After years of anxiety, how is the singer coping with losing his brother, lockdown and memories of his unhappy schooldays?
Will Young exits a cab and ambles up a quiet south London street towards me, where I’ve been loitering outside his terrace house like a superfan. No sooner has he shown me through to his garden than he has popped back out to buy cigarettes. There can’t be many pop stars who would feel comfortable leaving a journalist alone in their home, especially one who has had as many run-ins with the press as Young.
The walled garden is filled with bushes and trees that neither of us are able to name, as well as a tremendous number of plant pots. “I’ve gone completely insane: I’ve never bought so many bulbs in my life,” says Young, on his return from the corner shop. “Did you see the tulips out the front? I’ve gone potting-crazy. I don’t really know what I’m doing, but I have such a passion for it now.” His neighbours have started calling him “the garden centre”, as he is always trying to foist cuttings on them.
