work there? Is that what that's saying?
I don't like to read too much into it.
I mean... Or you could work over there...
You could. You could absolutely work...
..in the abbey.
Oh, look at that. How about that?
Good grief. Yes!
What is this, Louis?
So this was where the assemblies were held.
It's what they called 'school' or they called it 'up school'.
There was language, uh, that was not normal English.
So you didn't wear, like, your normal clothes.
It was called 'wearing shag' was one example.
But the one thing was you didn't say you were going 'into' the assembly
or you didn't go 'into school', you went 'up school'.
I remember looking up at this
and noticing there's these heraldic crests
and all the horses' penises are erect.
You know, that seems a bit much. Oh, my God! They are too.
Yeah, what's that all about?
And you know, um, Jerusalem, the famous hymn?
Yes.
♪ And did those feet in ancient time... ♪
And the word, I don't know who wrote the music,
but the words are written by William Blake...
Yes.
..who was, you know, obviously a famous, in his time,
poet and radical.
And so we had the idea of singing it in the style of, um,
how William Blake would want it sung, right?
(SINGS IN PUNK STYLE) ♪ Walk up on England's... ♪
Like you, kind of, like, give it a bit more, like...
Punk!
..a little bit of attitude and anti-establishment energy
and I remember we got pulled out and sent into detention.
What I don't get is that you didn't live very far.
Why would you board here?
Well, that's a good question. Because, I mean, really...
No, there was a point where I realised that and I'm like,
"Hey, why am I boarding?"
We'd read all these books by Enid Blyton
about girl's boarding schools
and there was this one called Malory Towers
and, I mean, they're ridiculous
and boys are not supposed to read them.
They were like Harry Potter but without any magic, right,
and actually without much plot.
It, sort of, got us into this mindset of, like,
"Oh, maybe me and my..." You and Marcel?
Yeah.
He's like, "Oh, that's, we want to go to a girl's boarding school."
Well, that's not feasible.
So you... So we went to Westminster.
Did it suit you, though? Did it suit your personality?
This may sound far-fetched
but I've done documentaries about prisons, like San Quentin.
I remember when I went to San Quentin,
I walked around and I thought,
"You know what? It's a lot like Westminster."
It reminded me of boarding school. Because of?
The male energy,
the physical environment of a, kind of, hodgepodge randomness.
And even the gangs were faintly reminiscent of the cliques here.
And, you know, you get yard time in prison and we have yard here.
And... and I'm not saying it was violent
and I know it's slightly...
It is obviously very different in important ways.
But a brotherhood or something?
But there's a sort, there's a certain insular,
male energy that has its own traditions,
its own ways of life, its own language.
Wow.
I felt quite at home at San Quentin.
It was just like being back.
Shall we go to the library?
Oh, this is taking me back.
I had English O Level classes in here.
He was my maths teacher... Really?
..TJP, Tristram Jones-Parry.
He was, he was perhaps the best teacher I've ever had.
He had this power to terrify,
he would command your total attention
but he had a little vein in his forehead,
in his temple, about here,
and when he was getting annoyed, it would start throbbing.
Would it?
And he had this, it was called 'being blown up by TJP',
"I was just blown up by TJP."
And he would go, "What the hell do you think you're doing, boy?"
He was a wonderful teacher. A wonderful teacher!
So we are going to meet one of your friends?
Yes, we're meeting my old school friend Adam. Adam Buxton.
He was the... a guy,
a kindred spirit that I found when I was in sixth form...
Aw!
..at a time when I needed some friends.
And this is where the art happens. Alright.
And it's a very special place and...
Hello, mate. Hey.
How are you doing? How are you doing, man?
Good to see you. Good to see you.
Look at that. That's nice, isn't it?
Hello, Adam. Hello.
Good to meet you. Good to meet you, Julia.
Thank you.
Now, Adam, of course, is a comedian, an actor, a writer
and a podcast presenter.
And, actually, a lot of the stuff you've done
is also with another Westminster alumni, Joe Cornish.
Yeah.
Were you all a little gang together? Was that a gang?
We were, yeah, and we certainly came together in the art room
more than anywhere else.
So we weren't the sporty chaps,
we weren't hearties,
we weren't good at football or cricket or rowing.
And so when other people would be doing those things,
we would congregate in the art room.
We were 'art geeks', is the term I would use.
I love that.
As we were coming up the stairs, Adam, Louis said, uh,
"Adam was the sort of friend I needed when I was in the sixth form."
Aha.
Well, I was, um, I was sensitive.
So we had, we had deep conversations.
About what? What did you bond over?
Well, actually we talked about music a lot.
Did you?
And Louis got me into, and has continued to get me into,
a lot of the music that I hold most dear.
He was always quite musically adventurous, I think,
'cause he had an older brother
and a dad that used to like a lot of rock music.
Did you bond over art?
Bonded, uh...
I looked up to Adam as an art...
Did you? Adam's a proper talented artist.
Right. Well...
And I was a kind of, um, aspiring...
I was more of a wannabe.
Me and Joe would fantasise about one day working in advertising.
That's how weird and not cool we were.
And you made a company.
We had a company. We called ourselves JoAds.
And Louis would take... So the 'Ads' part...
..the piss out of us.
Joe used to say it,
"And if I ever have to fire Adam, I can still call it JoAds
"because 'Ads' means adverts."
Adverts.
But, look, Joe...
I was totally dispensable. ..Joe did get one back, though.
And then I founded LouZac. Do you remember?
Without telling Zac and Zac's like, "What's that all about?"
And Joe was like, "It sounds like a toilet cleaner."
The other thing that I learned from Adam,
he was a very early adopter of home video recording
and so a lot of what we filled our spare time with
was shooting little, you know, just skits
or random, like, bits of fake adverts
or most of the time just us bullshitting,
talking about nothing.
I always drink Diet Pepsi.
I was conscious that I was the least funny of us.
The little three or four of us that did it.
Not true. Not true?
But I remember being allowed to take part in that,
kind of, built my confidence
and I think, later on when I got into TV,
it felt more realistic and achievable to me
because I... because we had been, sort of,
doing our own homemade TV shows.
Now, I want a priority one report filed to all units,
plus a photo fit arranged by you, Harvey.
And don't mess it up this time, alright?
I think we can overlook the red tape in this one case.
We're obviously dealing with a terminally psychopathic madman.
My instinct was always just to be really big
and show off and 'blargh', wave my hands around
and pull faces and stuff.
But Louis had quite a sophisticated ability
to be quite quiet and, you know,
downplay things in a really funny way.
But at a certain point, he used to hang out with the hippy guys.
I have an image of you with your shirt untucked,
it's a summer's day and you've got your, sort of,
pointy winkle-picker shoes on...
..drainpipe trousers,
you've got a streak of orange in your fringe.
BOY: There's Louis Theroux, the social scene.
Yeah, I wanted to be cool, I guess.
I just wasn't quite sure how to do it.
Do you think your life would have been different, Louis,
if you hadn't met Adam?
Definitely.
I came from a sort of background...
My parents, you know, we watched TV and stuff
but they weren't really that switched on about popular culture
and... and I don't know quite how or why,
but both Adam and Joe early on were just gluttons for pop culture.
It was a real education.
I think I maybe was a bit uptight
about... if you are going to like something,
it has to be really, really good, right?
Oh, yes!
And there was something about the attitude that Adam embodied,
which was to do with, "Just enjoy it."
You know, "Just enjoy Predator."
Do you remember when that came out? Sure.
Because it's funny and it's stupid
and don't be all high-minded about it.
Did you imagine, Adam,
that Louis would become as successful as he has?
Actually, I did.
I do have a very strong memory of looking at Louis one day
and thinking, "He is, he's going to be fine."
So, um, I wasn't surprised at all.
It seemed to make sense and it was very strange
but exciting seeing him on TV.
When he started doing Weird Weekends, I remember thinking,
"Why is he talking, doing the robot voice in the car?"
What's the robot voice?
You know... (IMITATES LOUIS) "I'm on my way to see Michael.
"He has been..."
You know, and it's all very crisply enunciated
and shots of Louis looking quite stiff in the car.
"I'm on my way to see Michael.
"He's a neo-Nazi."
You know, there was all this.
Yeah. Thank you, Adam.
Oh, it's lovely to meet you. That's so lovely of you.
Oh, thank you. Cheers, Louis.
Thank you for doing that.
Appreciate it. Not at all.
That's nice.
St James's Park, why did you used to come here?
Well, because we didn't have sports grounds at Westminster,
we sometimes came and ran laps.
Uh, at 9pm we'd come out and keep fit.
That was in the younger years.
Later on, it was, kind of, a playground for misdeeds.
If we wanted to go out and have a cheeky drink,
we would come out here and start knocking them back.
And what about a cheeky, a cheeky smoke?
A cheeky bifter, I think that might have happened once or twice.
Is that the terminology you used to use?
I think we called it 'a spliff'.
In the summer evenings, when it doesn't get dark until 10pm,
just picture the scene...
It's beautiful. ..there's a lovely low soft light,
you've done your homework.
But you would saunter out
and start hanging out, you know, in the park, in St James's Park.
What's the worst thing you ever did at school?
When I did drink, I used to get bad hangovers
and I sometimes used to vomit.
I remember one time I came to a Latin class
and I was really hung over.
And someone fished an empty can of beer out of the bin
to say like, "Oh, look what they've been doing in here."
And the sight of it, sort of, triggered me
and I was, like, already feeling fragile
and I literally, I thought, "Oh, this is going to happen."
And I clamped my hand over my mouth and then vomited through my fingers.
The Latin teacher was very dry, he was called Charles Lowe
and he said something like,
"Yes, I think you had better go and clean up."
Or something like that. Yeah.
Now, I hear you want to take me to Brixton and I'm not sure why.
Brixton Academy, to learn about music.
Oh, great. My kind of music.
Lead the way. Shall we go?
Is it true your dad, sort of, wanted to not make you too English?
There is something in that.
He loves British literature, he had British friends,
many of them writers.
Uh, people like Graham Greene
and V.S. Pritchett who he really admired.
At the same time he was American
and I think he thought we were becoming
snobbish little twits, really.
Before I went to university,
I took a year out and I taught in Zimbabwe for a few months
and I think in some way I thought, "Oh, I'm going to find myself,"
which didn't happen.
Anyway, when I went to America, I, sort of, felt like, "This is it."
There's something about the American experience,
the strangeness of it.
So I felt, sort of, invisible there, in a way that felt very freeing.
Oh, you're taking me back now. Am I?
Come on in. Come on in.
Where are we, Louis?
We are in Brixton Academy, one of London's premier music venues
and a place I used to come to quite a bit as a young man...
Really? ..to hear the latest sounds.
The Clash was the band that I saw here.
(GASPS) I think it was in 1984.
My brother dragged me along
and I think one of his friends might have been there as well.
I was, sort of, a nervous anxious child at a punk gig...
I know. I mean, you're nuts.
..surrounded by punkers or punks.
But I remember coming down here and thinking like,
"Well, I'll throw myself into the fray
"and be part of the, you know, the guys down here."
And I don't know, you wouldn't call it a mosh pit,
I don't think, in those days.
Well, it would have been... But they called 'pogoing'.
Pogoing? You were doing that. Yeah.
And I remember just being down
and it was literally like a drowning man.
I just was sort of, there was so much pogoing
and I just, sort of, I kind of,
I was falling and I was in danger of being trampled
and one of the other guys at the gig more or less escorted me
and took me by the hand over here,
like a lifeguard rescuing someone from a storming sea
and deposited me over there and then that was it.
Like, the rest of the gig I just, sort of, cowered over here
pogoing very gently to myself and I didn't go there again.
So do you love music?
I have always loved music and my dad is a fan of The Stranglers.
I mean he... he, he's very cross-generational
and he heard that Hugh Cornwell was a fan of his.
Anyway, we ended up all going out to a Stranglers gig
in Hammersmith as a family.
Me, my dad, my mum and my brother. Wow.
Which was, kind of, this weird bittersweet thing
of being, like, "Wow, we're at a Stranglers gig
"and I'm with my mum and dad at a kind of punk gig."
It just felt all wrong.
And then, later on I would come down here and we would see hip-hop gigs.
I remember we saw Big Daddy Kane,
for those of you who remember old school hip-hop.
Did you rap with your friends? Yeah, we did, actually.
You did, didn't you? I mean, embarrassingly, yes.
So I would do parody raps.
So I did one that was about the Queen of England doing a rap.
(RAPS) ♪ I suck brews from chalices
♪ Stone cold in my palaces
♪ But your crib is so cramped
♪ You suckers suffer from paralysis
♪ Rhymes, I write them in a castle
♪ Dis me and pretty soon your arse'll
♪ Squat in a cell because you can tell me it's illegal
♪ Treason, that's the reason
♪ I'm regal. ♪
Oh, ladies and gentlemen, give it up for...
Still in there.
What is it about our generation, do you think,
that has such an attachment to music?
It's such a defining part of growing up.
There's something about music,
it really does tap
straight into very primitive circuits in the brain
and so it evokes a very primal response.
Like, in other words, it's a deeply emotional thing,
listening to music.
And it takes you back to a time and place
but it also takes you out of yourself, doesn't it?
And there are times when you feel almost in a very ineffable
or a sort of inexpressible way,
some deep, emotional connection to something
that you can't even define.
You know, you're just transported by the music.
So after school, you did get to university.
What did you study there?
I studied history at Oxford.
What do you remember of that?
I was a serious student.
So I would study very hard and it was called modern history.
Are you thinking what's coming next when that finishes?
Very much not doing that.
I was, sort of, immersed in my studies
and I didn't really have a plan
and my dad was living in America, my parents had separated.
My brother was in America studying and I thought,
"Well, I'll go, I'll go on holiday to America
"and see if I can figure it out."
And at the end of my holiday, I thought, "Well, why even go back?"
I got a job blowing glass.
I wasn't blowing the glass. Really?
I was working for a guy who blew glass.
Oh, you've got the moves.
And I would, why am I doing that?
He had a... There was... When you work with glass
you have something called a punty rod
and, um... Don't even!
..I would hold his punty rod.
Then I think after a couple of months of that, I thought,
"Well, this is fun but I really should be thinking
"about a longer-term plan."
And I got a job on a, um, on a paper in San Jose, California.
And I rocked up there and ended up spending a year there
working on a local paper called The Metro.
Was that exciting to have your first job away from home?
Yeah, I mean, what was exciting was the idea of being paid
to use words, you know?
I didn't have to hold anyone's punty rod,
which was a novelty, and I was just, sort of, making phone calls
and then I remember I covered a fire and it came back saying,
"Yeah, you haven't really said whether anyone was injured."
I had just sort of done this mood piece about the clouds
and what the smoke looked like.
Your first big break is with Michael Moore through TV Nation.
How did you work out how to be a presenter?
I mean, I don't think I have learned how to be a presenter to this day,
is the first answer to that.
I don't know, in terms of classical TV presenting,
I... That is not what I do.
It's not what I am able to do. You never look down a camera?
No, in fact, the idea of looking to the camera,
it still doesn't feel very comfortable.
Hello, everyone.
It still doesn't feel very comfortable.
I was naturally curious about the subjects that I was covering
and they were, by and large, stories about extremes,
American extremes.
The first one I did was about religious groups
that were predicting the end of the world, imminently,
and I just loved it.
So that part of it, I cottoned onto immediately.
You know, you give me a Klansman and I could talk all day.
I know that's quite a weird thing to say, I know, but...
Do you feel protective of your subjects?
I do. I think it's important that you should.
Documentaries of the kind I do are very exposing
and especially, increasingly,
we're doing stories on vulnerable people.
People who are taking a huge risk in coming
and talking about what they're going through.
What's your most valuable talent?
I think I am naturally curious.
It's not much to hang a career on.
"What qualifies you for this job?" I'm curious.
"Have you got any experience?" "Not really.
"I am very curious about people, though.
"Can I have the job?" Yes.
How has today been for you? Really good.
I've enjoyed it.
I still feel quite close to that guy,
that person who came along to see The Clash
or who was coming into his house in Wandsworth,
having been out with his friends in Putney
and came in and would eat a bowl of cereal
at, you know, one in the morning
'cause I was hungry and it's that feeling of, like,
if you kept me awake for three days, right,
and disorientated me with strobe lights,
then put me in the uniform
and then said, "Louis, what are you doing?
"You are late for your A level exam..."
You'd go?
I'd go like, "Really? I thought I'd done my A levels.
"Aren't I 47 years old?"
Like, "No, you're 17. Get in there. It's started."
You know, like, I would go straight back in there.
I do still feel quite close to that identity.
Where do you feel at home?
I feel at home wherever my family is, really.
Yeah, because you move a lot.
But, you know, in a deep sense it's South London, really.
But in a way, in an almost way...
Well, this is where I'm probably going to die,
you know, and be buried.
So I might as well not be here.
No. Do you know what I mean?
Like, there's going to be plenty of time later on.
And you know, they used to say of Saddam Hussein
that he only hired people from his hometown, right,
and, um, I feel a bit like that about South London.
When I meet...
Me and Saddam Hussein are alike in so many ways.
Wow.
When I meet someone from South London, I'm like,
"Yep, you're from South London. I can see it in your eyes."
Louis, thank you so much
for taking us through your beginnings.
Pleasure. Excellent.
Captions by Red Bee Media
Copyright Australian Broadcasting Corporation