Vic Reeves
You know how your perception of famous (or even slightly well-known) people changes if you ever meet them? No? Well, it does. Anyway, I loved absolutely everything that came from the imagination of Mr Vic Reeves (or, if you prefer, Jim Moir) up until 2001, when things were rather soured for me.

My sister got married the previous year - nobody noteworthy turned up at the wedding, but later that year in conversation with my new brother-in-law he matter-of-factly informed me that he is in fact some kind of cousin to Vic Reeves (something might be removed somewhere along the line), and saw him socially a couple of times a year. Of course, I immediately started pestering him for an invitation, and after several months persuading my sister's husband that I wasn't a psycho, stalker or uberfan, one summer I ended up at a "do" at Mr Reeves' mansion in a secret location (well, not so much secret as now forgotten).

As it turns out, the BBC had decided to bring back Shooting Stars on BBC CHOICE in the New Year, so Vic was in the middle of designing some of those set-piece "games" inflicted on celebrities at the end of the programme. He asked if I'd be a "guinea pig" for once he was working on, so in my eagerness to impress I agreed, and that's how I came to be in the middle of his large entrance hallway with other guests curiously staring at me as somebody wheeled on what looked like a cricket sightscreen made up of little doors, like an advent calendar on wheels. Or a giant mobile game of Battleships, as letters were marked along the top and numbers down the side. "Roger Moore... pick a door!" trilled Vic, and I obliged. He then opened the one I'd chosen to reveal it was covering a small round window, which he invited me to walk over and peer into.

To this day I still have no idea what the point of the game was actually supposed to be, as I lost it at that point. The thing is, I'm actually scared shitless of all rodents. Especially when one unexpectedly appears right in front of your eyes, magnified by a slightly convex piece of glass. Regardless of whether said mouse is for some reason dressed in a foppish outfit with a feather in its hat.

Now I know I barged right through a few of his friends to get myself out of the front door and sprinting down the drive, but, instead of apologising, checking if I was OK, or downplaying the incident, Mr Reeves decided that my serious phobia gave him licence to pick on me for the rest of the night, and turned out to be a vicious prick about it all. I don't actually know if he ever knew my real name, but if he remembers me it'll be as "Ratboy". Tit.

My brother-in-law told me later that he'd seen the complete list of gags that had been used to make up the "game board" next to their door number, some of which were actually quite funny. Just my bloody luck to pick "Fey mouse peephole - I8".
(Vice Admiral Sir Charles Cockbrush KCB MBE DSO, who is finding it increasingly difficult to log into b3ta.com wants to duck your aunt and kick your puppy, Wed 10 Feb 2010, 14:35, 5 replies)

Proper spanged, I must concede
Refreshing change from the lists of lists this week.
Cheers
(TheColonel, Wed 10 Feb 2010, 14:42, closed)

*Spang* *Click*
Well done Admiral, have a medal. Thank God someone's written something funny this week.
( Scrumper, Wed 10 Feb 2010, 15:07, closed)

Me too
Nice image though - and one not out of place on b3ta.

...and I could HEAR Reeves saying "Roger Moore, open the door" quite clearly in my head.

Good 'un.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Wed 10 Feb 2010, 15:08, closed)

That was quite believeable right up until the end
A cut above most punnage on here.
(Fancy a weekend on my Raymondo Luxury Yacht?, Wed 10 Feb 2010, 15:08, closed)

*click*
for "fey". Well played.
( warmfuzzies Isn't here, Wed 10 Feb 2010, 22:35, closed)