The NS Interview: Stephen Merchant

“With Ricky Gervais, it’s like a marriage and a brotherhood”

You've worked in radio, television and film. Which is your favourite?
The perk of acting is that you don't have any responsibilities apart from remembering your lines loosely. Writing and directing are very stressful but fulfilling. Radio is great fun because it's largely unpoliced. But I would rather sit at home doing nothing other than watching other people's work, if I'm honest.

You do stand-up, too. After all your success, why take the risk?
I used to do stand-up years ago. Recently, I've felt that I've got unresolved business with it. It's a challenge, and I can't hide behind Ricky.

How do audiences respond to you?
They don't know what to expect. I'll get teenagers who like a bit of naughty swearing and then the "retired major general" types who are expecting a Radio 4-style satire. I find that I generally dissatisfy most of the audience.

What's the secret of your partnership with Ricky Gervais?
At the core, it's a shared set of interests and values. We've been working together for 12 years and it's by turns like a marriage and a brotherhood. My suspicion is that we can do stuff apart, but when we do stuff together it will be better. It's got that kind of spark to it.

Did you imagine The Office would be a success all round the world?
Goodness me, no. We didn't think it would get much of a viewership here. I remember us saying we would be happy if it got a small cult audience. It seemed so specific and low-key. But it took on a life of its own.

It's a huge hit in the US. Do you think the TV culture there is better?
I think it's a question of economics. Because they've got a big mainstream TV scene, they can afford to have all this fringe TV that is very experimental. They've got the money to do it.

Are you worried about the future of the BBC under this government?
I'm always worried about the fate of the BBC. We've just made a programme for Sky, but I'm still worried about the march of Murdoch. I do not think the BBC is above criticism; my worry is when the criticism has an agenda.

Are you politically engaged?
I consume newspapers and wake up to the Today programme. But I don't affiliate to a party; I can't subscribe to a doctrine.

What do you make of the Prime Minister?
He presents himself well, but I'll be interested to see what David Cameron does once the paint starts to flake off.

Why don't you do political satire?
It needs someone really informed, like Armando Iannucci, to do it well. I don't have the kind of anger that fuels great satirists such as Chris Morris. I'm more intrigued by, say, those last days of Thatcher - by the emotion in that - than the big brushstrokes.

What draws you to that kind of material?
I'm interested in the everyday, and the idea of big emotions being experienced in seemingly small lives. I don't need to see stuff exploding. The guy who runs the local karaoke night is more interesting than a pop star.

Did your upbringing shape your approach?
I didn't have a father who was a drunk and a mother who worked three jobs - life wasn't really hard. So what intrigues me is those little bits of unhappiness that gnaw away at people.

What do you want to do next?
People assume you can only move forward, as opposed to sideways. The people I really admire, like Woody Allen or Billy Wilder, just follow whatever is interesting to them. I'd love to do a conspiracy thriller one day, or a musical.

In a different life, what would you have done?
I could imagine myself teaching. I like to think of myself as Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society. The kids would thank me when they're winning Oscars.

Where is home?
I still have a soft spot for Bristol, but London's the place I miss when I'm away too long.

Is there anything you'd like to forget?
Not really. I don't feel I've betrayed any people. I haven't done a bank heist. So far I'm sleeping at night, just about.

Is there a plan?
The plan was to try to make a sitcom that you can be proud of, that stood in some people's minds in the way Fawlty Towers did in mine. That, to a degree, came true. Now I'm just making it up as I go along.

Are we all doomed?
Ultimately the sun will burn out or consume us. But I don't think we are doomed because of a lack of God or because of our inherent cruelty to one another. There's enough great stuff in the wonders of the cosmos not to create gods.

Defining moments

1974 Born in Bristol
1997 Becomes Ricky Gervais's assistant at Xfm radio station
1998 Finalist in the Daily Telegraph Open Mic Awards
2001 First episode of The Office, co-written by Merchant and Gervais, airs on BBC2
2005 Their next series, Extras, begins
2010 The film Cemetery Junction is released, co-written and co-directed by Merchant and Gervais

Sophie Elmhirst is features editor of the New Statesman

This article first appeared in the 30 August 2010 issue of the New Statesman, Face off

Biteback and James Wharton
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“It was the most traumatic chapter of my life”: ex-soldier James Wharton on his chemsex addiction

One of the British Army’s first openly gay soldiers reveals how he became trapped in a weekend world of drug and sex parties.

“Five days disappeared.” James Wharton, a 30-year-old former soldier, recalls returning to his flat in south London at 11pm on a Sunday night in early March. He hadn’t eaten or slept since Wednesday. In the five intervening days, he had visited numerous different apartments, checked in and out of a hotel room, partied with dozens of people, had sex, and smoked crystal meth “religiously”.

One man he met during this five-day blur had been doing the same for double the time. “He won’t have been exaggerating,” Wharton tells me now. “He looked like he’d been up for ten days.”

On Monday, Wharton went straight to his GP. He had suffered a “massive relapse” while recovering from his addiction to chemsex: group sex parties enhanced by drugs.

“Crystal meth lets you really dig in, to use an Army term”

I meet Wharton on a very different Monday morning six months after that lost long weekend. Sipping a flat white in a sleek café workspace in Holborn, he’s a stroll away from his office in the city, where he works as a PR. He left the Army in 2013 after ten years, having left school and home at 16.


Wharton left school at 16 to join the Army. Photo: Biteback

With his stubble, white t-shirt and tortoise shell glasses, he now looks like any other young media professional. But he’s surfacing from two years in the chemsex world, where he disappeared to every weekend – sometimes for 72 hours straight.

Back then, this time on a Monday would have been “like a double-decker bus smashing through” his life – and that’s if he made it into work at all. Sometimes he’d still be partying into the early hours of a Tuesday morning. The drugs allow your body to go without sleep. “Crystal meth lets you really dig in, to use an Army expression,” Wharton says, wryly.


Wharton now works as a PR in London. Photo: James Wharton

Mainly experienced by gay and bisexual men, chemsex commonly involves snorting the stimulant mephodrone, taking “shots” (the euphoric drug GBL mixed with a soft drink), and smoking the amphetamine crystal meth.

These drugs make you “HnH” (high and horny) – a shorthand on dating apps that facilitate the scene. Ironically, they also inhibit erections, so Viagra is added to the mix. No one, sighs Wharton, orgasms. He describes it as a soulless and mechanical process. “Can you imagine having sex with somebody and then catching them texting at the same time?”

“This is the real consequence of Section 28”

Approximately 3,000 men who go to Soho’s 56 Dean Street sexual health clinic each month are using “chems”, though it’s hard to quantify how many people regularly have chemsex in the UK. Chemsex environments can be fun and controlled; they can also be unsafe and highly addictive.

Participants congregate in each other’s flats, chat, chill out, have sex and top up their drugs. GBL can only be taken in tiny doses without being fatal, so revellers set timers on their phones to space out the shots.

GBL is known as “the date rape drug”; it looks like water, and a small amount can wipe your memory. Like some of his peers, Wharton was raped while passed out from the drug. He had been asleep for six or so hours, and woke up to someone having sex with him. “That was the worst point, without a doubt – rock bottom,” he tells me. “[But] it didn’t stop me from returning to those activities again.”

There is a chemsex-related death every 12 days in London from usually accidental GBL overdoses; a problem that Wharton compares to the AIDS epidemic in a book he’s written about his experiences, Something for the Weekend.


Wharton has written a book about his experiences. Photo: Biteback

Wharton’s first encounter with the drug, at a gathering he was taken to by a date a couple of years ago, had him hooked.

“I loved it and I wanted more immediately,” he recalls. From then on, he would take it every weekend, and found doctors, teachers, lawyers, parliamentary researchers, journalists and city workers all doing the same thing. He describes regular participants as the “London gay elite”.

“Chemsex was the most traumatic chapter of my life” 

Topics of conversation “bounce from things like Lady Gaga’s current single to Donald Trump”, Wharton boggles. “You’d see people talking about the general election, to why is Britney Spears the worst diva of them all?”

Eventually, he found himself addicted to the whole chemsex culture. “It’s not one single person, it’s not one single drug, it’s just all of it,” he says.



Wharton was in the Household Cavalry alongside Prince Harry. Photos: Biteback and James Wharton

Wharton feels the stigma attached to chemsex is stopping people practising it safely, or being able to stop. He’s found a support network through gay community-led advice services, drop-ins and workshops. Not everyone has that access, or feels confident coming forward.

“This is the real consequence of Section 28,” says Wharton, who left school in 2003, the year this legislation against “promoting” homosexuality was repealed. “Who teaches gay men how to have sex? Because the birds and the bees chat your mum gives you is wholly irrelevant.”


Wharton was the first openly gay soldier to appear in the military in-house magazine. Photo courtesy of Biteback

Wharton only learned that condoms are needed in gay sex when he first went to a gay bar at 18. He was brought up in Wrexham, north Wales, by working-class parents, and described himself as a “somewhat geeky gay” prior to his chemsex days.

After four years together, he and his long-term partner had a civil partnership in 2010; they lived in a little cottage in Windsor with two dogs. Their break-up in 2014 launched him into London life as a single man.

As an openly gay soldier, Wharton was also an Army poster boy; he appeared in his uniform on the cover of gay magazine Attitude. He served in the Household Cavalry with Prince Harry, who once defended him from homophobic abuse, and spent seven months in Iraq.


In 2012, Wharton appeared with his then civil partner in Attitude magazine. Photo courtesy of Biteback

A large Union Jack shield tattoo covering his left bicep pokes out from his t-shirt – a physical reminder of his time at war on his now much leaner frame. He had it done the day he returned from Iraq.

Yet even including war, Wharton calls chemsex “the most traumatic chapter” of his life. “Iraq was absolutely Ronseal, it did exactly what it said on the tin,” he says. “It was going to be a bit shit, and then I was coming home. But with chemsex, you don’t know what’s going to happen next.

“When I did my divorce, I had support around me. When I did the Army, I had a lot of support. Chemsex was like a million miles an hour for 47 hours, then on the 48th hour it was me on my own, in the back of an Uber, thinking where did it all go wrong? And that’s traumatic.”

Something for the Weekend: Life in the Chemsex Underworld by James Wharton is published by Biteback.

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 30 August 2010 issue of the New Statesman, Face off