Going Live.........
When I was 12 I “won” a school competition and the prize was to go to London and appear on Going Live. The first part of this ramble is a confession, I lied to win the prize, the task was to sell Sunny Smile to all our neighbours and friends, these were pictures of cute little smiley children and the donations went to charity (I forget which one). The headmaster then came round the classes about 2 months later and asked how much each of us had raised, after listening to all the answers I upped my figure by about 500% and thoroughly thrashed all the honest kids in the room (there is no room for losers in my book).

3 of us were then taken on a trip to London to appear on Going Live. We arrived very excited and expecting all the fun and excitement that we had been watching for the last 3 years – the reality was so different. For a start it was a themed day and they studio was set up like a French café. We were asked to sit in the café for the show and look like we were having fun – we weren’t. No juice allowed in the studio, no toilet breaks, we couldn’t see the cartoons that were being played, we saw how they worked Crow and were horrified when between shots he was thrown around the studio like a Frisbee. The guests were crap, I thought we would have the chance to meet Tiffany or Kim Wild, I would have even have settled for Zamo from Grangehill but instead we met Ruth Maddox and Patrick Moore. Sarah Green was a snotty bitch and wouldn’t speak to anyone and Mike Reid was an aloof bastard who sat behind his desk all day.

The moral of the story is, honesty isn’t always the best policy, I got off with one of the boys who came on the trip with me that night …………..
(JellyBelly JellyBelly, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 15:08, 4 replies)

I was on MTV
albeit rather briefly. Me and a mate were at the Reading festival in 96 and had mainly been getting drunk for two days when hunger overtook the desire for more beer and we made a brief stop off at the Pot Noodle van. Sitting in the sun, covered in dirt and Pot Noodle and pissed off our faces, some young MTV type decided we'd be perfect to introduce the next act on their coverage of the festival. As such, my mate slurred out "Coming up next" and I followed up with a completely overenthusiastic "it's Silverchair!".

And that was it really. I actually forgot all about it until a friend of my sister saw it and rang everyone she knows to tell them about it. I've not even seen it myself. =(
(Ed Can Do, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 15:05, 1 reply)

When the Shannon Matthews case went public,
I unwittingly made my television debut - in the background of a Look North report filmed in Dewsbury town centre.

Hollywood, here I come!
(WANKERTRON you say "prick", I say "wanker", Fri 12 Jun 2009, 15:04, Reply)

All in a day's work
I work predominantly in TV and getting your face on the box is usually a given because the producers don't want to spend money on extras and the like.

A good example of this is Charlie Brooker's Screenwipe which is essentially a tour of production company Endemol's offices and the staff therein. And it was at this very company that my tale begins.

I landed my second proper job in telly as a researcher for a kids Brainiac type show on Discovery called "Crash Test Danny". During my interview for the position, the series producer asked me if I wouldn't mind appearing occasionally as an assistant to the anthropomorphic title star, holding objects in experiments when required. No problem I replied.

On my first day I was handed some school physics textbooks and told to make a list of potential topics we could use for educational sketches in the show.

This took about ten minutes. It was the first day of production and all my superiors were busying themselves with "important stuff" so I started to write a few sketches for the show to give myself an idea of how it could work.

It became obvious that more characters than a mute dummy would be required to sustain interest so I introduced dinner ladies, grannies, builders, anyone that could help a scientific concept come alive comedically. I also felt that the original assistant they had considered would be far better as a regular character played by a proper actor to create a Laurel and Hardy type dynamic, so I worked this up as well.

The bosses loved the sketches and asked me to co-write the whole series. I'd inadvertently landed my first writing job. They were keen to keep the budget down so all the subsidiary characters I had written became the assistant (now called The Professor) dressed up.

When Discovery Channel asked who would be playing this role, the executives told them(for budgetary reasons no doubt) that they had ME in mind. The director took them a few shots of me in a tweed jacket pulling stupid faces and I got the part. By now, The Professor appeared in every sketch bar one. I had inadvertently landed my first acting job.

It turned out to be my last however, but Discovery played the show twice a day every day for well over a year so I couldn't have done such a bad job. Well, three in fact: researcher, writer and performer. All for the price of one. Bargain.

Length: 13 episodes but no second series. Smell my cheese.
(kingnutter, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 14:54, 1 reply)

That's Life
Long, long ago there was a popular program called That's Life with Esther Rantzen. It was so popular she wanted to do a children's version and they advertised for presenters. I wrote in and got asked to an audition at the BBC in London. I had to hold up a sweet wrapper to a camera and say, with a slight giggle, "It's called Bums", for that was the name of the sweet.

Anyway Esther was completely charming. I had a French exchange student staying with me at the time (now there's a good topic for QOTW) and Esther got the Beeb to pay for us to be driven round various London tourist sights in a taxi. All in all a good day.

However I received a letter days later telling me I was too tall or too mature or some such guff, so I didn't get to be a That's Life presenter. Toothy bint.
(Smale is stuffed, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 14:51, Reply)

"A playground cock-punch is the worst kind of cock-punch"
I was CERTAIN I'd posted this one before. But no - I've told it on the electric radio to Dannies Baker and Kelly, which makes for DOUBLE WIN

My parents used to pack us all off to Sunday School for a good bit of churching up. We were forced, at gunpoint, to a freezing cold hall where over-enthusiastic old ladies would attempt to halt my inevitable slide into Hell.

Toward the end of the day’s indoctrination, the local vicar would arrive, cheeks still bulging from communion wafers, and let us have both barrels of a kiddified version of the day’s sermon.

However, he didn’t just stop there. The good Reverend was a God-botherer of many talents. Taking his cue from the likes of Charles Wesley and John Newton, he wrote hymns. Wesley only managed such piffling works as “Hark the herald angels sing”, while Newton knocked out “Amazing Grace” on the back of an old envelope.

Reverend Fred, however, was influenced by Weird Al Yankovic and was under the impression that changing the words to established tunes was something “fun”. So, he took the theme tune to Match of the Day - surely the greatest piece of music ever written - and turned it holy. Spurred [geddit?] by this relative success, he added new words to a whole arsenal [eh? eh?] of football chants and made us, The Kids, sing them. Every bloody Sunday.

Rabid self-publicist that he was, he was granted a nutter-of-the-day spot on the BBC's Nationwide programme. Every edition of this programme seemed to have at least one mad old idiot and his useless talent (most famously the chap who claimed he could jump on eggs without breaking them), and now it was our turn.

Come Sunday morning, cameras turned up at the Church Hall and filmed us singing a badly rehearsed version of Match of the Day, trying to remember the words whilst waving football scarves over our heads in a manner that only exists in the minds of TV producers who have never been to a football match in their lives.

As one of the mad old bats hammered away on the piano, we sung from our hastily-prepared song-sheets while the vicar stood at the front looking smug:

"We are all the friends of Jesus
We're all the friends of God
He sends all his love to please us
He rules with his loving rod"

And several verses that I can, thankfully, no longer remember. However, the implication of rhyming "God" with "His loving rod" was entirely lost on the vicar, but not on the young teens in the choir, who sung it with gusto.

I felt a certain amount of celebrity over the whole getting-on-national-television business, and hoped to be feted like some sort of cherubic superstar once our moment of glory finally hit the small screen. And so it came to pass: my fellow Sunday School victims and I arrived at school the following morning fully expecting a hero’s welcome. Fat chance.

My reward was this: a playground cock-punch for being a "smarmy God-bothering swot" - and a playground cock-punch is the worst kind of cock-punch - followed by head-shaking pity from our porn-star biology teacher Miss Shagwell and her heaving bosom, which was fair enough to be honest.

Proof indeed that the Devil has all the best tunes.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 14:35, 1 reply)

I Got On BBC3 Once
No amusing anecdote I'm afraid, but I got on telly as part of a BBC New Talent thingy a few years ago. The ex-Doctor David Tennant watched me pissing around in front of a camera, look!
( Sheep!, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 14:33, 5 replies)

Not quite on TV, but I think this counts
I once attended a house party of a friend of a friend from Uni, and it was here that I saw one of the best practical jokes I've ever seen successfully pulled off.

A bit of background that you need to know is that one of the guys who's party it was had recently split up with his girlfriend, who had been cheating on him with his best friend. Both his ex and his best friend were in attendance at the party and pretty blatent about them now being a couple, leading to a lot of raised eyebrows, and asking if he was alright. He seemed to handle it fine to me, so I got in with being drunk.

A few hours later the party was in full swing, with the majority of people situated in the sitting room having a good time when the housemates of said guy ran into the room turned the music off and announced that the couple had just disappeared into the guys room together. This was met with almost universal dismay, since shagging each other on your ex's and supposedly best friends bed is just about as scummy as you can get under the circumstances. The guests looked toward the guy in a combination of compassion, and anticipation as to what he was going to do about it.

So what did he do about it? Did he get angry? Did he storm to the room and drag them out? No. He knew them both too well, and had hatched a plan so cunning you could think of a Blackadderesque metaphor to describe it.

Twenty minutes later his ex walks into the living room to find everyone gathered around the TV pointing and laughing at her, calling her a slag, and any other name you care to mention. She looks at the TV and see's the guys room on the screen. Assuming that it must have been a live feed, she puts two and two together and now firmly believes that everyone has just been watching her shagging her new boyfriend on her ex's bed. His best friend then walked in and was met with small cock joke after small cock joke. Looking to the screen, he makes the same assumption. She looked to her ex, who with the best response he could have possibly given just went "You were never that dirty when you were with me".

She ran out of that party so fast, you'd have thought the building was on fire. It was brilliant.

In actuallity the video had been filmed hours before, and was just of his empty room. I'll fondly remember the look of slow horrified realisation on her face for years to come though.
( Furness, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 14:14, 9 replies)

Fuck! Fuck!
I've mentioned before in these pages that my mother made a movie about fifteen years ago, based on her life as a child in Soviet Czechoslovakia. I was at university at the time, but during the summer, I helped out in the editing studio, which appealed to my techy side a lot.

It was odd working in the studio, because as you walked down the corridor, all you could hear from one room was 'Fuck! Fuck! Fuck it!' over and over again, with occasional variations of intonation. At first I assumed it was a film they were having trouble with, but eventually I realised the voice was on tape.

One day the sound editor popped his head round the door and asked if there was any chance they could borrow everyone to do some voices for a crowd scene - he needed reactions to a speech by a character. So we all piled into the recording booth where we watched some plummy guy do a speech and all laughed at appropriate moments.

So that's my role in Four Weddings and a Funeral - very faint voice at Wedding 1.
( flatfrog Staring vacantly into space, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 14:11, 3 replies)

Not quite telly but it's as close as I ever hope to get...
When I were but a teenygrinner, some random girly approached me down the pub. "How do you fancy being in a pop video?" (this was around 1990) she asked. Thoughts of fame and money obviously swam (literally) round my addled head and "Yes!" was the only thing a young man in my position could say.
"£50 for the day" turned out to be perhaps the most humiliating thing I have ever done. Scratch that but it was pretty dire.

I had to strip bare, with only a thong type thing to hide my modesty, body make up all over (Absolutely all over) lay on the floor and have dust and sand thrown over me whilst moving a fraction. 50 nuggets to have the crew, who turned out to be of another persuasion gawping up my exposed crevice for about four takes. It's not as if I have a particularly nice body or anything, (not too shabby even now if I do say so myself) but my dreams of fame were shattered so completely in one foul swoop I've never got over it.

The worst of it was, even after being promised a copy of the video, the first time I actually saw it was just a few weeks ago when I chanced a find on Youtube. Mortified yes, kinda proud too (not in that way believe me) but with a renewed vow never to dabble in the dark world of fame I briefly inhabited.

Thank deity you cannot see my face!

If anybody is even vaguely interested I'll stick a link on. Read- if any of you buggers even replies I'll consider it a neccessity.

Ha! You fell into my trap, I was dying to put it on here really!

www.youtube.com/watch?v=0a9ZNHNMhNI

About 40 seconds in, I'm the rock on the left! Critique to further my career much appreciated.

Length? You must be joking. It was all I could do to keep the poor bugger from retreating back inside.
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 13:59, 7 replies)

I was in "When Saturday Comes"
Yes, the crap film about Sheffield United. I was bout 13. My dad signed the family up for this 'extras' list in The City. We got a call to be in a funeral scene. I thought I was great at acting upset but didn't think to leave my high vis bomber jacket at home and they made me take it off.

Sean Bean was a hundred yards or so away, filming a separate scene next to a skip. I was under the impression he was cool then, because he was a bit famous. This was, up to that point, probably the most exciting day of my life. We all stood around the freshly dug grave in Tinsley Park Cemetary doing our best at looking horrified, then suddenly an old woman - also an extra - came and stood right in front of me. I didn't do anything and so was immortalised in the film as an arm and a bit of black jumper.

You can see my mum and dad though and anyway, I got some bacon sandwiches and £25!
( valoukh newsgash.wordpress.com, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 13:57, Reply)

I was on Playdays, the Playground Stop
at the tender age of about 7. Got to make sock puppets and blow paint through a straw and dance about like a tiny loon. My dreams were shattered when I discovered the singing marionette wasn't performed live, it was just a woman sitting on a chair, singing. I got to hang out with Dave Benson Phillips and Chester and eat in the BBC canteen, though. Not bad at all.
( spangolin - the odds are good but the goods are odd, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 13:45, 2 replies)

samba news
When I was about 10 or 11 I was on north east news aout this samba day all the schools had outside Hylton Castle.

They asked what i thought, all i could think of to say was "it's loud" while all the mackem trouble makers flicked the v's behind me
(Agent Dale Pooper k in the p, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 13:44, 1 reply)

Am in a music video
I am apart of the University of Liverpool Cheerleader squad the Liverpool Foxes.

Ellis - Cilla Black's TV

www.vimeo.com/1813664

What other sport has a 5 to 1 ratio of girls who thank you for groping them.
( schizophrenic_sheep, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 13:43, Reply)

That's me on a TV
Someone I know got very very drunk and pulled one of them women that are a bit more...penisy than the normal ones.

He freaked the fuck out.

How long is it until I can sing I'm a lumberjack at him? Imply he uses adverts for kitchen roll as masturbation aids? What is the grace period before I'm allowed to suggest he marries Amy Winhouse?
(teebie jeebie, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 13:39, Reply)

Hollyoaks
Had a minor part in Hollyoaks once, actually a minor part is bigging it up massively. I walked in the background and put two plates down on the table.

They were filming a ‘special’ many moons ago, back when Tony and Jambo and the one who knobbed Rachel Stevens were in it. The filmed outside the café I was working in. They asked me to put two plates down and that was it.

I did it.

Finally watched it months later and stating if you blinked and you’d miss it would again, me a massive overstatement. A spec in the background was all I had to show for it.

Well got £40 for my troubles and met the ‘stars’ of Hollyoaks. Yes, Will Mellor was a massive cock. The rest were nice though.
(CornishStanley can't post hyperlinks, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 13:33, Reply)

It's OK, I was too young for it to count as sexual assault
It was very late at night, on December 31st 1999, and everyone was rather excited about something called the 'Millenium'. Aged 13, me and my family had gone up to London to stand in the street and cheer and such.
At around 10pm I was standing there, rubbing my cold hands together, wearing my bright turquoise Le Coq Sportif puffa jacket, when I notice her, the woman of my dreams. Ex-Blue Peter presenter Katy Hill (if you can't remember her, xrl.us/bewjbp ), is presenting the BBC "here we are in London looking at people cheer" New Years broadcast. I stare at her, then the camera, then wave, do a little humping action and walk off.

Later on that night, we are on London Bridge, counting down from 30, holding a plastic cup full of champagne. We reach one in our countdown, and everyone cheers, it is now the year 2000. Everyone is kissing and hugging, I have nobody to kiss. Hang on, Katy Hill is over there, 20 yards away, smiling at the camera with those lovely white teeth and perfect lips. I run over, tap her shoulder, and (sorry mum, I know your friends were watching but it was worth it) shoved my tongue clumsily in her mouth while holding her waist, then ran away.

My first proper kiss was with Katy Hill, and I was her first kiss of the new Millenium.

Get in!
(bobman500 enjoys a grope as much as the next fella, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 13:30, 21 replies)

It's a G, then a C, then an F....
De-lurks, first post etc... so be kind, please. OK.

Woo. Two QOTWs in one Festivals & TV.

As a long-haired folky hippy, you'll find me on the first week of August in the quaint Devon town of Sidmouth for the folk festival. First off, a weekend just isn't long enough for a festival. YOu need a week: long enough to get drunk for a couple of days, have a day off ("Sidmouth Wednesday syndrome") and then get back into the swing for the last couple of days.

A couple of years ago, owing to constrained finances and a lack of organisation on my part (coupled with a reluctance to spend another week camping at the side of the road, under threat of being moved on by Devon council) I decided against going, but come Wednesday I found myself sitting at my desk* thinking 'this is all wrong' and immediately booked the following two days as leave and headed for the West Country.

Now my rule for Sidmouth is that I don't see any gigs (in eight years I've been going I've seen about 3) and I spend all the time in one pub or another with my guitar with my fiddle/flute/banjo/melodeon playing friends. So come the Friday we're all sitting in the pub on the sea-front when in walks a bloke with a large tripod and big sod-off camera which he proceeds to set up right next to me. The BBC logo on the side caught everyone's attention and we all started really concentrating on playing nicely and in time (unlike the rest of the day).

Fast forward a couple of weeks and BBC4 is showing "50 Years of Sidmouth Folk" and there, halfway through is a shot of my fiddler mate's large nose filling the screen (just ready for widescreen) followed by the back of my guitar and my left ear.

Lucky for me you can't hear my mate calling every chord change to me so's I don't look a prat on TV. Kind soul he is.

Length? About 45 seconds.

GoodLord

*at a certain car parts warehouse in the Midlands with which I know Pooflake is acquainted
(GoodLord doesn't have time for sigs., Fri 12 Jun 2009, 13:18, Reply)

Boyfriend on the box
My boyfriend sings with one of the BBC choirs and therefore appears on TV quite a lot during the Proms season. For those who don't know, that's a large classical music festival that runs from mid July to the beginning of September in the Albert Hall and is televised.

He's been in the choir for years and years and has appeared in more televised concerts than you can shake a stick at but you know the first thing he does when he gets home from a televised concert? He runs through the recording to spot when he's on camera.

"Oh look, there's me! And me again! Look!"

I wouldn't mind so much except that I've been to most of these concerts and although the camera has panned over my bit of the audience, I'm invisble.

The worst time was when he sang on Maestro and I had a guest ticket for a seat in a private "box" (scaffolding covered over with wood and cloth).

I was behind a bloody curtain.
(BearWithLittleBrain, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 13:11, Reply)

Not the most hilarious story, but
I was on the first series of 'Ready, Steady, Cook' back in the mid-90s. There had been hardly any male contestants so it was a bit of a shoo-in, I guess. Nothing much else to say except:
1) You don't select or bring the stuff yourself - they choose it and get it for you (or used to) from a supermarket at the back of the studio.
2) The main cooking bit is done in real time; the top and tail have a long-ish break so the chefs can work out what to do.
3) Fern Britton was absolutely lovely.
4) So, believe it or not, was Ainsley Harriott. Even when I made the mistake of asking him what he did.
5) Brian 'I'm from Yarkshar, me' Turner, however, was an utter cnut.
6) I didn't win the first prize (a set of posh knives) but I did win the CASH. Yeah! Take that, The Man!!
7) The production team spent a lot of time worrying out loud whether they'd get a second series. I seem to remember they did. And possibly a third, but I'm not sure.
8) They also got me to do a live one at the NEC shortly after (again, believe it or not, but Anthony Worrall Thompson was really nice and charming).
9) A few months later, the production team asked me and mrs sponge if we wanted to go on a new series they were doing about decorating houses. We declined. Not sure what happened to that one either. Called something like 'Changing Rooms'...?
( sponge monkey is knitting himself, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 13:07, Reply)

Google song
The Google song, which manwithunderpantsonhead and I created ( www.morttheostrich.com/google_flash.htm ) was used on BBC World Service radio on some IT programme. So to the 188m people who heard, I can only apologise for any damage to your hearing.
( giant_squid, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 13:07, Reply)

Fame at last
When I was doing my PhD in chemistry, there was an open day for kids in the chemistry department. I helped do some demonstrations with liquid nitrogen. Liquid nitrogen is cold (-196 deg C) so you need thick gloves to handle it: ours were bright orange.

So, a crew from the local TV station came to film our professor giving some spiel (you know the man - he's on the YouTube Periodic Videos website), and my bright orange gloved hand made a brief TV appearance, live to the East Midlands area!
( giant_squid, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 13:03, Reply)

I've never been on TV as far as I know...
... but let me share my story with you anyway.

I used to think I had the most ordinary, uneventful life – I live in a small town, work in an office, and am married to a lovely girl who is a nurse and who is the perfect wife. I have pretty much everything I need, the only cloud is that despite living in a beautiful seaside town, I’ve never felt the urge to take to the water because my Dad had died in a boating accident when I was young.

But now I’ve hit my 30s, I’ve started to feel that something isn’t quite right with my life. I met this girl who started me thinking about my situation in a way I never had before, although she disappeared as quickly as she had come into my life. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg, a lot of weird stuff has been happening - for instance, my Dad has now reappeared on the scene, it turned out that instead of drowning, he had suffered total amnesia.

My best mate, over a few beers, has told me I shouldn’t worry about things so much. My mother has told me that maybe it’s time for me and my wife to think about having a family of our own, and that would help me overcome these nagging self-doubts I have.

But I still feel detached from reality, somehow. You know what, I may just overcome my fear of the water and sail a boat towards the horizon, just to see what’s there.

And in case I don't see you, good afternoon, good evening and goodnight!
(Capo, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 12:26, 8 replies)

I went on 'Cheggers Plays Pop'
when I was a kid. We lost, mostly 'cos the complicated rack and pinion hoist thing used in the opening game wasn't working properly on our side. I got my question right in the Hot Box Quick Quiz though, thus ensuring that the honour of the school was not completely left in tatters.

Got close enough to the then dreamy Clare Grogan to catch the faint waft of Impulse body spray, so it wasn't a total loss.


I got a real insight into how television worked that day, especially when Bucks Fizz didn't even bother to turn up, but filmed a VT instead. When it was broadcast it looked like they were in the studio and we were all dancing in the aisles. I never got to see Jay Aston and Cheryl Baker. Television is built on a tissue of lies.

Edit: Creeping deja vú leads me to think I may have answered this with the same reply back in 2004, but can't be arsed to check.
( Smallbrainfield, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 12:01, Reply)

My Wedding
I was part of a documentary created by ginger media for BBC 2. It was 10 years ago when some royal was getting married, and Ginger decided to do a series of documentaries on weddings. The spoke to various wedding shops and the one my missus visited was one of them. They thought our story was very interesting, mostly because myself & the current Mrs Biscuit met on t'interweb, which back then was quite rare (the meeting, not the web, back then the web wasn't rare, just slow), also as she was from Yankland it meant that they got a jolly out to the USA to do some filming. Anyway, upshot was yeah, we had our 30 minutes of fame, which was pretty cool. Got recognised quite a lot after that for a few months.

The week it was supposed to be shown in England was the week Foggy from last of the summer wines popped his clogs so it was postponed, however, a week later I was working in Scotland for a week (the missus came with me), and I didn't realise, but that it was on TV up there. The following morning the look on the face of the bloke in the hotel reception was comical, he was totally gobsmaked & speechless!!

That Saturday, on the way home we stopped at the barras market in Glasgow, some woman recognised us and dragged us all the way through to meet her hubby, and introducing us to everyone of the stall holders on the way (and done it as if she new us).

Was very amusing, and we got a lot of the wedding stuff cheap because when we told them is was going to be on TV, they gave us a great price and great service for the "advertising potential" of it being on TV.

That is all. Carry on.
(Biscuit Boy - aka - mcvpjd3, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 11:44, Reply)

Bingo Riot
I worked in a bingo hall in sheffield a while back and there was a nightclub upstairs in the same complex.

One thursday evening there was an under 16 disco and it went a bit wrong. Two teenagers had some pop and ended up stabbing each other, they were girls by the way.

The 'bouncers' through the kids out and the mess spilled onto the main road and into the bingo carpark.

It ended up with about 150 shouty, sweary drunk young yorkshire people fighting on the car park and the police trying to keep order without battering anyone. I had watched this from behind the fire doors for an hour or so (i shoul dhave bene in the pub) and when i had had enough i went out the fire door and straight between the crowd, inadvertantly walking directly in front of the yorkshire tv reporter filming his 'piece' for the late news. he shouted 'thanks' at me and i gave him the finger, pushed some shildren over and went to the pub.

I also once had a birthday live on the radio (?) with red rose rock FM in the 80's......
(youareallveryveryveryunhelpful, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 11:43, Reply)

FERRET ORGY WAS MY DOWNFALL
Not so much seen on tv…

One fine Saturday my dear old mum gave me forty of her hard-earned sterling to go down to the shopping precinct in Coventry and buy a new coat. Now, I fucking HATE shopping. I’d rather have somebody strip me naked, staple my cock to a pole, then raise the pole, turning me into a rather attractive, screaming, fleshy flag, dangling there until my cock ripped off and I plummeted to my death in a spray of blood and fecal matter.

You could say I was not best pleased at the prospect of picking up a new coat. So, I did the only sensible, reasonable thing instead, I went to Highfield Road, the field of screams, and watched my shit footie team play against another shit footie team (Oldham Athletic; this was fucking years ago), and still fucking lose. I went down with my mate Greg, it was a late kickoff – about five-thirty as it was being televised live on Sky, and we ended up sitting round for ages waiting for the match to start. I recall seeing something small, gray and furry crouching on the side of the pitch, it looked like a collection of ferrets having a wild orgy: “What the fuck’s that?” I asked Greg. He shrugged. That was the end of that riveting conversation.

Now, what with it being on Sky, they had a load of attractive girlies doing the American football style cheerleader shenanigans just prior to the match. It was ace. As this troop of girls went through their paces mere meters from me, I remember remarking to Greg: “I’ve seen more camel toes in the last five minutes than an Arab would see in the Sahara fucking Desert in a lifetime.” These girls were beautiful. They were lovely. And they didn’t seem to mind or notice that Greg and I were staring fixedly on their lady parts, trying as hard as we could to mentally undress them, willing to sell our own grandmother’s for an errant costume malfunction and the brief glimpse of some beautiful, sublime, amazing, below-the-belt lipage.

“God, I would fuck her so HARD!” I said. “And her…. And that one too… Jesus, that one over there looks fucking amazing… I bet she takes it up the shitter… just look at her… Fuck, yeah… I bet she’d take it up the shitter and then suck the shitty spunk off you’re helmet afterwards… And that one, that one over there with the massive knockers, she'd look fucking great with my cum dripping off her nose and chin... I'd glaze her like a fucking doughnut... and her mate... and that bird at the back... In fact I'd line them all up and rapid fire fuck the lot of um... I'm up for it, you know, physically... God, my cock feels slimy just thinking about it... gonna have to change my pants when I get home...” and so on…

Then I noticed some fella wearing a Sky TV jacket running like Quasimodo so as not to get in the shot of the TV camera on the sideline, rush up to the humping cluster of ferrets and frantically start pissing about with some of the wires leading away from them. Then he fucked off. Odd.

Then we watched the match. Oldham scored late on and won. Dejected (as always), as we were watching a footie team so shit that they required a bell in the ball so they could find the fucker on the pitch, Greg and I trudged home.

And when I got in my mum and dad were fuming. Shit! The COAT!!! I started making up some bullshit story about the shops being shut when my mum cut me dead. “You were at the football, weren’t you?” Fuck – my mum had developed superhuman powers! How the FUCK did she know that. “I’m not talking to you, you disgust me,” and she trounced upstairs and slammed my parents bedroom door behind her.

My dad said: “Bit of a poor match today, Spanky. We saw it on the telly…”

I felt suddenly releived and started to speak, as they say, football was invented to give blokes something to talk to each other about, otherwise they’d just sit in silence and sigh a lot. But my dad stopped me: “We saw the cheerleaders before the game… Oh, and we heard about fifteen seconds of your running commentary about these girls before they cut the effects mike off…”

Fucking Sky…

My mum only started talking to me again after a week of me making my own dinners; I nearly fucking starved to death…
( SpankyHanky, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 11:29, 7 replies)

People used to regularly come up to me and say "Did I see you on TV?"
Now how the fuck am I supposed to know what they were watching?
It's a one way medium, you cretins.
( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 11:23, 3 replies)

I won "The Weakest Link" a couple of years ago - £2,390
FACT.
( BobbyParadise, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 11:13, Reply)

I used to work in a bar where the god-awful Bravo
"gamers" show Mercenaries was filmed.

Due to drop out contestants, I was in two separate episiodes.

The worst moment for me personally was when I had to fill in as the "hacker" for a team from Bath. The role required no skill whatsoever other than mouse clicking, and when they came to film me I felt the pressure to do some hollywood-style hacker-speak and said...

"I'm prowling their root system for a back door".

Christ.
( Mockingbird Practitioner of SCIENCE, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 11:12, 4 replies)