GERRY: We had three daughters first, by which time me and my wife thought we'd finished with children. But Gerry Jr came along six years later. The telly must have broken down that night! Actually, I'd always wanted a son. Fathers do, don't they? I wanted somebody to pass it all on to... the circus and everything. I suppose that's why we named him Gerry.
He was a beautiful little boy. Lovely long curly black hair. I don't think he had it cut for two to three years. We took the circus to mainland China in the early 1980s and Gerry came with us. The Chinese adored him. Never seen anything like him. As we travelled so much, we eventually got Gerry his own passport — he wanted one for his teddy bear too!
The circus is not the sort of business you can force your kids into, but Gerry loved spending school holidays with us. He was a very good clown. His timing was spot-on. Mind you, he was taught by one of the best: his Uncle Sonny, who'd been clowning for 50 years or more. He wasn't Gerry's real uncle, of course, but in the circus everybody's your uncle or your aunt. It's your family.
In many ways, Gerry is the mirror image of me. When he was about 17, he said: "I hope I don't turn into a fat bastard like you." So I ran upstairs and dug out this photo of me when I was that age. I was wearing this naff green suit, but it was the spitting image of Gerry. He said: "Bloody hell. I guess that means I am going to turn into a fat bastard!"
He's also inherited my personality. Loads of energy. Always wanting to move on to the next thing. When I was younger, I had the circus; I ran a funfair, a swimming pool; I used to hire out the longest car in the world; I had a costume shop... I'm an Aries, you see. Gerry's got all of my enthusiasm and ambition, but that drive can also be a problem for him. I was always doing a million things when I was younger, but I had the circus as a focus, running my own from the age of 25. Dealing with councils, looking for acts. It concentrated my mind. And I think that's what Gerry needs to do. He needs to focus. He's got wonderful ideas — he's been talking about putting on a rock festival — but he needs to settle himself.
I think it's a problem a lot of children suffer from. They think they have to be as successful as their parents. He doesn't have to prove himself to me. I want him to find his niche. He's always been good at marketing, which is why I'm happy to see him working in PR. He needs to slow down for a bit. Stick at one thing.
There's one bit of my personality I wish Gerry hadn't inherited. Women. He's not going to be happy about me saying this, but he does like the ladies. And they like him. I think it's in his genes. My great-grandfather was the same. And my grandad. Not so much my father. But Dad's brother ran off with the local barmaid when he was in his sixties.
When Gerry worked with us at Wookey Hole, he had his own little house on the grounds and I used to call it Crumpet Cottage. He had a great time with the girls. To be honest, I'm envious of him sometimes, but my naughty days are over. I was a very bad boy and I'm not proud of it. I think it was because I was travelling alone all the time, going round the world looking for new acts. The temptation was there. My wife knew from the start, I'm sure. Women do, don't they? She must have had a terrible time, but she is a very old-fashioned woman. Very loyal and strong. We stayed together for the kids... even though I'd disappear for days on end and became a coke-head for most of my forties.
I've told Gerry about my coke-head days, and that I'm not proud of what I did. Cocaine is God's way of telling you you're making too much money. When you're up there, you have plans and everyone's your mate. But I guarantee that none of your big plans will happen and all those mates disappear as soon as the coke's gone. Gerry likes a drink, and he's got my obsessional nature, but I hope to God he's more sensible than me.
GERRY JR: People have a lot of stereotypical ideas about the circus. Number one: they think we're all a bunch of thieving gypsies. I actually had the privilege of going to quite a posh school called Wallop in Surrey — always get a good education, my dad says, because it's a fortune you can't spend. But it was a struggle being the son of Gerry Cottle. I remember being asked if we had running water and electricity in our "caravan"!
I used to play up to the "poor little circus boy", but one day I asked a bunch of these snobby posh lads over to my house for a game of football. Of course, they were all keen to come and see how the "gyppos" lived. You should have seen their faces when we got there. Beautiful big house, Mercs parked all over the place. I turned round and said: "Frankly, my dad's probably got more money than all your dads put together, but the difference is, I don't like to brag about it."
Dad was always great about encouraging me to follow my dreams, but tough when it came to money. Yes, he lent me a bit when I wanted to buy my first car, but we're only talking a couple of hundred quid. His attitude is, if you want something, you can work hard and you can earn it. Yes, we're middle class. Yes, we went on some amazing holidays. But he never spoilt me and my sisters. He kept us level-headed and I thank him for that. He did make a few mistakes, though. He knows he did. He wasn't around much when I was at school and I really did miss him. I didn't think I missed him at the time, because I had this big extended circus family, but looking back, I wish he'd been around more. When he did come back, he'd always try and tell me what to do, but I'd just say: "Look, you're not here most of the time. You can't just come back and start ordering me around." I was quite horrible to him. Subconsciously I think I was trying to make him feel so guilty that he'd stick around.
When I was little I thought he was always away because of the circus, but at school one day this kid came up to me and showed me a copy of The Sun. There was all this stuff about my dad and sex and cocaine. I asked my mum: "What's this thing in the paper?" She parked the car outside Dad's office and said: "Go in and ask him yourself." So I'm sitting there, in my school uniform and my cap — like butter wouldn't melt — and I asked him. I saw his face drop. I can remember it to this day. That's when it hit him. Here was his youngest child asking him about his cocaine addiction. He tried to tell me it was just some boys at school saying silly things, but Mum told me the truth. She said: "Gerry, your dad's a drug user and a womaniser." As you can imagine, I cried my eyes out, but I was more upset for my mum than myself. I couldn't understand why he'd want to hurt her.
I think Dad's main problem was that he'd been working since he was 15, when he ran away to join the circus. His life had been boom boom boom, work work work. He'd never done the things normal kids do — go wild, get things out of his system. So he got to 40, with all this money, and that's when he decided to party, to get it out of his system.
They weren't happy times. Mum had to sacrifice so much to keep the family together. Mind you, she'd make him pay for his affairs. Literally. She used to say: "Those women are going to cost him." And then she'd go off shopping, making sure she spent as much of his money as she could. They split up eventually, but they're still mates. And frankly, me and my sisters were all a lot happier. The arguments were terrible. We called it the Cottle Cabaret. I do forgive my dad. What do they say? "To err is human, to forgive divine." Dad made some huge mistakes, and he hurt my mum terribly. But at the end of the day, we're all on the same journey and we all make mistakes. He might be my dad, but he's still human.
