‘What shorts should I wear? The shorts that go down and arrive at your shoe’

Photography by Charlie Gray

He can’t remember what he said to the questions, except for a short diss of leather trousers, though actually he meant “those sort of wet-look PVC leggings” that rock chicks wear. Still, he’s sticking to his guns. “I would really find it difficult to relax around anyone in leather trousers,” he says – and you believe him.

Nighy is a mod, as opposed to a rocker, and he’s in his usual sharp uniform of dark blue suit, white shirt and polished shoes. He moves through the world swiftly and lightly. We’re in a London members’ club and, as ever, he is unfailingly polite – to me, to the people who work at the club, to the fans who approach him (in the short walk from door to lift, he is spotted a couple of times). He’s long been almost universally well loved, but he’s noticed over the last few years that people have started to regard him differently. “It’s my age,” he says. He’s 75. He thinks that this is why he was asked to be an agony uncle. “Age means you get mistaken for somebody who might know what’s happening. Though you know, take a look around the world, see how that’s working. Men of a certain age, fucking everything up …”

He hadn’t known Vogue was going to do it. When he promotes a film, he asks the press officers not to tell him anything about the interviews: he just walks into whichever room he’s told to and takes on what’s there. Which was, in this case, other people’s dilemmas. So he answered a few questions about cooking, style and how to stay in touch with the cultural zeitgeist – “Just open the front door!” – and then went on with his day. And that was that. Except the short film that resulted got hundreds of thousands of views very quickly, and Ciara Gregory, Nighy’s indefatigable PR manager, decided that something should be done about this.

That something is a new podcast, Ill-Advised by Bill Nighy, in which Nighy listens to questions sent in by the public and responds with his usual grace and aplomb. I’ve heard two out of the eight shows so far recorded and can report that Ill-Advised is a lovely thing. An amuse-bouche in a world of boring windbag bouches.

“Oh, that’s kind of you to say,” says Nighy. “I’ve been very, very nervous about it. Because when I see actors doing things other than acting, it can make me uneasy. I think: ‘You should probably just go and work.’”

People love to spend time with Nighy – more than four million answered the Instagram callout for questions for the podcast – and Ill-Advised feels like you’re doing just that. When it comes to advice, what would he say are his areas of expertise?

“I would say rhythm and blues music, the intelligent use of Marmite and bookshops around the world,” he says. “I can tell you about a two-piece lounge suit. I know a bit about football. I’m not good tactically, but I can tell you about football style and … beauty. I know a little bit about art, and I’m not afraid to say that Rothko leaves me more or less unmoved. What else am I good at? Moisturiser. I’m crazy about moisturiser. I was a pioneer of male moisturisation.”

He knows, of course, about acting, though this is not what the podcast covers. Still, it would be remiss not to mention a forthcoming “very satisfyingly convoluted” Harlan Coben thriller, Lazarus, “a very, very pleasant job, a cool gig”. And he’s also excited about another side project, which is his very own capsule collection for John Smedley, the knitwear company. “I used to save up for John Smedleys when I was a kid because they were an essential mod item,” he says. Nighy has designed unisex jumpers, cardigans (he took about 4in off the bottom), polo tops (bigger collar). Some have a little embroidered bird, and lovely ribbing on the cuffs, and some have the slimmest of contrasting stripes.

Such tiny details are another area of his expertise – and in the spirit of Ill-Advised, The Observer has a few questions for Nighy, the world’s newfound advice guru. He is pleased.

“It’s all just an invitation to squander time, which I am an expert in,” he says happily. “We might have T-shirts made. I like the word ‘squander’. Anyway, shall we waste some time?”

First question: I have been invited to go on holiday with people who I like, but who are far more outdoorsy than me. Should I decline to join in with activities such as paddleboarding, windsurfing, mountain biking, beach rounders etc, or will that make me a killjoy? I do like these friends a lot.

“Not only should you decline the invitation; you should lose their number. They should fly out of your address book. You shouldn’t be hanging out with people like that – weirdos who do that kind of shit.”

I support a football team who usually do well but are in bad form at the moment. I’m finding this stressful and it’s affecting my mood badly. What can I do?

“Burn that replica away shirt that you always wear when you’re watching them on the telly. Take your heart out and put it on the side. Don’t fall for that tribal nonsense that says you can only support one football club, and that if you were born within 27 miles of the floodlights, therefore you are forever bound to that club. Become a glory hunter. The great thing about football is you can do whatever you want. You can switch teams. You can switch teams eight times. You can switch countries.”

Surely this is sacrilege!

“Why not watch Real Madrid, for crying out loud? Why not watch Barcelona and Juventus and Bayern Munich? If you watch Bayern Munich, you’ll see Michael Olise tearing up the Bundesliga. He used to play for us; I’m a Crystal Palace fan, and I’ve always wanted them to do well, but I watch all kinds of football. I took my heart out a long time ago. It was when [Diego] Simeone arranged for David Beckham to be red-carded in an England game against Argentina [in the 1998 World Cup]. I was with a young man who was crying in front of the television, big tears dropping from his cheek. And I just thought: ‘I can’t live like that.’ Be like me. Become a glory hunter.”

My wife’s friend is bright and interesting, but her husband is what used to be called a crashing bore. It’s impossible to enjoy myself when we go out for dinner as a foursome because I’m left to talk to him. Any ideas?

“Do you know that saying whereby you do something nice for someone without them knowing, and if they get to hear about it, it doesn’t count? You could approach the evening in that way. Actually, I think you should just ask him question after question about his childhood, about his schooling. Dedicate the evening to him. Like a dinner-long interview, and you find out every single detail of his life. And I bet, somewhere in there, there’s going to be the thing that ignites him and you’ll suddenly be having a great time. Also, how clever is anyone supposed to be? How interesting is anyone supposed to be? Just open up your heart and let him walk around there for a while.”

How bright should socks be with a suit? I like a pop of colour but friends disagree. Also, can one ever go sockless?

[Makes a face of horror] “You can say: ‘His mouth fell open.’ You can say: ‘His breath shortened dramatically.’ You can say: ‘He failed to respire for seconds. I was worried about him.’ The answer to this question is: listen to your friends. There’s no such thing as a pop of colour! Where? What? Who? There’s only two colours of sock.”

What are they?

“Well, obviously, navy blue and dark grey. Like mine [dark grey]. These are summer socks, Pantherella. These are mid-calf, but I like a long sock. You don’t want to see any skin between sock and trouser. I remember once when I was about 51, I was doing a job and there were young girls in the wardrobe department, and they laughed at my long socks. They were trying not to, but they couldn’t help themselves, because my socks were apparently so funny. And I realised it was another measure of age, an indicator of getting old. When young women laugh at your socks, you know that something’s changing. And no, there is absolutely never any acceptable idea of going out in public, or even around the house, with no socks on. Frankly, I can’t believe that you’re asking me this question.”

​​Is it OK to regift unwanted presents?

“Well, the thing about my job is people give you stuff. When you start a job, you go into your trailer and there’s a present, usually from a luxury brand. I used to keep some of those presents for years. I never used to open them, because I was never going to get as much pleasure out of them once they were opened. But now all the things that people give me get ... I don’t like to use the word you just used.”

Regifted?

“It’s the ‘gifted’. That’s on the banned list, along with ‘impacted’ and a few other words. There’s a lot, and the list gets longer and longer. Turning a noun into a verb. We got by without it before. What we should say is: ‘Is it OK to take an unwanted present and give it to somebody else?’ – and absolutely, I can’t see any problem with that. That’s what makes the world go round.”

I have started dating a man who is very nice but does not share my politics. Any advice?

“You just have to get the fuck out of there. What are you thinking? He must be incredibly attractive-looking. I mean, what is it? Is he tall? Does he remind you of your father? There’s only two kinds of politics these days, and you can’t breathe the same air as the other kind.”

I find the news quite depressing, but I feel like I should watch it to be informed. What should I do?

“I’ve unplugged, so you’re talking to either the right guy or the wrong guy. I unplugged during Covid and then I unplugged entirely when Trump got elected the second time. I just thought: ‘All right, you can sort yourselves out without me.’ Before then, like a lot of people, I’d got addicted to the resistance. I used to watch Jimmy Kimmel’s monologue, Jimmy Fallon’s, and Stephen Colbert’s monologue, because you knew you’d get 18 Trump jokes, which would take some of the curse out of having to consider this disaster. And then when he got elected for a second time, I just thought: ‘Right, that’s it,’ and I unplugged. I’ve never been on social media. I don’t own a laptop or a computer. I have an iPhone, obviously, but I don’t use the internet much, apart from … I’m going to a do, so I bought a bow tie online.”

What is your position on scented candles?

“Candles make me nervous. I don’t give people candles, because I worry I’ll be the guy who gave them the candle that burned the house down. Occasionally, I’ve had them in dressing rooms because somebody puts them in there to cheer you up, and that’s quite nice. But I would never buy one or give one as a gift.”

The weather is warming up all over the globe. Do you have any tips for dressing in these hotter times? What type of sandals?

“Sandals? Are you insane? Just because the weather is getting warmer, it doesn’t mean to say you have to fall apart. Standards don’t have to deteriorate simply because the temperature goes up.”

What length of shorts?

“I’ll tell you the length of shorts: the shorts that go right down and arrive on your shoe. Those are the only shorts you should wear. Is a vest ever permissible? No! T-shirts are barely permissible. A vest in public? Why would you do that? Have you been to the gym? Also, if you’re in the gym, keep your shirt on. Take it off and you immediately go into lemon land.”

Where would you recommend to go for a holiday?

“I’m very bad at holidays. I get there and I think: ‘Why am I here? I could be having a much better time at home.’ So many people said Positano [on Italy’s Amalfi coast] was great, so I said: ‘All right, I’ll go to Positano.’ And as the cab pulled into Positano, I nearly said to the driver: ‘Drive me back to the airport,’ because … I just don’t understand why you would go to a place where there are all these other people. Not just all these other people, but thousands of other people. In the end, there was a room off the hotel lobby and I hid there. I read three books, I remember, in a week. I just never left this little alcove. It became my holiday. It was so hot that I couldn’t go out … But I didn’t fall apart. I didn’t wear trousers that don’t go all the way down or anything.”

I have to make a speech in front of an audience of my peers quite soon. I am petrified. Do you have any tips?

“The definition of a good speech, I once read, is a joke at the beginning, a joke at the end, and the shortest possible time between. Anyway, write it all out in very big letters on several bits of paper. Don’t use the word ‘innovative’, because you’ll never get through it. And don’t look in anybody’s eyes – look over their heads. Rehearse it before you do it. Don’t say anything that might be deemed shaky about any of your friends. Don’t attempt any joke where a person is the punchline. Remember that your purpose is presumably to celebrate someone, or a group of people, and that’s an honourable enterprise. You don’t have to be any good. If you mess up, it’s fine; it’s your friends.”

I have been asked to promote my work on social media, including talking to a camera, but every time I see myself, I feel ill. What can I do?

“Get somebody else to film you so you don’t have to look. Don’t look. I’ve had a lifetime on camera. I’ve never seen any of it.”

When did you take that decision?

“Oh, a long time ago. Pretty much the first time I was on television. The first time I was on television, I robbed a bank on [1970s TV police series] Softly, Softly: Task Force. I was fourth bank robber from the left, called Albert Blake, the kid in the gang. I had about eight lines. And I was in digs in a boarding house in Liverpool and, because I didn’t know any better, I said to everyone in the house: ‘I’m on TV tonight.’ And they all came down to the living room and watched it, and I was so, so appalled that afterwards I walked around Liverpool all night, thinking: ‘I’ve been nationally humiliated. I’m going to have to do something else for a living.’ Cut to 25 years later, I went on Richard & Judy, and they wheeled on a television and they showed me in Softly, Softly. It was very, very upsetting. And that’s when I took the decision. People say you’re supposed to watch yourself in order to learn stuff. I don’t learn anything except: you should do something else for a living.”

I would like to learn about something new – what do you recommend?

“Well, I got myself into learning about art, and I get great pleasure from it. A long time ago, before there was cable TV, before social media, I used to come home after doing a play, and the only thing on TV would be the Open University contemporary art course. Clement Greenberg with a bottle of scotch and a cigarette being interviewed about Jackson Pollock. And I saw another thing where Melvyn Bragg asked Howard Hodgkin something like: ‘If people haven’t been following the story of art for the last 70 years, can they appreciate your work?’ And there was a long pause, and then Howard Hodgkin said: ‘No.’ And I thought: ‘What’s that about?’”

You were intrigued …

“Yes. So those two things meant I phoned my friend who knows about art. And he said: ‘Well, let’s go out and we’ll look at some abstract painting. Then we’ll go and look at Velázquez.’ And he had a friend with a gallery. And so the two of them would take me out, and I would look at some contemporary art in this bloke’s gallery, then we would go and look at Velázquez. And I still don’t know what the link was, but it was very pleasant, because we’d have a really nice lunch, and one of them was very good on the context and the historical relevance, and the other was very good on composition and the general story of the image. So I’d have a kind of stereo education. It was great. I went to three or four exhibitions with them, one of which was Braque. And I went in, and the paintings are all a bit beige, and they’re all a bit green, and that table is not standing on its edge like you would think. By the time I left, I was crazy about him. And I am still crazy about Georges Braque.”

What is the best way to cheer up a sad friend?

“I have a thing that cheers myself up, which you have to do with your friend, and that is to put on what I would call ‘social death disco’. Not the good kind of disco; the kind of disco that if anybody ever caught you dancing to it, you’d never get a girlfriend. And then you stick your bum out. You stick your bum out as far as you can go without actually falling over, and then you shake your bum as violently as you can until you laugh. And you can do other things with your hands and you can make stupid faces until you both laugh, or at least smile. And then you take them out for dinner.”

Series one of Ill-Advised by Bill Nighy is available now

All six episodes of Harlan Coben’s Lazarus are out on Amazon Prime Video on Wednesday 22 October