My acting career
In a previous life I was an actor, so I've actually been in front of the camera a fair few times. Among other things I was on Grange Hill for about 30 seconds (my lines: 'Hey girls, feel like spending some time with us?' and 'Oh no?') and the only human character in a short-lived puppet show called Pullover that was created by my mother.

The weirdest thing I was in, and the one which pretty much decided me that I wasn't going to devote my life to acting, was a short slot on Good Morning with Anne and Nick. It was a TV version of Simon Bates' Radio 1 show Our Tune, where viewers write in with a sob story about their life, which he would read out against a cheesy soundtrack. The TV version was the same, but with the added feature of a 'dramatisation' of the events. The idea was to do a kind of Ken Loach thing with it - semi-improvised scenes, gritty inner-city landscapes, that kind of shit.

My role was the son of a divorced couple. The story was that after they'd divorced and the mother had got custody, the father stole the kids away by letting them smoke and drink. My job was to look surly - 'Hey - you fucking scared me', said the director enthusiastically.

I spent a day filming, and during idle moments I looked at the other, older actors around me. The guy playing my dad was very pleasant, but he was in his fifties, and I found myself thinking - Jesus, you're a professional actor, and you've been in the business for years, and you're still doing this kind of crap. I realised that I was destined to go the same way - I wasn't a bad actor, but I wasn't particularly good either, plus I'm short and snaggle-toothed and thus destined for a life of playing dodgy drug dealers and accident victims.

I have a good face for radio and so did quite a bit of work there, but Good Morning was my last TV role.
( flatfrog Staring vacantly into space, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 18:20, Reply)

Dragon's Den take 2
By popular demand I will expand on my previous post.

I developed a revolutionary system for the intensive indoor farming of Australian crayfish.

I shit you not.

My highlights include, but were not limited to:

- Duncan Banantyne arguing he knew that restaurants would not wish to buy live crayfish but frozen ones. He should know, he quipped, as he owned a restaurant. Until I pointed out that his chef was one of my customers.

- Deborah "don't call me Debs" Meaden who was out for ethical reasons and said at the end "You came for an investment but turned out to be a bit of a wet fish", to which I replied "No, I came here to see dragons and only found pussycats"

- The foppish-haired Australian one that pointed out transport would be "an issue" and didn't like me informing him that they had been shipped from Brisbane a week earlier courtesy of Singapore Airlines, been down to Cornwall for a few days to recoup before heading to London with me on a train and being cooked by a Michellin starred chef that morning before heading to the studio in a taxi.

Unsuprisingly I was cut to about 15 seconds. I stand by my previous comments - they are all cunts.
(Mong The Merciless Older not wiser, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 18:08, 11 replies)

Boxing on telly...
I'd been tasked with taking pics at an evening of boxing. Now this was a biggie. The main event was a pay per view fight on both sides of the Atlantic and was being run by the American TV network, complete with Michael Buffer as MC (The guy that shouts "LETS GET READY TO RUUUMMMMMMMBBBBBBAALLLLLLLL...") and the stupid o'clock start time over here so that its prime time viewing in New York.

I was shooting ringside. This basically means poking your camera between the lower ropes and getting out of the way sharpish when the action gets too close, and then jumping up onto the outside of the ring once the fight is over and getting pics of the winner celebrating/posing up etc...

After 12 rounds we finally have a winner, so I do my thing and jump up onto the ropes and take some pics before the winner gets dragged to the TV cameras for some televised arse kissing from the pundits. Knowing he'll be brought back for us to take some more piccies, myself and another photographer stay on the ropes to wait. Back he comes, click click click - job done and home in time to watch the sunrise.

Being a tight-arse I hadn't forked out for the Pay per View, so next day I downloaded the US broadcast of the fight from the interwebs and sat back to cast my discerning eye over proceedings... And then the post fight interview...
Left of frame: Mr World Champion spouting inane crap
Right of frame: Boxing ring with random photographers gossiping

"OOOohhhh there's me" thinks I...

Just as I reach down and grab a big handful of my bollocks and give a BIG old scratch, followed by a none too subtle adjustment to get everything back where it should be.

I've played with my nuts live on US tv.
( TheMattInAHat has a particular... odour..., Thu 11 Jun 2009, 17:40, Reply)

Hands up who remembers Disney Adventures.
For everyone else who was too old or too young in the early nineties to be getting up at six every Saturday morning to watch cartoons, Disney Adventures was one of those kiddies shows with a live presenter in between cartoons. Every week, it was broadcast from a different place, as suggested by members of the audience.

My dad, being the Big Hairy Biker that he is, wrote in on behalf of me and suggested that they go to Santa Pod Raceway in Northamptonshire and broadcast from there. And they did and acknowledged us for suggesting it.

As the presenter said thanks to [Applebite] and her Dad for suggesting the raceway, she also showed a rather attractive picture of me (aged 3 and 1/2) that my dad had sent in with the letter, looking very pleased with myself and clutching a half melted Magnum ice cream in one hand with the rest of it smeared all over my face. On national television. Thanks Dad.

Click 'I like this' if you want me to find the picture and post it.
(Applebite Uh! A cow!, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 17:32, 3 replies)

A few times...
...I sometimes get filmed when attending traffic crashes (paramedic). Mostly it's just shown on the local TV stations, but I always try and include a "secret signal" to say hi to my young daughter.
The easiest way is raise one eyebrow when the TV crew are filming (can only raise the left eyebrow on its' own). My daughter loves it and I thought I was getting away with it until the Assistant Commissioner asked me "What's with the half-Spock impersonations - are you having a stroke or trying to say hi to your family?"

Busted.

Any suggestions for a discreet new 'signal'?
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 17:20, 7 replies)

This one time I was caught on CCTV knocking out Mr T. in a carpark in Southend.
I knocked him out so well no charges were ever brought against me. But also because I'm also a secret spy for the government like James Bond and all the fanny that shag me with their tits and stuff.
( Jam Master Geordie Hero of B3ta., Thu 11 Jun 2009, 17:18, Reply)

The Ant n Dec Frankenstein incident.
It was many moons ago 1998 I think and I was working as a stage tech for the BBC, we were at the NEC in Birmingham at the CBBC Big Bash, a show for kids that featured all of the stars of kids TV on the BBC.

For 3 days I had been working on the main stage that ran a theatre show 4 times a day with Ant n Dec (or PJ and Duncan as they were known as then) as the main hosts.

I was getting pissed off with hearing them on stage singing along to their crappy single 'Let's get ready to rumble' so being the vindictive type I decided to somehow get my own back for such an auditory assault.

My chance soon came, BBC 1 would be broadcasting a live segment of the show for their Saturday morning show 'going live'.

The TV segment consisted of a load of us dressed in funny costumes while a competiton winner arsed around on stage with Ant n Dec trying to avoid the 'monsters' on stage.

I picked a Frankenstein's monster costume and stumbled around the stage getting into character growling here and there.

Finally the director did the countdown and we were live to millions of people across the UK, I got stage fright and thought I can't do this, I may actually hurt someone, I may get fired, I might.... Aww fuck it... There's Ant... and I launched myself straight at him sending him flying, I then spun round to make it look more accidental, luckily he wasn't too badly hurt and soon picked himself up.

Afterwards no-one said anything about it, anyway fuck em, I was in character and it wasn't me it was the Monster.

If anyone has a copy of the broadcast please upload it to you tube I would love to see it again.
( Terry Oblong There's nobody here but us chickens on, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 17:05, Reply)

My brother used to be a squatter in Manchester
The flat downstairs from him (in the then pretty much totally derelict Hulme) was used as Robert Carlyle's flat in Cracker, when he played a mental football supporter. They paid him to turn his music off for three days whilst they filmed. *EDIT - my brother, not Robert Carlyle* Enough for several slabs of Special Brew and a quarter of hash, apparently...
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 17:03, Reply)

At weekends, I am (occasionally) a Dalek...
...and have graced lots of news programmes as well as a couple of things for CBBC and, greatest moment of my adult life, Doctor Who Confidential. Some national news exposure in 2005 when a charity invited me and a mate to go along to a G8 meeting opposite Westminster Abbey and shout "Drop the debt and save the humans" a lot. At one point my Mum phoned and said "Gordon Brown's on the telly being harangued by a Dalek -- is it you, dear?" Anyway, Confidential and some of the news stuff is on YouTube -- search there for stevethedalek.
( drdavej, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 17:01, 4 replies)

...
No me, but my house [and my housemate's car] has been in the background on tv several times, due to people being arrested outside in the street and being filmed for police shows.

Yeah, I live in a bit of a rough area...
(Little Miss Vivica, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 16:56, Reply)

Taggart was filmed here too, a few months back.
They hired the use of a guy I know's house to film in for a week. It was used as a murder scene, and there were police cars and vans all around as well as the big camera crew and massive crane with a huge light at the top.

Unfortunately, the house is just up the road from the local pub. Despite the huge film crew and all the filming equipment, a guy I know flew into a panic, phoning his family and saying there were police cars everywhere and there must have been a murder.

But, erm.... no, still haven't been on TV.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 16:42, Reply)

Not even 15 seconds of fame
Personally when i get up in the mornings one of the I do after scratching my arse is to turn on the telly to catch the news. I just like to know whats been happening in the world ok?

Yesterday switching on to the BBC there was an item about NHS budgets from the hospital in Oxford . A friend of mine happens to be a nurse there so it kind of caught my attention. About 10 seconds into it a highly trained padeo specialist nurse is shown placing a sticking plaster on the knee of a little girl.


Yes it was my friend showing all that she has learnt over the last 4 years by placing the plaster on straight.

And it was the national bit not just the local news bit either
(welgar, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 16:35, Reply)

Ahhhh I almost forgot about this!
I have never really met anyone famous, but this is mostly because I am fairly shy. I have, in my time, had the opportunity to meet a multitude of famous people, never more so than when my little home village became famous for a while.

Many years ago, this sleepy little backwater was livened up by having a movie filmed here. No wishy washy unknown stars for us, though, this one had actual stars of the silver screen, including Liam Neeson, Joanne Whalley-Kilmer, Pat Roach, Ian Bannen and Billy Connolly! It was called "The Big Man", but for the 'Merkins I think it was renamed "Crossing The Line", and was a gritty tale of bare knuckle boxing.

The main character's house was a house just round the corner from mine, and throughout the film many of the locals put in an appearance. My cousin and a mate of mine are seen running up a street laughing in one scene, and a few minutes later Liam Neeson is hit in the face by a piece of wadded up paper during a parade.... my cousin threw that. My uncle actually had a line in the film, ordering a pint at the bar (in what was actually the local scout hall), but he was gutted as it was cut. My ex wife claimed Billy Connolly had dinner in her house one day during filming, but she also claimed to have never shagged anyone else in our house, so I wouldn't put too much faith in that one. And I am one of few to be able to lay claim to watching Liam Neeson slug it out in a car park with the late Pat Roach live.

Erm. It was very exciting, but I never met any of them. I haven't been on TV, but my house has.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 16:34, Reply)

May have been my imagination, but.....
Many billions of years ago when I was but a mere twenty year old, me, the ex and a couple of friends went to see questionable funnyman Roy "Chubby" Brown at the S.E.C.C. in Glasgow. I know, I know, but sometimes you can't beat a bit of toilet humour. Anyway, I remember at the time I had no I.D. and was a bit worried about not being allowed in.... when we got in there, a few of the security guards were staring at me and I saw one mouth the words "No fucking way he's eighteen" (it might be relevant to say I got asked for I.D. buying lager in Asda last weekend.... I'm now 31. I was quite relieved, it hasn't happened for almost a year and I was worrying I'd started to look my age.... but I digress) but despite this, I settled in my seat and enjoyed the show. It was amusing in a "My wife's so fat" kind of way.

A couple of years later, I'm with the then Missus strolling along a little street in Tenerife. You know the type of place, wall to wall little cafe's doing english breakfasts with Only Fools and Horses on the television. As we wandered along the road I saw, from the corner of my eye, something that looked very much like me staring out from one of the televisions. I swung my head round, but the face had gone, only to be replaced with good old Chubbs tearing into his missus' cooking on stage.

So there we are. I might be in the audience on a Chubby Brown DVD, but I don't know for sure.

I suppose it's quite ironic, my missus couldn't cook either.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 16:17, 2 replies)

You'll have to bear with me...
..on this, detail-wise, because it was a really, really long time ago. I reckon I was about 8 or 9, and I was with my best friend at the time, Luke. It was the summer holidays, we were young and carefree, it was one of the years where, bowing to the unbelievable peer pressure at my primary school, I was playing football. The school was a bizarre place – middle of a Somerset village, and somehow it had spread through the whole place, that any student worth anything supported Liverpool. Unless you were in Year 4, who all supported Bristol City, being the ‘local’ team! So naturally when I arrived, first day, having moved house from not-too-far-away, I was cornered by about 35 boys demanding to know my football preferences so they could befriend or beat me. I managed to wheedle out who they supported, and promptly became a Liverpool AND Bristol City fan. As was pointed out to me later, Premiership and local, innit? I had absolutely no idea.

Anyway, I was going along with the rest of them, pretending to enjoy playing football. Which is how, with my best friend, I ended up on a Bristol City Football course for kiddies. We basically spent the day doing excercises, playing 5-a-side, eating wagon wheels, meeting the odd player. As I say, a really long time ago, and you get the idea.

The relevant bit, and the bit that sticks with me to this day, was on the final day, when the BBC showed up. It was a typical local news piece; young kids out and about, rising stars of the future, etc etc. All bollocks. They had cool close-ups of the ball being corner kicked, a 3-strong crew, it was going to be the proverbial shiz.

So there were a few interviews, some filming of us playing, and then they gathered us all together for a ‘team style’ shot. I wasn’t paying a vast amount of attention I remember, and remember catching the end of the BBC woman’s sentence – ‘really nice and loud.’ I panicked a bit, knew something was about to come up and I shouldn’t be the person to ruin it. So I knew I had to be LOUD. The woman continues: ‘Now – who’s your favourite team?’
So as 20 others shouted ‘BRISTOL CITY!’ I, like the prized, sell-out twat I was/am, shouted ‘LIVERPOO – TOL CITY!’

Funnily enough, the ‘team shout’ didn’t make it onto the item.
( Rookie You'll have to speak up, I'm wearing a towel, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 16:14, Reply)

Trisha
I have been on Trisha! In many ways, that is all that needs saying. Those five words should be all I need to win, but being the self-centred, procrastinating son of a gun that I am, I shall furnish you with more details.


Firstly I should point out that I was only in the audience, not a guest. Alas I am not one of England's track-suited, working-class finest, who enjoys airing my most filthy of skidmarked laundry items to the nation, but a middle class oik who enjoys poking said track-suited poor people with a proverbial stick from the safety of my seat in a TV studio. Oh yes I was one of those people in the audience, whose well-to-do smugness positively glows for the camera, whilst enjoying the spectacle of several retards arguing over the paternity of a child, who will no doubt just steal oxygen (and other more expensive items) until they are shot in some sort of feud over drugs or other such proletariat nonsense.

Anyway, back to the story.

I was in my final year of college, which meant lots of time watching daytime telly, the highlight of any daytime experience was of course Trisha. My current bit of muff and I often discussed how fun it would be to sit in the audience and when it was announced that Trisha was moving to channel 5, the threat of a change to our favourite chav-fest spurred us into action, and two tickets were booked.

Unfortunately when we arrived at the studio, we realised that instead of the glorious slagfest that was the ITV version, we were booked into one of the first productions of the channel 5 version, which was being billed as a more civilized (boring) programme. Our hopes were dashed, only to be raised when we read through the shows itinerary. This show was about a transsexual couple, he used to be a woman, she used to be a man and now they were married. It was no 'My lesbian lover shagged my dad, brother and boyfriend and now she is pregnant' but it had potential.

The show started and was fairly tame. We heard how 'she' had cheated on 'him' but how 'he' had forgiven 'her'. Which was more sweet and touching that the violence and shouting we had hoped for. They discussed the ups and downs of their relationship and the difficulties of being a transgender individual. It was quite informative.

All to soon it was time for the audience participation part of the show. Trisha, who looks like a 6'2 rubber sex doll in real life (true story) asked if there were any questions and my hand shot up. I asked how being a transsexual affects their ability to get jobs (they had said earlier that they were both unemployed due to their gender issues, but i didnt see how that would work in modern inclusive Britain). I forget their answer now, because I was too busy blowing my beans with pride after Trisha said 'good question'. Sadly when I watched the episode some weeks later, they edited out Trisha's praise of me, I nearly cried.

As we departed the studios at the end of filming, we laughed at what a great day we had enjoyed, but the best was yet to come. I switched on the radio in the car and I shit you not, this is 100% completely honest to god, factually, scouts honour on my mothers life true.

The first song?

Dude looks like a lady.
(Bam Bam McPenis will change all this when he is fuhrer., Thu 11 Jun 2009, 16:06, 1 reply)

Teacher TV
A few years back, I trained as a teacher. The first day of registration, form filling and general bumf, I turned up to the hall to do all these necessities. A large group of people was already waiting outside the hall, which was still locked, so we were all waiting nervously amongst people we'd never met. Someone came round with a flyer saying that a TV company would be filming our year of trainee teachers for a 6-part documentary, and were looking for six volunteers for them to follow more closely and interview, etc. I wasn't up for this so just put it out my mind.

The hall was opened and we were able to sign all the various forms etc etc. I got talking to a woman from the same course as me, the usual polite akwardnesses and chitchat. Then all of a sudden we noticed a big fuck-off furry mike being dangled over our heads and a cameraman point his thing at us and peering intently. Mood deftly ruined, we both went, "Err... right... okay... see you then..."

During the rest of the year the camera and sound men would occasionally come into tutorials or lectures to film a bit. But the only time they really got me on camera was when we were told where our first placements (6 weeks at a school) would be. They were pinned up on a noticeboard so they filmed us all scouring manically. I'd got one of the roughest schools in the catchment area, so you could see me looking disgusted and going "FUCK SAKE".
(McChinaman banned, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 16:04, Reply)

Oh, me me!
I was on Dragons Den a while back.

They never gave me any money, the cunts.
(Mong The Merciless Older not wiser, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 16:01, 5 replies)

This sort of qualifies I guess
A month or two ago one of our scientists from the Institute of Zoology walked into our library with a camera crew and asked if we minded him being interviewed. No problemo my boss replied, it was a quiet afternoon anyway, and no one else was in. They wandered off to the other end of the library and set themselves up.

A bit later one of the animal keepers came in to have a look at some pictures i had taken at the Cat Survival Trust when she had come up there with me, and as is typical of us both we proceed to lark around and generally fuck about, completely oblivious to this scientist being filmed at the other end of the room. It was only when I looked up and realized they had the camera pointing at us did I poke her and point them out that we calmed down.

It turned out they were from Greenpeace filming Doctor Alex Rogers on the damage done by deep sea dredging for a film that is going to be shown to the United Nations; quite possibly to heads of state, so with me and her, be it it out of focus, but still quite clearly larking around in the background.

It still makes me chuckle thinking about it :)
( Jahled Three shades of black, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 16:00, Reply)

Some people will do anything for a bit of cash
I met a guy once, who we'll call John, because I honestly cannot recall his name.

John was a student, and an aspiring actor, who was hungry for a bit of fame and exposure, and also desperately needed some beer money to go on a lads' holiday he'd spent the last of his student loan on. So when the opportunity to appear on telly came up, and get paid for the privilege, he leapt at the chance. Only then did he start finding out the details.

He had agreed to participate in a sex education documentary.
"Erm... okay."
Nothing tacky, a sort of "lover's guide" sort of thing.
"Oh, that doesn't sound too bad."
No, not too bad at all. They were going to film John having an 'erotic prostate massage'.
"WHAT?!"

For the uninitiated (who are probably in the minority given some of the stuff I've read on these pages), an 'erotic prostate massage' involves having a third-party insert a lubricated finger (or two if you're feeling fruity) in to a guy's rusty sheriff's badge in order to stroke the little walnut-sized gland a few inches in. For sexual pleasure. Or mortifying discomfort, depending on how you felt about it.

Now, this was NOT John's bag at all. He certainly wouldn't have been enthusiastic about being digitally-interfered with by a long-term girlfriend, let alone by a stranger surrounded by a film crew.

But, he was skint, and as he summed it up to me, "£250 is £250, and I needed the money." Yep, that's right, he had agreed to rectally-rubbed in glorious high definition for the nation's entertainment, in order to earn what effectively would amount to two nights out on the piss on holiday. The production crew promised him the footage wouldn't be too graphic, and he would have the last word on what could be used in the finished programme, so very reluctantly, he agreed - a couple of hours of embarrassment in exchange for sun and sangria. He had sold his soul.

Filming took place in the masseuse's house. She was a spiritual hippy type, and surrounded the room in candles. She talked through the process as she went, in an irritatingly whispy, dreamy voice, with John, stark bollock naked on all fours, wincing back answers as she probed his holiest-of-holies. The six crew members in the room stifled sniggers. To say the least, he felt self-conscious. And then it got worse.

Unbeknownst to John, or any of the crew present, the masseuse had a big finish planned. "I'm just going to stimulate his external organs now," she cooed, and started wanking him off, as a cameraman who was now audibly pissing himself laughing went in for a close-up. John went crimson and buried his face in to the pillow in front of him, unable to say anything to stop the horror of being filmed ejaculating over his chest and neck whilst being bum-burgled by Mystic Meg. Another cameraman caught a beautiful close-up of his curling toes as he hit the vinegar strokes.

Days later, John had to relieve the horror as he went in to review the sequence in a darkened edit suite. He asked for most of the camera angles to be changed, as he had seen less graphic scenes in a Max Hardcore movie. Humiliated, he finally agreed that the footage could be put out (so that he would at least get paid) and sat back as he watched the finishing touches added to the programme, ready for broadcast to a potential audience of his peers, future employers, and grandparents.

So why do I know so much about him? You'll find you make a lot of small talk about something - ANYTHING - when you have to sit in a tiny room with someone for hours, in front of a computer, meticulously pixelating out their testicles so that the 'experience' can be broadcast.

Length? Impressive, if you've got a big TV.
(Sloppy Giuseppe, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 16:00, Reply)

Car crash TV
...or, "serious bloody near death (or at least a proper F*cking Up), live on prime-time BBC One"

My father spent years as a road safety officer. He trained as a police class 1 driver, he'd lectured on road safety, he helped the guys at TRRL set up some of the most pioneering crash-cars-into-blocks monitoring units, he met various consecutive Transport Ministers to discuss safety policy, that sort of thing. Not a massively glamorous job, granted, but it did mean that I spent a lot of my childhood either tinkering with cars or hanging around places where people drove them very fast and sometimes very dangerously.

I had my first trip on a Skid Pan when I was six. I can't remember much about it but I do remember it was amazing fun. A skid pan is basically a large square of tarmac sprayed with oil and water, and it's used to train drivers how to deal with skids. And also for drivers to show off to six-year-old boys how impressive their driving can be. My dad introduced me to a test driver called Richard that he knew, I strapped myself into his passenger seat and I spent a good few minutes clinging on to my seat belt while this chap flung the car in all directions at speeds I didn't understand. I remember attempting to shout "wheee!!" while trying to stay in the grown-up-shaped seat of a (I think) Ford Granada.

I'd never experienced anything like it - it was fantastic fun, but afterwards my dad seemed strangely tense and very concerned I was all right - I was fine and grinning from ear to ear. Once I was safely belted into the back of our own car I heard him shouting angrily at this friend of his before he stomped back to our car and we drove home in silence. Later that evening as he was tucking me into bed, he explained that Richard could be a bit silly sometimes and often took risks he shouldn't, but he was very glad I was OK.

I forgot about the finer details of that day.

When I was about 17 and enjoying a few pints on holiday with my dad, he told me what Richard had gone on to do later that year. In the late summer of 1983 my dad received a phone call from him telling him that he was going to be driving live on the BBC, and asking if my dad wanted to go to Santa Pod and watch the filming.

I don't remember the programme at the time - I suspect that I wasn't allowed to stay up and watch it - but I'm told that the Late Late Breakfast Show was quite a spectacle. This was prime time live TV in the days before risk assessments or Health and Safety, and for some reason my dad couldn't go, but he did tune in to BBC1 that Saturday night.

I won't go into all the details, but long before he'd heard John Peel exclaim "bloody...!" on live TV, my dad knew Richard had finally done a really stupid thing. In his own car (a lovely Jensen Interceptor). Live, on national TV.


There used to be a pretty complete video of it on YouTube but for some reason they've removed it. I've managed to find an edited version of the footage, but if anyone's got any links to better quality or more complete video I'd love to see it.

www.liveleak.com/view?i=b81_1184921068
( sanityclause is waiting until, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 15:54, 1 reply)

From time to time
You can see me on the opening/time filling segments on the HTV/ITV West (whatever it's called now) news. It's a generic shot of pedestrians on Park Street in Bristol.
I have my 'normal and relaxed' face on, which makes it look like I'm about to stab someone.
Good times. And a fantastic dinner party ice-breaker.
(tweebianmonkey Should be known as Widget, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 15:39, 4 replies)

john craverns newround
i' not sure of the year 81 maybe my brother and i where at covent garden and we were entered into the pancake race. in this highly anticipated competition we bowed out in the final. and i was interviewed for my post match reaction
"we lost because the pan was too Ssticky so we couldn't toss it"
(you had to toss the pancake to complete the race)

we made the and finally though, get in.

length, i was five you pee dough
(tonyharrison, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 15:34, 2 replies)

Peaaa-rost
b3ta.com/questions/unexpectednudity/post434054
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 15:33, Reply)

Gay Pride
This happened a few years ago, after 'The Troubles' had pretty much subsided. Me and a pal went to visit a few other pals who lived in Belfast. We went to see the sights the evening we arrived... Falls Road,Shankill Road, Crumlin Road... and had several refreshments in several pubs in each location. The 'craic' was brilliant, and being Scottish persons we never felt at all threatened.

We seriously overdid the Guinness consumption and all concerned felt pretty wretched the next morning. So lunch at The Crown Bar (famous) was in order. I have a solid constitution; my pal less so. As we walked through the town centre he started to 'feel funny'.

Next, a lot of things happened very quickly. I became aware of news crews close by, and a lot of noise coming from behind. I looked round - lots of people with banners reading 'Belfast Gay Pride' - and when I turned back my pal's legs had gone and he was sprawled on the pavement; naturally I helped him back to his feet. By this time the march was passing us, and we were between it and the TV cameras.

And so it was that we appeared on that night's BBC N.I. local news for about 3 seconds. We looked like a pair of ridiculous old poofs in the throes of 'a domestic', while the passing march waved gaily to the cameras.

We had to endure a lot of piss-taking from our hosts, but luckily no-one from home saw it.
( MisterPunch did it that way on, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 15:33, Reply)

Sweets, teeth and wizards
When I was in infant school, I and a girl who sat on the same table were picked out of class one day and taken to the headmistress' office.

Someone - I assume it was Staffordshire County Council Education department, but it could have been the Department of Health or Orson Welles for all I know - wanted to make an educational film about sweets and tooth decay. K - the girl from my class - and I were to feature in it.

We were taken to the sweet shop around the corner, where we were filmed spending our supposed pocket money on whatever confectionary was large and luridly-coloured enough to be picked up by the camera, and then we were filmed from across the leaving the shop. Then we had to drop a sweet.

That was it.

Shortly afterwards, we were shown the film. I have a dim memory of a sickly and miserable-looking me (I was a very pale child) leaving the shop and dropping something. The film then turned into a sort of plasticine animation thing about - I think - a wizard who lived down the drains, found the dropped sweet and... well, I don't know. I simply can't remember.

But if, in the early 1980s, you were shown a film about sweets, teeth and wizards, then you probably saw a film starring me.

And no, we didn't get to keep the sweets from the filming session. The magic of TV is that a lot of it is made up.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 15:29, Reply)

Squeaky bum time
BBC Scotland newsreader finds herself on camera long before she expected to.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=MtsV8WvekcU

The look in her eyes at 11 seconds is priceless.

At 1:03 she puts her ear piece.

Note how the sound quality and state of her clothing improve after the pre-recorded video packages.
( calgacus Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 15:25, Reply)

Expertxorz and poolz
I've been on The Politics Show talking about the growing problem of embalmed squid fondling on the No 26 bus (or something). It was much less scary than I thought - though I did have to maintain a continual inner mantra of "Don't pick your nose. Don't scratch your arse. Don't grab yer baws. Don't call anyone a 'cock-thirsty arse-nugget' even if they are one."

I've been sighted behind the dugout of Easter Road during live matches exhibiting a range of facial expression that makes your average Kafka novel look like a happy-go-lucky romp.

However, the most entertaining was my first appearance, as an eight-year-old curled up and sinking to the bottom of the swimming pool for 10 seconds. (It was on a TV programme about, err, curled up sinking eight-year-olds???) This was filmed in the Commie pool in Embra. In the many delays we had the run of the diving pool and, joy of joys, could jump off the high competition boards where there is normally a fascistically-observed "no jumping" rule.

It was bloody marvellous launching yourself off into what seemed like the stratosphere, feeling the rushing air for an hour and then thumping onto the lead surface of the pool. Plunging deep into the warm water. Over and over again.

That remains one of the happiest days of my life. (In the end was on screen for less than a second. Curled up. Sinking.)
( calgacus Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 15:16, Reply)

News
I was on the Irish News last week, talking about my exams. My 15 seconds I guess.
(BobbyDarin Was somewhere Beyond the Sea on, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 15:14, Reply)