Jonny McCambridge: Any questions?A Birmingham walking tour and my repeated, resigned ‘No’

He is standing in front of a statue of three figures of seeming historical significance, though I can’t be sure who they are. It feels like he has been talking for a long time. I’m not picking up much of it, but I do note his comment that there is a bit about the statue in one of his books, which is for sale. He pauses, looks me straight in the eye and asks: “Have you any questions?”

I shake my head. I have no questions.

I am in Birmingham. It is the middle of a Saturday afternoon and I am part of a group on a walking tour of the city. If this sounds like unlikely behaviour for me, then I must concede that my attendance is more by mishap than design.

Once a year I travel with a group of friends to watch a Premier League football match. We attempt to choose a different city or ground on each occasion for the odyssey which has been going on now for close to a quarter of a century. This year, we are in England’s second largest city.

The plan was set that we would attend Aston Villa v Sunderland on the Saturday afternoon. Flights and a hotel were booked early and a reservation made at an Indian restaurant for the traditional post-match curry. I counted down the days.

And then, a few weeks before we were due to go, there was an unexpected hitch. One of our group noticed that the date of the match for which we had ordered tickets had changed from April 18 to 19. In order to show the game on telly, it had been switched from the Saturday to the Sunday, throwing all of our carefully laid plans into disarray.

Later flights were required on the Sunday to ensure we would still be able to get to the game, but the Saturday was now empty. Faced with the question of what five middle-aged men would do in Birmingham, and, keen to fill the hours with activity rather than alcohol, the walking tour plan was hatched.

The host greets our party warmly and, within seconds, is telling us about the many books he has published.

His account states that the books have been so successful that they are mostly out of print, but can, luckily, be purchased directly from him at the end of the tour.

Having imparted this useful nugget, he asks if I have any questions.

I shake my head. I have no questions.

Soon, we are walking briskly around the centre of Birmingham while the guide chirps away about architecture and industrial history. The problem, I have always thought, about tours such as these is my inability to retain large amounts of information.

Luckily, our guide reminds us if there is anything we’d like to know more about, he has published several books which can be purchased. I am reassured.

Our journey into the city’s industrial past does uncover some gems which may stay with me forever.

At one time during the 19th century, Birmingham produced 80% of the pen nibs in the world.

And...to this day, Birmingham still manufactures six million brass whistles annually which are exported globally, many for use by football referees.

Having passed on these useful facts, the guide looks at me and asks if I have any questions.

I shake my head. I have no questions.

Clearly unimpressed with the level of audience participation, our guide asks us what components are used to make the alloy brass. I shrug my shoulders but make a mental note to Google it later.

As we move, the tour jumps around to cover different eras and subjects, all of which, happily seem to have been covered in a book written by our guide, which can be bought.

We get our photograph taken on a bench which serves as a tribute to Ozzy Osborne and Black Sabbath and are then shown a dingy building which is apparently where Duran Duran played their first gig.

Our guide asks me if I have any questions.

I wonder exactly what sort of question he anticipates, what an appropriate question would be when you are shown the venue where Duran Duran played their first gig. The only question I can think of is: ‘Are you sure?’ But I keep it to myself.

Instead, I shake my head. I have no questions.

Our tour moves to a canal filled with barges which is, at least, quite pretty and allows me the opportunity to sit and rest my weary knees. Briefly out of the sight of our host, I remove the supplied headphones and enjoy some temporary respite.

When I rejoin the group with renewed focus, it seems the conversation has moved on to our guide’s views on planning issues in his home city, which he eagerly shares. Luckily, much of this is, we are told, is covered in one of his books, which is available.

He asks me if I have any questions.

I shake my head. I have no questions about the state of the planning system in Birmingham.

Near the end of the tour I find, quite by accident, something which does interest me. While resting against a wall I read an information board which states that the adjacent building, the old town hall, was the location where Charles Dickens did the first ever reading of A Christmas Carol, one of my favourite stories. There is a blue plaque to mark the spot.

Here, at last, is something our guide has neglected to tell us and about which I would like to ask him. Perhaps, I ponder, there may even be a chapter about it in one of his books.

I look up, with a view to asking the question, but he is now far off in the distance, trotting merrily like the Pied Piper and beckoning us to follow him over the horizon.