The world's finest Yorkshiremen has left the building.
Parky the great. Gee, no one could turn an interview into an event like he could. Not because of 'bombshell moments', but because of the experience they offered viewers and participants alike. His interviews were so much better: they were entertaining delights that brought the best out of his many, many guests. Yes, a few haven't aged well, and the infamous Meg Ryan interview spoils the view, but his work with Billy Connolly, Robin Williams, Barry Humphries and so many others remains peerless.
These were double-acts of the first order. Parky knew how to be self-deprecating, to shut up, and to enjoy simply being in presence of his guests. He let Dame Edna take over every time, and it was a pure joy to watch them interact. Few would have the guts. He let Stephen Fry and Robin Williams riff and jam like Hendrix and Beck, whilst he contentedly held down the beat on the bass. You can't teach class like that; you've either got it or you don't. He didn't chase the laugh; he left that to his guests. He didn't just let them shine; he enabled it.
The difference between him and his American counterparts has always been strikingly depressing. Where they fawned and flapped, he accompanied. Where they delivered their own 'powerful' questions like Moses delivering commandments, he sought rapport. And he didn't leap from topic to topic like a meth-addled child. He grasped the concept of flow. And more than anything else, his guests trusted them. In the end, that was the key.
Watch his Paul McCartney interview after Linda died. It's not just timeless, it's precious. No painful attempts to draw out sentiment or bathos; just let Paul be Paul. What else could possibly be needed? And at Parkinson's request, Paul plays the most beautiful, poignant version of The Long and Winding Road you'll ever hear.
There will never be another like him, if only for the reason that the world seems to have lost the ability to watch things grow and blossom. Yes, Graham Norton is magical, but he'll be the first to admit that he's not another Parkinson, simply because there can be no such thing.
Thanks for the memories, Parky. They'll endure forever.