Comedy producer John Lloyd (QI, Blackadder) was on the Richard Herring podcast and said this:
I don’t espouse any religious faith, but I don’t consider atheism in that way as a scientific position, I don’t know whether there’s green men in flying saucers either, but I don’t go and shout at the people who think there are.
A lot of people say science doesn’t get enough of a voice in society, I think that’s rubbish, I think it gets an enormous voice, and I think that the idea that we are swamped by mad religious people is actually untrue. There are a small number of mad religious people; unfortunately they have inordinate influence in terms of blowing people up for no reason and so forth.
In terms of the business of what the point of anything is, struggle though I have for many years, I haven’t worked it all out yet, but I can’t believe that life is meaningless. Does anyone genuinely feel that life is completely meaningless? It doesn’t feel meaningless does it? It feels confusing and annoying and frustrating, but meaningless it doesn’t.
It starts off with me recalling this great guy in school, he had an Asian name that sounded like an English name, didn’t put us off him though, we all liked him. Wore gel in his hair, laughed a lot, liked cricket and always arrived to school early (just what I remember). Also recall him being great at making drawing pins behave like spinning tops.
But, sad story – he goes down in my estimation when I remember this – he made fun of the guy who always got made fun of (that guy), let’s call him Pedro, and Pedro was innocently sucking his pen, when Gel-boy calls him out in front of the entire Spanish class, claiming that he looks like he’s committing a sex-act with his Biro, of course poor Pedro gets harpooned verbally and probably physically with fists as a result of said interpretation.
Gel-boy also enjoyed being part of an evil game we played which involved spinning coins. You play around a table (usually during class time when you should be working) and the first boy spins a coin – fifty pee usually- and the next boy has to keep it spinning by flicking it. You lose if you stop the coin from spinning, your punishment is to press your fist down onto the table, baring your knuckles, and then someone from the peer-group slams the coin (at high speed) into your clenched hand. It was this element of risk that made the game so addictive. We would often bleed, all over the table, all over the coin. We even made one boy cry, but he carried on playing. Thing is, I started to return home with scabs on my knuckles and my parents got worried, Dad banned me from playing it, despite the fact he told me he played a card game called ‘raps’ in school. I ignored his pleas for a while, and we started playing with the (what felt like) recently introduced two pound coin — quadruple the pain. Scabs got bigger, Dad’s commands got more serious, the phase ended. Although, when I look closely at my knuckles, I can still see the scars.