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It was April 23rd 1987, and I was having a lunchtime drink with Saeed Jaffrey in a gritty town centre bar in Stevenage. Diamond White had only been on the shelves a few months, and this was the only place in town you could get it, but it was the rocket fuel I needed to get me through lunch with Saeed. Once again he was bragging about his role in TV mini series ‘A Killing on the Exchange’. Once he started listing scripts he’d been sent – ‘Just Ask For Diamond’, ‘The Deceivers’, ‘Vijay’ – I had to tell him to stop. Listening to him talk of his successes all day was a bloody nightmare. The only TV I had lined up was an appearance on ‘Strike It Lucky’ as a contestant. Of course, that was when it still was called ‘Strike It Lucky’, not ‘Strike It Rich’ as it was in later days, which was a bit of a laugh as the top prize would hardly make you ‘rich’. Apparently he only changed it because after he came out people kept calling it ‘Strike It Ducky’. Anyway, I digress, where was I? Oh yeah, Saeed was doing my head right in. I downed my Diamond White and told him to get stuffed.
I stormed out of there, and started walking down the street. The white cider had gone to my head a little and I was finding it tough to hold a straight course. Just as I was walking past this sports store a Geordie bloke bumped into me, knocking me to the ground. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him right away. If I handed have been tanked-up on rocket fuel I’m sure I would have been able to recognise that mullet as it sparkled in the sun. Anyway, he was a nice bloke, and he pulled me up off the floor.
“Thanks mate,” I said.
“Nay worries. You take care now,” he replied with a wink, and like that he was gone.
Either that or I blacked out. Anyway, I spotted this scrap of paper on the floor, so I took a gander at it, and decided it might be important. Looked like some kind of lyrics. Then I realised who it was that I’d just seen, and how much he was going to need this bit of paper.
Of course, I was in no fit state to drive, so I was in a bit of a pickle until I saw a familiar face. If it wasn’t for his beard I probably wouldn’t have even recognised him, given that he was on his moped, and most of his face was hidden. I dashed out into the road, forcing him to come to a sudden stop.
“Hugo Myatt!” I cried (we knew each other through his wife, Christine Webber, who was on About Anglia).
He shook me by the hand and begun to tell tales about a new character he was playing in a children’s TV show called ‘Knightmare’ that was to be screened later in the year. He was to play ‘Treguard’. I’m afraid I had to cut him short as he went into the complex technology of the show, but he was quite understanding when I showed him the piece of paper. He sat me on the back of the moped and asked me to hold on tight.
We sped to Television Centre, but getting in wasn’t as easy as we would have hoped, despite the important piece of paper we were carrying. An Eastenders scene was being filmed inside, and Anita Dobson’s wig had escaped. Hugo and I ended up running around the car park trying to catch it. Eventually Hugo agreed to sacrifice a small part of his beard to replace her hair, and we were in. (If you look at video’s on series 1 and 2 of Knightmare you’ll notice the beard is slightly less bushy in the second).
Once we were in it was just a case of finding the happy couple. We entered the Top of the Pops studio, posing as Five Star. You’d be amazed by the characters Hugo can pull off. We saw Glenn Hoddle a mile off. He was on the stage, sitting under a bright light. His white suit shone brightly, and we approached with caution. He spotted our approach, and tried to have us cast out. He warned that any bad karma we aroused in the atmosphere would cause us to be reborn with disabilities. We tried to tell him what we had, but he didn’t care. He started yelling for security.
Hugo and I started to run, but I lagged behind. My bladder was full to bursting point after the Diamond White session earlier. I managed to get to the toilets and let it all out. As I breathed a sigh of relief I heard the beautiful sound of Geordie chunks being blown. There was no mistaking that accent, it was Waddle, the man that had knocked me down earlier.
“Hey Chris, I’ve got the lyrics!” I cried, my head on the floor trying to peer under the door.
Suddenly the vomiting stopped. The door was thrown open (narrowly missing my head), and Chris took the paper from my hand.
“Way ay man! You got it!” he said, then he did a bit of a jig. He was so pleased that he gave me one of those kisses that are usually only allowed between two footballers in the thrill of a game.
Waddle insisted that I stay and watch the performance, and am I ever glad that I did! Waddle took to the stage with great humility – he knew he was only there because his name rhymed with Hoddle’s, and he had no pretensions of being a singer. Hoddle, on the other hand, was quite different. He genuinely believed that he was there as his divine right. The white suit made him shine like the star he genuinely believed himself to be.
After the performance I approached the duo. “That was great!” I said.
“I know,” said Hoddle.
“I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to Chris.”
Chris smiled like a kid on Christmas day, and Glenn looked at me like I’d just taken his mother roughly up the back-passage.
Whenever people look back on this fine moment in musical history I always recall my grand adventure, and how it would never have gone ahead if it wasn’t for Diamond White, and Saeed Jeffrey being such a wazzock.
I stormed out of there, and started walking down the street. The white cider had gone to my head a little and I was finding it tough to hold a straight course. Just as I was walking past this sports store a Geordie bloke bumped into me, knocking me to the ground. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him right away. If I handed have been tanked-up on rocket fuel I’m sure I would have been able to recognise that mullet as it sparkled in the sun. Anyway, he was a nice bloke, and he pulled me up off the floor.
“Thanks mate,” I said.
“Nay worries. You take care now,” he replied with a wink, and like that he was gone.
Either that or I blacked out. Anyway, I spotted this scrap of paper on the floor, so I took a gander at it, and decided it might be important. Looked like some kind of lyrics. Then I realised who it was that I’d just seen, and how much he was going to need this bit of paper.
Of course, I was in no fit state to drive, so I was in a bit of a pickle until I saw a familiar face. If it wasn’t for his beard I probably wouldn’t have even recognised him, given that he was on his moped, and most of his face was hidden. I dashed out into the road, forcing him to come to a sudden stop.
“Hugo Myatt!” I cried (we knew each other through his wife, Christine Webber, who was on About Anglia).
He shook me by the hand and begun to tell tales about a new character he was playing in a children’s TV show called ‘Knightmare’ that was to be screened later in the year. He was to play ‘Treguard’. I’m afraid I had to cut him short as he went into the complex technology of the show, but he was quite understanding when I showed him the piece of paper. He sat me on the back of the moped and asked me to hold on tight.
We sped to Television Centre, but getting in wasn’t as easy as we would have hoped, despite the important piece of paper we were carrying. An Eastenders scene was being filmed inside, and Anita Dobson’s wig had escaped. Hugo and I ended up running around the car park trying to catch it. Eventually Hugo agreed to sacrifice a small part of his beard to replace her hair, and we were in. (If you look at video’s on series 1 and 2 of Knightmare you’ll notice the beard is slightly less bushy in the second).
Once we were in it was just a case of finding the happy couple. We entered the Top of the Pops studio, posing as Five Star. You’d be amazed by the characters Hugo can pull off. We saw Glenn Hoddle a mile off. He was on the stage, sitting under a bright light. His white suit shone brightly, and we approached with caution. He spotted our approach, and tried to have us cast out. He warned that any bad karma we aroused in the atmosphere would cause us to be reborn with disabilities. We tried to tell him what we had, but he didn’t care. He started yelling for security.
Hugo and I started to run, but I lagged behind. My bladder was full to bursting point after the Diamond White session earlier. I managed to get to the toilets and let it all out. As I breathed a sigh of relief I heard the beautiful sound of Geordie chunks being blown. There was no mistaking that accent, it was Waddle, the man that had knocked me down earlier.
“Hey Chris, I’ve got the lyrics!” I cried, my head on the floor trying to peer under the door.
Suddenly the vomiting stopped. The door was thrown open (narrowly missing my head), and Chris took the paper from my hand.
“Way ay man! You got it!” he said, then he did a bit of a jig. He was so pleased that he gave me one of those kisses that are usually only allowed between two footballers in the thrill of a game.
Waddle insisted that I stay and watch the performance, and am I ever glad that I did! Waddle took to the stage with great humility – he knew he was only there because his name rhymed with Hoddle’s, and he had no pretensions of being a singer. Hoddle, on the other hand, was quite different. He genuinely believed that he was there as his divine right. The white suit made him shine like the star he genuinely believed himself to be.
After the performance I approached the duo. “That was great!” I said.
“I know,” said Hoddle.
“I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to Chris.”
Chris smiled like a kid on Christmas day, and Glenn looked at me like I’d just taken his mother roughly up the back-passage.
Whenever people look back on this fine moment in musical history I always recall my grand adventure, and how it would never have gone ahead if it wasn’t for Diamond White, and Saeed Jeffrey being such a wazzock.
great!
Not amateur...
Not amateur...
Quirky usage of the diamond theme there! Made me chuckle. Treguard on a moped, Hoddle and Waddle posing as Fivestar to get on Top of the Pops, and the rest – all amusing stuff. I like.
Raised a smile. :-)
Amusing :-)
Had a Irvine Welsh quality to it I think.
Had a Irvine Welsh quality to it I think.
Different but strangely amusing as it left me smiling :)
You never dissapointment me with your stories Meka. Oh by the way my expectations are readable nothing more.
It was April 23rd 1987, and I was having a lunchtime drink with Saeed Jaffrey in a gritty town centre bar in Stevenage. Diamond White had only been on the shelves a few months, and this was the only place in town you could get it, but it was the rocket fuel I needed to get me through lunch with Saeed. Once again he was bragging about his role in TV mini series ‘A Killing on the Exchange’. Once he started listing scripts he’d been sent – ‘Just Ask For Diamond’, ‘The Deceivers’, ‘Vijay’ – I had to tell him to stop. Listening to him talk of his successes all day was a bloody nightmare. The only TV I had lined up was an appearance on ‘Strike It Lucky’ as a contestant. Of course, that was when it still was called ‘Strike It Lucky’, not ‘Strike It Rich’ as it was in later days, which was a bit of a laugh as the top prize would hardly make you ‘rich’. Apparently he only changed it because after he came out people kept calling it ‘Strike It Ducky’. Anyway, I digress, where was I? Oh yeah, Saeed was doing my head right in. I downed my Diamond White and told him to get stuffed.
I stormed out of there, and started walking down the street. The white cider had gone to my head a little and I was finding it tough to hold a straight course. Just as I was walking past this sports store a Geordie bloke bumped into me, knocking me to the ground. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him right away. If I handed have been tanked-up on rocket fuel I’m sure I would have been able to recognise that mullet as it sparkled in the sun. Anyway, he was a nice bloke, and he pulled me up off the floor.
“Thanks mate,” I said.
“Nay worries. You take care now,” he replied with a wink, and like that he was gone.
Either that or I blacked out. Anyway, I spotted this scrap of paper on the floor, so I took a gander at it, and decided it might be important. Looked like some kind of lyrics. Then I realised who it was that I’d just seen, and how much he was going to need this bit of paper.
Of course, I was in no fit state to drive, so I was in a bit of a pickle until I saw a familiar face. If it wasn’t for his beard I probably wouldn’t have even recognised him, given that he was on his moped, and most of his face was hidden. I dashed out into the road, forcing him to come to a sudden stop.
“Hugo Myatt!” I cried (we knew each other through his wife, Christine Webber, who was on About Anglia).
He shook me by the hand and begun to tell tales about a new character he was playing in a children’s TV show called ‘Knightmare’ that was to be screened later in the year. He was to play ‘Treguard’. I’m afraid I had to cut him short as he went into the complex technology of the show, but he was quite understanding when I showed him the piece of paper. He sat me on the back of the moped and asked me to hold on tight.
We sped to Television Centre, but getting in wasn’t as easy as we would have hoped, despite the important piece of paper we were carrying. An Eastenders scene was being filmed inside, and Anita Dobson’s wig had escaped. Hugo and I ended up running around the car park trying to catch it. Eventually Hugo agreed to sacrifice a small part of his beard to replace her hair, and we were in. (If you look at video’s on series 1 and 2 of Knightmare you’ll notice the beard is slightly less bushy in the second).
Once we were in it was just a case of finding the happy couple. We entered the Top of the Pops studio, posing as Five Star. You’d be amazed by the characters Hugo can pull off. We saw Glenn Hoddle a mile off. He was on the stage, sitting under a bright light. His white suit shone brightly, and we approached with caution. He spotted our approach, and tried to have us cast out. He warned that any bad karma we aroused in the atmosphere would cause us to be reborn with disabilities. We tried to tell him what we had, but he didn’t care. He started yelling for security.
Hugo and I started to run, but I lagged behind. My bladder was full to bursting point after the Diamond White session earlier. I managed to get to the toilets and let it all out. As I breathed a sigh of relief I heard the beautiful sound of Geordie chunks being blown. There was no mistaking that accent, it was Waddle, the man that had knocked me down earlier.
“Hey Chris, I’ve got the lyrics!” I cried, my head on the floor trying to peer under the door.
Suddenly the vomiting stopped. The door was thrown open (narrowly missing my head), and Chris took the paper from my hand.
“Way ay man! You got it!” he said, then he did a bit of a jig. He was so pleased that he gave me one of those kisses that are usually only allowed between two footballers in the thrill of a game.
Waddle insisted that I stay and watch the performance, and am I ever glad that I did! Waddle took to the stage with great humility – he knew he was only there because his name rhymed with Hoddle’s, and he had no pretensions of being a singer. Hoddle, on the other hand, was quite different. He genuinely believed that he was there as his divine right. The white suit made him shine like the star he genuinely believed himself to be.
After the performance I approached the duo. “That was great!” I said.
“I know,” said Hoddle.
“I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to Chris.”
Chris smiled like a kid on Christmas day, and Glenn looked at me like I’d just taken his mother roughly up the back-passage.
Whenever people look back on this fine moment in musical history I always recall my grand adventure, and how it would never have gone ahead if it wasn’t for Diamond White, and Saeed Jeffrey being such a wazzock.
I stormed out of there, and started walking down the street. The white cider had gone to my head a little and I was finding it tough to hold a straight course. Just as I was walking past this sports store a Geordie bloke bumped into me, knocking me to the ground. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him right away. If I handed have been tanked-up on rocket fuel I’m sure I would have been able to recognise that mullet as it sparkled in the sun. Anyway, he was a nice bloke, and he pulled me up off the floor.
“Thanks mate,” I said.
“Nay worries. You take care now,” he replied with a wink, and like that he was gone.
Either that or I blacked out. Anyway, I spotted this scrap of paper on the floor, so I took a gander at it, and decided it might be important. Looked like some kind of lyrics. Then I realised who it was that I’d just seen, and how much he was going to need this bit of paper.
Of course, I was in no fit state to drive, so I was in a bit of a pickle until I saw a familiar face. If it wasn’t for his beard I probably wouldn’t have even recognised him, given that he was on his moped, and most of his face was hidden. I dashed out into the road, forcing him to come to a sudden stop.
“Hugo Myatt!” I cried (we knew each other through his wife, Christine Webber, who was on About Anglia).
He shook me by the hand and begun to tell tales about a new character he was playing in a children’s TV show called ‘Knightmare’ that was to be screened later in the year. He was to play ‘Treguard’. I’m afraid I had to cut him short as he went into the complex technology of the show, but he was quite understanding when I showed him the piece of paper. He sat me on the back of the moped and asked me to hold on tight.
We sped to Television Centre, but getting in wasn’t as easy as we would have hoped, despite the important piece of paper we were carrying. An Eastenders scene was being filmed inside, and Anita Dobson’s wig had escaped. Hugo and I ended up running around the car park trying to catch it. Eventually Hugo agreed to sacrifice a small part of his beard to replace her hair, and we were in. (If you look at video’s on series 1 and 2 of Knightmare you’ll notice the beard is slightly less bushy in the second).
Once we were in it was just a case of finding the happy couple. We entered the Top of the Pops studio, posing as Five Star. You’d be amazed by the characters Hugo can pull off. We saw Glenn Hoddle a mile off. He was on the stage, sitting under a bright light. His white suit shone brightly, and we approached with caution. He spotted our approach, and tried to have us cast out. He warned that any bad karma we aroused in the atmosphere would cause us to be reborn with disabilities. We tried to tell him what we had, but he didn’t care. He started yelling for security.
Hugo and I started to run, but I lagged behind. My bladder was full to bursting point after the Diamond White session earlier. I managed to get to the toilets and let it all out. As I breathed a sigh of relief I heard the beautiful sound of Geordie chunks being blown. There was no mistaking that accent, it was Waddle, the man that had knocked me down earlier.
“Hey Chris, I’ve got the lyrics!” I cried, my head on the floor trying to peer under the door.
Suddenly the vomiting stopped. The door was thrown open (narrowly missing my head), and Chris took the paper from my hand.
“Way ay man! You got it!” he said, then he did a bit of a jig. He was so pleased that he gave me one of those kisses that are usually only allowed between two footballers in the thrill of a game.
Waddle insisted that I stay and watch the performance, and am I ever glad that I did! Waddle took to the stage with great humility – he knew he was only there because his name rhymed with Hoddle’s, and he had no pretensions of being a singer. Hoddle, on the other hand, was quite different. He genuinely believed that he was there as his divine right. The white suit made him shine like the star he genuinely believed himself to be.
After the performance I approached the duo. “That was great!” I said.
“I know,” said Hoddle.
“I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to Chris.”
Chris smiled like a kid on Christmas day, and Glenn looked at me like I’d just taken his mother roughly up the back-passage.
Whenever people look back on this fine moment in musical history I always recall my grand adventure, and how it would never have gone ahead if it wasn’t for Diamond White, and Saeed Jeffrey being such a wazzock.