A £12,000 extension, a collection of 9,300 beer cans and one long-suffering wife who reveals what it’s really like to be married to Britain’s most-boring man

  • Deborah West takes a look back over 39-year marriage to retired banker Nick 
  • For their honeymoon, Nick took her to Middle Wallop in Hampshire for a week
  • Nick then flew to the US for a week for a beer can convention without discussion
  • He had 9,300 beer cans at its peak, but today it has been whittled down to 1,500

When Deborah West looks back over her 39-year marriage to retired banker Nick, she can see the writing was pretty much on the wall from the very beginning.

‘Nick took me to Middle Wallop in Hampshire for a week for our honeymoon. When we got back, he flew to the States for a week for a beer can convention. There was no discussion. I wasn’t even asked if I wanted to go.

‘Our holidays have always involved beer cans since then, although we don’t go abroad because Nick decided to collect British cans.’

She laughs, a sort of brittle laugh that makes you wonder whether she truly finds this amusing or actually wants to throttle her husband.

When Deborah West looks back over her 39-year marriage to retired banker Nick (both pictured with some of Nick's beer can collection), she can see the writing was pretty much on the wall from the very beginning after he took her on her honeymoon to Middle Wallop, Hampshire

When Deborah West looks back over her 39-year marriage to retired banker Nick (both pictured with some of Nick's beer can collection), she can see the writing was pretty much on the wall from the very beginning after he took her on her honeymoon to Middle Wallop, Hampshire

Nick, you see, is an ‘obsessive’ (his word) collector of beer cans. So much so that the Wests, who have two grown-up children, Emma, 32, and Tom, 30, moved homes twice and even built an extension to house his vast collection that stood at 9,300 empty cans at its peak. Today it has been whittled down to a more manageable 1,500 and is tidied up in boxes.

So besotted is Nick, 59, with his cans that — well, best to let him explain: ‘Someone once asked me, “If you had to choose between your wife and your beer cans, which would you choose?” It’s probably 50-50, although I’ve probably devoted more time to beer cans.’

Nick, who has an extraordinarily high IQ of 147, says this in the sort of matter-of-fact way in which many of us might discuss a preference for soft- or hard-boiled eggs.

‘I have this dream,’ he continues. ‘I’m in an old off-licence and the doors have been shut for 20 or 30 years. And, oh, it’s brilliant, there’s all these cans from about the Fifties.’ He looks truly transfixed. ‘Then I wake up next to Deborah and it’s that terrible realisation it’s just a dream.’

This ‘all-encompassing passion’ (again, Nick’s words) which has dominated ‘literally every single day’ of his life since the age of 16, led to him being featured in a book called Dull Men of Great Britain, alongside 39 others, four years ago. Then, recently, he was voted Britain’s Dullest Man in a newspaper poll, beating a traffic cone collector from the Cotswolds and a toy soldier enthusiast from Cumbria.

After getting back from the honeymoon, Nick flew off to the US for a beer can convention. They are pictured on their wedding day in 1979

After getting back from the honeymoon, Nick flew off to the US for a beer can convention. They are pictured on their wedding day in 1979

‘I was quite chuffed to win,’ he says. ‘A few days ago we were on a train and there were only two seats left next to a group of girls. We talked to them and when we reached our station I said, “Do you realise you’ve had the privilege of travelling with Britain’s Dullest Man?” ’

Nick was never really one of life’s winners. As a child in the Cub Scouts, he entered a nationwide conker competition. ‘I got knocked out in the quarter-final,’ he says. ‘That still rankles about 50 years later. It was my claim to fame until now.

‘Mind you, the family have genuinely sacrificed things. In the past, the beer cans have always had the biggest bedroom.

‘If Deborah and I ever had a row going on — say, about the money I spent on the cans — if it was turning a bit nasty, I’d go upstairs, lock the door to the bedroom and put the key in my pocket because I was always worried she’d go in there. Within 30 seconds she could have done a lot of damage.’

Deborah interrupts: ‘I’d threaten to have them all crushed.’ Suddenly she looks animated.

Deborah is, she says, a ‘laid-back’ woman, which is just as well. The family’s sacrifices have included not just bedroom space, but just about every penny they’ve earned in their jobs with Lloyd’s Bank where Deborah also worked as an accountant.

Deborah is not a daft woman. Like Nick she has the sort of IQ which, at over 140, marks her out as near-genius. Of an evening now they play an online brain-training game. Nick tells me he is in the top 1 per cent of contestants and Deborah is ‘not far behind’ in the top 5 per cent

Deborah is not a daft woman. Like Nick she has the sort of IQ which, at over 140, marks her out as near-genius. Of an evening now they play an online brain-training game. Nick tells me he is in the top 1 per cent of contestants and Deborah is ‘not far behind’ in the top 5 per cent

We meet in the Wests’ four-bedroom home in a village on the outskirts of Bristol, where they moved four years ago. Deborah never liked their last house, which was vast and draughty with no garden. Nick insisted upon it — he had an eye on a splendid bedroom that would house his beer can collection. That collection is now packed in boxes in a spare room.

‘I chose this house because he chose the last one for his cans,’ says Deborah. ‘I wanted a garden and a conservatory, which I’ve got. Nick doesn’t really like it. I say, “Oh well.” I like planting my plants and those cans can stay in their boxes so they don’t invade my life.’

The collection has been reduced to 1,500 cans since the Wests retired two years ago. Two thousand of them were donated to Oakham Treasures, a local museum, where our pictures were taken.

‘I think that was very difficult for him.’ Deborah’s face softens. ‘He photographed them in groups so he can still look at them. He’s kept records of every one: the description of the can and his star system — five stars if it was in perfect condition.

‘He put aside the ones he wanted to keep and the others have all gone to collectors, so he knows they went to good homes. We wrapped each one in a page from the Yellow Pages and put a little sticker on it.

‘We could do about 60 cans a night so it took us three months to box them all up. That was a love thing, wasn’t it?’ she asks.

Deborah is not a daft woman. Like Nick she has the sort of IQ which, at over 140, marks her out as near-genius. Of an evening now they play an online brain-training game. Nick tells me he is in the top 1 per cent of contestants and Deborah is ‘not far behind’ in the top 5 per cent.

She says when she began dating Nick at 17 years old it was ‘like a bolt of lightning’.

‘We just had that connection. It’s strange, isn’t it? We’ve always had that. It was just something about him when we started going out. There was just this love that built up. He’s The One.

‘He had 50 cans when we began seeing each other. They were lined up in his room at his parents’ house. His cans were always in perfect order of brewery and size. If he got a new one he moved all the cans on the shelf to put it in the right place.

‘Then, for Christmas, I found him what I thought was the best present ever: a book on beer can collecting by Richard Dolphin. The book had some beautiful pictures of old beer cans in it. Nick thought: “Wow, there’s so much scope out there.”

‘He found out where Richard Dolphin lived and contacted him. They became friends.

‘I have wished I never bought that book. His collecting might just have fizzled out. Him contacting Richard Dolphin was possibly the big mistake.’

Nick was never really one of life’s winners. As a child in the Cub Scouts, he entered a nationwide conker competition but got knocked out in the quarter final

Nick was never really one of life’s winners. As a child in the Cub Scouts, he entered a nationwide conker competition but got knocked out in the quarter final

Possibly? Again, she laughs.

Richard tracked us down on holiday in Cornwall,’ she says. ‘He’d bought somebody else’s collection and said if Nick wanted to buy some cans he had to go the next day. So he left me on holiday and spent £80 on cans.

‘We were still students and he spent our grant money. I was really cross — the crossest I’ve been I think. But he’s always been a bit strange.

‘He once got involved with somebody who used to dive to the bottom of Loch Ness in Scotland. They knew lots of people went there to see the Loch Ness Monster and they reckoned people would have thrown in the cans from the boats. So they dived down to find them.’

She smiles fondly. ‘Nick’s mad as a hatter. He’s a perfectionist. When we were at university he had nervous problems [they both went to Birmingham, Deborah to Aston University and Nick to the polytechnic]. He had panic attacks and has been diagnosed with OCD. I didn’t twig until after we were married, when one of his counsellors told me. I said: “That explains a lot.”

‘I think that’s why the beer can collection was so important. He likes everything ordered and always has to strive for perfection.

‘If you go to a shop to buy beer, he’ll go through the whole lot to find the perfect one. I’ve been there with him for a quarter of an hour and he’s still going through the cans.’

They moved to a three-bedroom home shortly before their daughter was born in 1987, a home Deborah loved. ‘Emma had the smallest room and the cans had the second largest bedroom,’ she recalls

They moved to a three-bedroom home shortly before their daughter was born in 1987, a home Deborah loved. ‘Emma had the smallest room and the cans had the second largest bedroom,’ she recalls

And when Nick brings a new can home, he pierces the bottom to drink the beer so he doesn’t damage the ring-pull.

‘His beer can collection grew, but you grow together too, don’t you?’ Deborah adds. ‘Although I’ll tell you something about our honeymoon.’ She leans forward on the sofa in a room that is strangely bereft of the usual clutter of family life.

‘Nick has a thing about going out in the sun. It was really nice weather in Middle Wallop so we had a picnic. He spent the afternoon under a tree and I sat in the sun. I do remember thinking, oh God, I’ve got to put up with this for the rest of my life.’

After graduating from university the Wests bought their first two-bedroom home in Clevedon, near Bristol, at the age of 24.

‘The collection had been at Nick’s parents’ house until then, so the first room we looked at doing up was for the cans. I think they might have had the largest bedroom,’ she says.

‘If someone stayed we’d share the room with the cans, but it was really difficult because there was a tiny hole between the cans where you could reach the light switch. You had to know exactly how to put your hand in without hitting them. We knew we needed somewhere bigger, particularly when Emma came along.’

Nick and Deborah with their children Tom, three, and Emma, two, in 1992. Nick was diagnosed with OCD after university. ‘I think that’s why the beer can collection was so important,' Deborah says

Nick and Deborah with their children Tom, three, and Emma, two, in 1992. Nick was diagnosed with OCD after university. ‘I think that’s why the beer can collection was so important,' Deborah says

They moved to a three-bedroom home shortly before their daughter was born in 1987, a home Deborah loved. ‘Emma had the smallest room and the cans had the second largest bedroom,’ she recalls. ‘Then I was pregnant with Tom. Where were we going to put him? Nick said: “I know, we’ll build an extension on the house for the beer cans” — which is what we did.’

The extension cost £12,000.

‘We had a few arguments over the cans. It was always down to the money and the time he spent on them. Once the children were in bed, he’d go off and play with his beer cans so I’d watch any old rubbish on television..

‘Going on holiday was always a fantastic jaunt. Where could we go where he could find new cans? Every other year we went to stay with my family in Pembrokeshire. Nick didn’t like going on the beach in the sun, but hard luck. He always chose the holiday the next year.’

As the children — and the beer can collection — grew, Nick decided they needed more space so moved his family to a large five-bedroom Victorian house that was in dire need of repair.

She says when she began dating Nick at 17 years old it was ‘like a bolt of lightning’. ‘We just had that connection. It’s strange, isn’t it? We’ve always had that. It was just something about him when we started going out'

She says when she began dating Nick at 17 years old it was ‘like a bolt of lightning’. ‘We just had that connection. It’s strange, isn’t it? We’ve always had that. It was just something about him when we started going out'

‘We had seven removal men because carrying in the cans in the boxes was a never-ending job,’ Deborah says. ‘He must have had 6,000 cans then.

‘Before we moved in, I sat in a pub with Nick making a list of everything we had to do because the house needed a lot doing to it. Decorating the room for the cans was 20th on the list. We ended up doing it first.

‘Nick made me paint the walls three times. I don’t know why, because the shelves covered the walls from floor to ceiling.’

During their 13 years in the house, Nick’s collection increased to 9,300 cans. ‘He ran out of space in the room they were in, but I said: “You’re not going in the other rooms.” It was because of the [boom in] craft beers. He’d been collecting between 100 and 150 cans a year, then suddenly it was 650.

‘His aim was to make a list of all the new cans that came out, but there were cans coming out every day so he’d go trawling through all the beer can sites. He’d come home from work, have his tea and go on the internet for three hours a night.

‘There was the day he bought one of the first British beer cans [A Felinfoel Pale Ale can from 1936, Nick’s favourite of all his collection]. It’s like the Penny Black for a stamp collector. He’d never seen one up for sale before. I said: “How much is it going to go for?” He said: “Over £2,000.” I said: “Your limit is £2,000,” thinking, he won’t get it. He did.

‘It just got ridiculous. He wouldn’t come down until about 9.30pm. I’d make sarcastic comments like: “Oh, you’ve appeared at last.” ’

Finally, Deborah put her foot down. As well as the beer cans, maintaining the vast Victorian house was costing a fortune. The mortgage had risen from £130,000 to more than £200,000 as they tackled damp problems and goodness knows what else. An electrical fault that required extensive rewiring was the final straw.

‘I said: “That’s it, before something else goes let’s move, and it’s my turn to choose. You chose this house for your cans. I’d really like a garden and a conservatory.” ’

Nick spent the 18 months following his retirement selling most of his collection for £13,500, which has afforded treats such as trips to the theatre and flower shows, while Deborah’s garden has also been a source of ‘constant joy’.

‘I’ve never thought I missed out on anything — other than possibly a few holidays abroad,’ she says cheerfully.

‘Nick isn’t dull. He isn’t boring. I’d say if you look back at the life we’ve shared I’ve been on a par with his cans. But for me, he’s always been The One.’

Are you married to someone even more boring? Email femailreaders@dailymail.co.uk