Rolf Harris: You ask the questions

Rolf Harris, 72, was born in Perth, Western Australia. At 22, he arrived in Britain and enrolled at art school, paying his way by doing cabaret work at night. He launched his musical career with "Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport", and has since had hits such as "Sun Arise" and "Two Little Boys". His television programmes include Rolf on Saturday, Rolf's Cartoon Club and, more recently, Animal Hospital and Rolf on Art. He published his autobiography this summer. He is married to Alwen Hughes and has one daughter, Bindi.

Rolf, you're very hard on yourself in your autobiography. I don't think you deserve it, so why do you?
Petra Mannings, Loughton

I wanted to tell the truth as I saw it. You realise when your daughter has grown up, how little time you were able to spend with her because you were so busy working. Had I the chance to redo it, I would do that differently. I wasn't always the best of fathers. I've been very self-centred, I think, and everyone else has had to muck along as best they can. I'm still a workaholic, but I'm trying to take a bit of time to smell the roses on the way now. I have a great relationship with my wife and daughter now.

How much would it cost – as a donation to charity – to get you to shave that beard off? How long have you had it now?
Fred Leigh, London

I wouldn't do it. When I was about to get married, I shaved it off to get some photographs done of myself. I thought I looked like the actor Peter Finch. When I met up again with my fiancée, she was absolutely horrified. She said I looked like one of those classic American cars with all the chromework ripped off. She wouldn't talk to me until I regrew it. It's been back on now since 1957, and that's the way it's going to stay.

You've played Glastonbury four times. Which has been the most memorable so far?
Sarah James, London

Well, the first one was the staggering one. It was a bright, sunny morning and my first ever time at Glastonbury. I was frightened stupid when I drove through and saw thousands of people and tents as far as the eye could see. There was a big cockney bloke helping on stage. He said, "You're the only one I'm interested in seeing today, Rolf! Are you going to do the one about the bloke with three legs?" It took all the nerves away. They say something like 55,000 people came to see me, and it was 10 in the morning. I think when Glastonbury booked me, they did it as a bit of a joke. But the crowd sang every word of every song.

Have you ever wished that you'd become a professional artist?
Rob Porritt, by e-mail

No. But when I came to this country, that was what I planned to do. I wanted to be a portrait painter like my grandfather. I think I've been very lucky because I've been able to do my art work and not rely on it for my living. As a result of doing Rolf on Art, I've got fired up on painting again. I realised how much I'd missed it. I've had a special studio built. Since 1960, I've taken thousands of photos of things that I've thought would make good paintings, so I'm working from them. One that I'm proud of is a picture of some cross-country runners training in a park in Sydney. I was in rush-hour traffic and these runners were silhouetted against the sky. I've done another really good one of a Canadian mountain shack.

Is it true that you lost your temper with The Beatles?
Celine Starling, King's Lynn

I got very ratty, yes. I was compèring their Christmas show in 1963 at the Finsbury Park Empire. I was on before them. John Lennon got hold of the microphone. After everything I said, he'd make a comment like, "I don't think that's right, Rolfie". He mucked up my concentration. I somehow got through it and came storming off the stage and shouted, "If you want to stuff up your own programme, do it. But don't stuff up mine!". And they said, "Ooh, Rolfie's lost his rag!". But they were so infectious that you ended up laughing with them.

You've always been hugely popular but rarely critically acclaimed. Is this evidence that critics are snobbish?
Neil Sands, Wick

I've had some really positive comments and I've had some bad ones. I've had a couple of vindictive personal attacks and, I've got to say, they hurt. But then, you have to realise that these people are entitled to their opinion. I know who I am and what I do. With Rolf on Art, someone wrote that it was evidence of the BBC dumbing down, a month before we'd shot a single frame of film. I did think, "At least wait until you see it".

To which animal have you become most attached on Animal Hospital?
Cynthia Howard, Leicester

I think it has to be Snowy, that little poodle-type dog that was brought in covered in mange, with all its fur burnt away through standing in its own urine, and all the fur on the top of its head so thick from neglect that it couldn't see. It had obviously never had any affection from humans. It was dumped in a paper bag at a police station. You wonder how people can treat an animal like that.

What exactly is a jumbuck?
Mark Whiting, Rye

It's an Aboriginal name for a sheep. The story goes that when the first Moreno sheep were brought over from Spain, they said to the local Aborigines, "What would you call this animal in your language?". The Aborigines said, "jumbuck", and it's been used ever since. In 1938, a professor of Aboriginal languages discovered that "jumbuck" in the local Aboriginal language meant, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

I, too, am called Rolf. How did you come by your first name?
Rolf Lass, Warwick

My mum was a brilliant student, but she got really fed up with writing her full name out on the top of exam papers: Agnes Marjorie Robins. She said then, "I'll give my children the shortest name I can find". When I was expected, she was reading the classic Australian novel, Robbery Under Arms by Rolf Boldrewood. She thought, "Great name". I was named after him. I found out years later that that wasn't his real name.

To which cartoon character do you think you bear the strongest resemblance?
Stuart Kenning, Manchester

I guess outwardly I would be Yosemite Sam, shouting and creating a fuss. But I wouldn't be the killer that he tries to be. Inwardly, I'm like Mr Magoo. I can go into a room looking for something, stare round the room and can't see it. I'll kick up a fuss and then my wife goes into the room and says, "There it is". I think I have selective blindness.

I love the didgeridoo and, in 1996, I bought one, but sadly I still haven't mastered it. How did you learn to play and do you have any tips?
Lindsey Riley, Nottingham

Circular breathing is easy to do, if you follow this little piece of information. You get a mouthful of water and get rid of all the air from your lungs. Then squirt the water out with your cheek and tongue muscles. While you are doing that, breathe in through your nose. That's exactly what you've got to do with air. I first heard the didgeridoo in 1960, when I was working in Perth. I collared the man after the show and he told me how to do it. I could do the cycle breathing instantly but I couldn't get it to work on the instrument. Four years later, I bought a new didgeridoo with a smaller mouthpiece and I could play it immediately.

The Rolf, Alwen and Bindi Harris Art Exhibition at the Halcyon Gallery, 29 Bruton Street, London W1, to 24 Dec. 'Animal Hospital' is on BBC1 on Sunday, and on Tuesday 17 December