Wisdom comes with age … but that’s not the case for me

I have six honorary doctorates, but I know next to nothing, writes Phillip Adams. Picture: Peter Stoop

Tis said that wisdom comes with age. Tis sad that’s not the case for me. As I head for the exits it’s my glum duty to confess my ignorance of everything from A to Z. From astronomy to zoology. From accountancy to Zoroastrianism.

I’m wise in only one sense – when wisdom is defined as knowing what you don’t know. Then I’m Einsteinian, a Renaissance Man – even though I know I cannot comprehend Einstein (WTF could E equals MC squared possibly mean?) and know SFA about the Renaissance.

Some of my ignorance can be blamed on a state school education – not its quality but its brevity. East Kew Primary, Yarra Park State and Eltham High did their best. But I was a poor student and left the system at the under-ripe young age of 15. As I once observed, the nearest I got to university was once passing Melbourne Uni on the Lygon St tram.

There’s a posh term for the likes of me. Autodidact. But just as I missed the tertiary tram (as opposed to that one in Lygon St) I failed to catch the auto. So what little I’ve learned came from books (three cheers for public libraries) and the university of life. From which I’ll soon be expelled. (An admission: Six universities have taken pity and given me funny gowns and silly hats. These are otherwise known as Honorary Doctorates, so I’m technically Dr. Dr. Dr. Dr. Dr. Dr. Adams. It’s their way of thanking me for interviewing all their actual graduates, that endless procession of professors.)

Among the subjects of which I’m utterly ignorant is sport. This is wilful on my part. I regard sport as loud, aggressive and likely to cause injury. Ditto all forms of popular music since the deaths of Bing Crosby and Bill Haley. Same reason as sport: loud, aggressive and key to cause injury – in this latter case, deafness.

The other reason I know next to nothing? There’s too much to know. And humans are forever adding new things to know and I find that both intimidating and dispiriting. So, what’s the point? Leave knowing stuff to the professional know-alls, all of those professors.

Or look it up on Wikipedia, that satnav for members of DENSA, my parallel MENSA for dills. What does it matter what I know or don’t know, as long as somebody knows it?

Speaking of dills I can’t even answer the low-IQ multiple-choice questions on Millionaire Hot Seat. And as for knowing all about some utterly obscure topic on Mastermind, count me out. I remember a bloke answering questions about Don’s Party that I couldn’t – and I produced the bloody movie!

And speaking of television I don’t understand who did it in an episode of Poirot even when Hercule has explained it. Yes, that could be a symptom of my dementia.

Ignorance is bliss? BS. What a silly assertion for some ignoramus to make. My ignorance is not blissful. It would be bliss not to be ignorant. But it’s too late now. Or is it? Perhaps I could get a chatbot to write a grovelling letter to Eltham High and see if they’d let me sneak back in. As a mature-age student. To belatedly earn my Leaving Certificate. And if not, perhaps the school principal might take pity on me – and give me an honorary one. Wouldn’t even expect another funny hat.