Bold Seagull
strong and stable with me, or...
I was once on Paul McKenna made to do something fairly ridiculous under the influence of 'hypnotism'. 1994 I think it was. I was a minor celebrity around the Students Union for about a week...
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Have you been on TV as a guest, contestant on in the audience?
- Thread starter gregbrighton
- Start date
Dick Swiveller
Well-known member
- Sep 9, 2011
- 9,531
Thanks for putting that up - not seen it before. Ed put it across very well I'm pleased to say.
Rolf on Saturday OK?
BBC One London, 26 April 1980 17.25
Starring Rolf Harris with his special guests Keith Harris and Showaddywaddy
Join Rolf and his guests for half an hour of acting, painting-but above all, singing. Featuring this week the children of STANFORD MIDDLE SCHOOL, BRIGHTON
Anybody else on here from the School / remember the show?
BBC One London, 26 April 1980 17.25
Starring Rolf Harris with his special guests Keith Harris and Showaddywaddy
Join Rolf and his guests for half an hour of acting, painting-but above all, singing. Featuring this week the children of STANFORD MIDDLE SCHOOL, BRIGHTON
Anybody else on here from the School / remember the show?
clapham_gull
Legacy Fan
- Aug 20, 2003
- 25,877
I work in the TV industry (haven't done anything else) but very much behind the scenes in sort of engineering / IT. I avoid cameras like the plague. It does affect other people differently and I sometimes spot people I used to work with (seemingly a member of the general public) sitting in the audience who obviously got a ticket off a mate.
One of the first jobs was in production (making tea basically) and had my name roll up on the credits on a couple of series on channel four.
Oddly I found it really intrusive and have never understood why you would want to be seen if not an actor or presenter. In the audience ? a nightmare. On the James Whale Show (whale on?) I could be clearly seen trying to find my fags I'd dropped under the chair
One of the first jobs was in production (making tea basically) and had my name roll up on the credits on a couple of series on channel four.
Oddly I found it really intrusive and have never understood why you would want to be seen if not an actor or presenter. In the audience ? a nightmare. On the James Whale Show (whale on?) I could be clearly seen trying to find my fags I'd dropped under the chair
clapham_gull
Legacy Fan
- Aug 20, 2003
- 25,877
Incidentally (all coming back now) it was made by the same people as Cue The Music. Mike Mansfield Television.
Mike Mansfield was quite a man in the TV industry even if you haven't heard of him. He directed those iconic early Adam Ant videos.
Anyone remember Cue the Music. Very late night ITV stuff when they used to present things like (for instance) Hawkwind Concerts.
Presented by Mike Mansfield behind a mixing desk ?
http://www.ioffer.com/img/item/124/035/531/HXTTw19zbsl4Dvd.jpg
It got very surreal towards the end with Tony Slattery (remember him) randomly dressing up in disguise and walking around in the background.
Mike Mansfield was quite a man in the TV industry even if you haven't heard of him. He directed those iconic early Adam Ant videos.
Anyone remember Cue the Music. Very late night ITV stuff when they used to present things like (for instance) Hawkwind Concerts.
Presented by Mike Mansfield behind a mixing desk ?
http://www.ioffer.com/img/item/124/035/531/HXTTw19zbsl4Dvd.jpg
It got very surreal towards the end with Tony Slattery (remember him) randomly dressing up in disguise and walking around in the background.
So was my mum. Did you win?
She won a weekend flying various aircraft and for three series was featured on the opening credits falling into a rope pit when they ran between zones. I still have the crystal. I cracked the Crystal Maze
- Jan 30, 2008
- 831
I wrote to Jimmy'll Fix It when i was much younger asking to meet Delia Smith to learn some tips about jam making. I ended up in the studio audience, didn't get to meet Delia sadly but i did help milk a cow whilst blindfolded in jimmys dressing room after the show.
Regards
DR
Regards
DR
Bladders
Twats everywhere
I hope you bottled it and put it on your CORNFLAKES
Sent by 2 old baked bean cans and a piece of string
Mackenzie
Old Brightonian
Is your episode on YouTube? I'd love to see that.
The bloke in the suit was called Barry Killarbey?
Unfortunately not. Our ratio of gold:silver was very good, but we just collected too few tokens in total to get over the line.
Ha! Never looked for it on YouTube, but I'd guess that every episode that was broadcast is on there. I'm the bloke wearing the crystal maze bomber jacket.
Going back well over a decade now but I was once violently ill during an appearance on Soccer AM. The good people at Sky had put us up at the Radisson hotel at Heathrow and I remember staying up until the early hours, mingling with a bunch of tuxedo clad toffs who had finished some pharmeceutical conference in the hotel. I managed to wangle my way, at their invitation, onto their tab - which was handy since I was a hard up Northerner struggling with the exorbitent beer prices of a London airport hotel.
I don't remember drinking that much but it must have been enough for me to wake up at about 5am in bed, covered in a pool of my own vomit and wondering where it had all come from. It was down hill from there. I was sick during the first three ad breaks (at least); on one ocassion I was on my knees chundering into one of the toilets when I heard a voice say "Fucking hell, are you alright mate"? I looked up to find Tim Lovejoy staring back at me; I nodded gently and off he went.
There was also a sketch called the 'Scottish Table', the gag being rather than showing the Scottish Premier League table, there were two blokes in kilts wearing ginger wigs, stood by a table. Trouble was, as part of the act one of them, who was stood only a few feet away from me, had this giant glass of whiskey in his hand and whether I could actually smell it or I imagined I could, it was enough to make me go again. The camera wasn't directly on me, but even though I managed to avoid anything too projectile you could see what was going on in the background - as about 200 text messages after the show would confirm.
In spite of some unhappy producers, I managed to just about the survive the show. It was the bit afterwards that nearly killed me.
The trouble was, due to a combination of staying up late, repeatedly shitting out of my mouth and an early start the next morning I'd barely slept a wink. After leaving the studio we were heading over to Leyton Orient for a game in the afternoon, and I was driving. Now, it was the only time in my entire life that I've ever fallen asleep at the wheel; but the M25 has to be as good a place as anywhere to do it. A combination of car horns and screams from my mates in the car was just, and only just, enough to avert a serious accident as I veered my Peugeot 309 diagonally across a good three lanes of Motorway.
Anyway, we eventually made it to Brisbane Road, I ate a cheese burger, felt much better and we all lived happily ever after. Almost, anyway.
It was during the journey back up North after the game that things got a bit worse. I'd felt fine for a couple of hours by this point, but driving again must have made me have turn for the worse. As we entered a section of the M11 that was undergoing some pretty serious roadworks, I started feeling catastrophically ill once again. The road signs told me all I needed to know - there was another 4 or 5 miles to go with nowhere to stop, it was a 50 mile an hour limit and it was busy. It was going to take me at least 5 minutes to get to the next slice of hard shoulder, and I knew I didn't have 5 minutes. I didn't have a choice.
I did the only thing I could. I wound down my window an asked my mate sat in the front, passanger seat to do me a simple favour - take the steering wheel and point it in a straight fucking line! I didn't think it was too much to ask but since I'd already come close to killing him that day some swearing, some screaming and quite a lot of panic ensued. I was already comitted by this point and so with my head out of the window like an exhilarated dog, I let my guts go. And go. And go. I'd eaten by this point so it was probably my biggest chunder of the day, and take my word for it, that was no tall order.
I finished the job, wound the window down and cooly resumed control of the car. Piece of piss, eh lads? Eh? No reply. I looked in my rear view mirror, to find my mate who was say in the middle seat, eyes shut, mouth open, literally caked in my spew. I'd never particularly studied the laws of aerodynamics, and it had gone everywhere, mostly over my mate in the back to be fair, but there wasn't much of the rear part of the car which wasn't at least 'splattered'. We eventually pulled up at a service station some 10 minutes later, two of us covered in sick, the other virtually being sick at the smell, gasping for air. Just as the team coach pulled up.
We didn't bother asking for autographs.
I don't remember drinking that much but it must have been enough for me to wake up at about 5am in bed, covered in a pool of my own vomit and wondering where it had all come from. It was down hill from there. I was sick during the first three ad breaks (at least); on one ocassion I was on my knees chundering into one of the toilets when I heard a voice say "Fucking hell, are you alright mate"? I looked up to find Tim Lovejoy staring back at me; I nodded gently and off he went.
There was also a sketch called the 'Scottish Table', the gag being rather than showing the Scottish Premier League table, there were two blokes in kilts wearing ginger wigs, stood by a table. Trouble was, as part of the act one of them, who was stood only a few feet away from me, had this giant glass of whiskey in his hand and whether I could actually smell it or I imagined I could, it was enough to make me go again. The camera wasn't directly on me, but even though I managed to avoid anything too projectile you could see what was going on in the background - as about 200 text messages after the show would confirm.
In spite of some unhappy producers, I managed to just about the survive the show. It was the bit afterwards that nearly killed me.
The trouble was, due to a combination of staying up late, repeatedly shitting out of my mouth and an early start the next morning I'd barely slept a wink. After leaving the studio we were heading over to Leyton Orient for a game in the afternoon, and I was driving. Now, it was the only time in my entire life that I've ever fallen asleep at the wheel; but the M25 has to be as good a place as anywhere to do it. A combination of car horns and screams from my mates in the car was just, and only just, enough to avert a serious accident as I veered my Peugeot 309 diagonally across a good three lanes of Motorway.
Anyway, we eventually made it to Brisbane Road, I ate a cheese burger, felt much better and we all lived happily ever after. Almost, anyway.
It was during the journey back up North after the game that things got a bit worse. I'd felt fine for a couple of hours by this point, but driving again must have made me have turn for the worse. As we entered a section of the M11 that was undergoing some pretty serious roadworks, I started feeling catastrophically ill once again. The road signs told me all I needed to know - there was another 4 or 5 miles to go with nowhere to stop, it was a 50 mile an hour limit and it was busy. It was going to take me at least 5 minutes to get to the next slice of hard shoulder, and I knew I didn't have 5 minutes. I didn't have a choice.
I did the only thing I could. I wound down my window an asked my mate sat in the front, passanger seat to do me a simple favour - take the steering wheel and point it in a straight fucking line! I didn't think it was too much to ask but since I'd already come close to killing him that day some swearing, some screaming and quite a lot of panic ensued. I was already comitted by this point and so with my head out of the window like an exhilarated dog, I let my guts go. And go. And go. I'd eaten by this point so it was probably my biggest chunder of the day, and take my word for it, that was no tall order.
I finished the job, wound the window down and cooly resumed control of the car. Piece of piss, eh lads? Eh? No reply. I looked in my rear view mirror, to find my mate who was say in the middle seat, eyes shut, mouth open, literally caked in my spew. I'd never particularly studied the laws of aerodynamics, and it had gone everywhere, mostly over my mate in the back to be fair, but there wasn't much of the rear part of the car which wasn't at least 'splattered'. We eventually pulled up at a service station some 10 minutes later, two of us covered in sick, the other virtually being sick at the smell, gasping for air. Just as the team coach pulled up.
We didn't bother asking for autographs.
Last edited:
W.C.
New member
- Oct 31, 2011
- 4,927
Wow. I'd been enjoying a lot of the stories on this thread but yours is going to be hard to beat.
I take my hat off to you. Don't be sick in it.
I was in the audience for Henning Knows Best a few years ago. The great German culural ambassador interviewed the turnip England manager. Very entertaining.
What's the difference between going on Jim'll fix it amd Brexit? Nothing. Both may have seemed like a good idea at the time. Then you find you've been ****ed.
gregbrighton
New member
- Thread starter
- #100
