ALL KINDS OF EVERYTHING.

Still in the throes of trying to help sort out the affairs of my late mate Clive.

Sadly he left things in a bit of a mess. So we have been trying to track down a will and get his property valued for probate purposes, never realised there were so many rules, regulations and potential bills.  We now have interim death certificates so we can move forward with untangling it all.  The biggest problem now is how to value his business?

As the creator and owner of the "Splosh" empire. (For wet and messy fun lovers. 18+ only).  How do you put a value on several custard based websites?

One thing I'm absolutely sure about is that he would find the whole thing extremely funny.

If anything can be learned from this it is as follows:

1) Make sure you have a will.

2) Ensure it is up to date and all the paperwork is easy to find

3) Give a copy to an executor or trusted friend.

4) If at all possible try not to die in the first place!

In happier news: The Dark Lady is continuing to reorganise the house.  I am not sure how she does it but it does seem to be a lot cleaner and tidier and at the same time more comfortable.  Not sure how this was achieved but maybe it's a girl thing that I've not mastered.

Her tour de force so far has been the kitchen. She has completely reorganised things so that I can't find anything. However I don't worry about this as she is a terrific cook and if she wants to spend more time in there I can spend more time in my "study" which she has cleverly carved out of a spare bedroom.  So brilliantly done was this that the only casualty was a badly chipped novelty Xmas mug my sister gave me in about 1995.  She even found enough space on the shelves to go and buy some old coloured crockery from a second hand shop to add a but of colour. I have been a slave to plain white ever since I was told years ago by a very sophisticated friend that having white crockery shows off the food better and means that the colour of the comestibles will never clash with the plate.

Something that has never really occurred to me before or since as I fork mountains of brown stuff into me whilst watching "Camper van Crisis"!

We headed off to France last weekend.  One of the things we like to do is to get the early Portsmouth Ferry on a Friday morning. Grab the newspapers and go and have a proper sit down breakfast in the restaurant, this takes at least an hour. Then we repair to a cabin and sleep the rest of the journey away.  On this occasion we had only got halfway through the meal when the tannoy fired up.

"Would Mr and Mrs Lester please report to the information desk"

"What's that"? Trilled the Dark Lady prettily.

"No idea. I'll go and find out. You carry on enjoying your breakfast"

"Do you think you've left the car lights on or maybe the alarm is going off"?

"Could be, although the lights were definitely off when I went to fetch the emergency Marmite a few minutes ago".

Emergency Marmite is always carried as ferries and hotels very often don't have it. Leathery catering toast just doesn't taste right with "preserves".

As it was a bank holiday weekend the boat was very crowded.  I hurried through the crowds and joined the queue at the Information desk.

"Monsieur Lester"?

"Oui"

"We are pleased to inform you that as a regular ferry passenger for over twenty years we would like to invite you and your wife up to the bridge in order to watch the ship depart Portsmouth harbour".

You note that no attempt was made to engage me in French. They must realise from my appalling accent that I was a lost cause and it was simpler and quicker to use English.

I hurried back to the restaurant.

"What's the matter"?

Asked the DL all concerned. 

Now I am a big one for surprises and one of my wedding vows was to "surprise and delight". So I thought I'd keep schtum

"Nothing it's all good. Just finish up as we need to go downstairs".

"Why. Is something wrong"?

"No. Nothing is wrong it’s actually rather nice".

"What the matter. Why do we have to go"?

"It's all good. It's going to be a nice surprise"!

Exasperation began to creep in a little at this point as I struggled to maintain the element of the surprise.

"There's something wrong isn't there"?

(Bang)!

"THERE'S NOTHING WRONG.....I TOLD YOU IT'S A BLOODY LOVELY SURPRISE"!!

"No need to shout."

At this point even the badly behaved children who seem to populate ferries and other public places we frequent stopped and stared at the purple faced man waving a jar of Marmite for emphasis at an attractive woman who, able to multitask, was folding her newspaper, packing her handbag drinking her coffee, putting on her coat and eating toast all the same time.

"WE'VE BEEN INVITED UP ON TO THE BRIDGE. I TOLD YOU IT WAS A NICE SURPRISE"

He said rather spoiling it with his impotent rage.

"Well why didn’t you just say so?!"

This made perfect sense; with the benefit of hindsight.

Up on the bridge the view was spectacular and all was perfect calm.

"See. I told you it was a nice surprise. Why didn't you just believe me"?

"I thought you may be trying to stop me worrying by saying it was all fine. When really something terrible was happening because you are a loving and kind man"!

How she puts up with me I've no idea. The woman is a saint!

HOLIDAYS IN THE SUN

After all the grim upheavals of the past couple of weeks (see previous blogs) it was good to get away for a week with the family in Portugal; the idea being to do as little as possible, in fact ideally nothing at all.

You may argue, "Why do you need a holiday? You don't actually do any work"!

True, but the week was for the Dark Lady who does work, and very hard too; out there in the harsh realities of the commercial world.

She needed the holiday and what with it being the summer, the step-children thought they deserved one too.

So it was to a villa in the Algarve we went. Armed with those things you need for a week doing nothing, nothing at all.

A mountain of luggage!

Every time we go away we have this discussion.  We are not on a polar expedition or attempting to find the source of The Nile. We are going to spend a week in a very comfortable, well-appointed villa thank you very much!

I would be spending 90% of that time in my swimming trunks. The other 10% (look away now if you are of nervous disposition........naked in bed or bath.)

WELL I DID WARN YOU!!!

So it was decided that we would share a suitcase and the children would pack what they needed in their own cases.

I did point out that I was only going to need three pairs of trousers, a pair of shorts, two pairs of trunks, seven pairs of pants, socks and about ten shirts.

I was outvoted.

The children rammed their cases with similar amounts of clothing and a number of electronic gadgets, without which no teenager’s life is worth living.

To the airport and breakfast.  



So far so good although by this time we had picked up another smaller suitcase with emergency clothes in. So that made four in total.


I shudder to think what we'd do if we had to go for a fortnight.

   

I took my phone and one of those crazy gizmos called a book.

We arrived at Faro airport after a flight which was so uneventful I dozed throughout

We then picked up a rather dented hire care with a rear windscreen wiper missing and covered in sun creamy handprints and headed off to find the villa.

DL had been given copious notes by the owner giving us a choice of routes; the faster route using toll roads or the scenic (cheaper) route.

We soon discovered we were heading towards the motorway and thought,

"Hang the expense we are on holiday".

We then managed to get lost.....

By the time we rediscovered the route we were back on the scenic (cheaper) route and we, (well I) breathed again.

The villa was excellent although it was a little out of the way.  


Eventually however it won't be…that is when they build some more apartments. Portugal is in the teeth of a recession and as the rest of Europe isn't faring much better. No one is building. So we were surrounded by scrub-land, a few other buildings, a lot of pavements and street lights that didn't light.

Just waiting to be finished.

So we got out the sun loungers by the pool and decided to get stuck in to doing nothing.

This involved a lot of TV and DVD watching, particularly by the children as there was a satellite system.

Remember you can travel nearly anywhere in the world and you need never miss Jeremy Kyle!

Once we arrived, the hard work began. Relaxing.  It's harder than it looks I discovered. I'm normally the sort of person that likes to be up and doing stuff on a vacation rather than sitting in the sun by the pool watching the world go by. (However the villa was so peaceful the world wasn't going anywhere).

The children busied themselves doing nothing. I read my book and the Dark Lady relaxed by cooking and cleaning and tidying.

This led to a little tension.

"RELAAX"

"I am doing"

"NO YOU'RE NOT. YOU'RE SLAVING AFTER EVERYONE"!

"I find this relaxing."

"YOU'VE JUST SWAPPED ONE FORM OF DRUDGERY FOR ANOTHER"!

I think my passive aggressive behaviour wasn't actually helping in truth.  I just couldn't see how housework could be deemed "relaxing".

"I'm enjoying this in my own way....I find it therapeutic".

"BU..."

"SHUUUUT UUPPPPP"!

At that point I realised the matter was closed and I went back to my book.

My stepson Jamie and I took up scuba diving last year in Florida so we'd booked a couple of dives. This time the sea being much colder we had to don wetsuits. This involves contortions that a middle aged man should not be called upon to attempt.

We also had to go out in a far smaller craft called a ‘RIB’ (Rigid Inflatable Boat).  And there was the whole toppling over backwards into the water thingy, which was quite disorientating the first time not knowing which way was up. On top of this my mask leaked and I found it difficult to see.

We had a good time, however Jamie had trouble with his ears so we opted out of another days diving. Not such exotic fare as Florida; no sharks but we did see a pipefish. 

The second day there was an oily swell so even though I didn't succumb a few of the other divers decided to be sick over the side!

Meanwhile back at the villa the Dark Lady was a whirlwind of relaxation; cleaning, washing, cooking. It was exhausting to watch.  I read my book and occasionally cooled off in the pool waiting for the next culinary onslaught.

Apart from a couple of evenings out we stayed in and barbecued. We watched films and "House of Cards" together, it was pretty restful. The children, now 14 and 17 didn't feel it necessary to be at each others throats the whole time.  I think I was the one who was the most trouble. I'm going to have to relax about my adorable wife's desire to relax by being very busy doing stuff.

So from now on my angel, if you want to wait on me hand and foot, I'm not going to argue of it gives you pleasure.

"You couldn't get me a cold one from the fridge could you pet"?


"ROOOOOAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR"!!!!!


"Oops sorry. Forgot. Holidays over".

Just unpacked the suitcase and discovered that we hardly wore any of the clothes we took with us.


Baby what a big surprise!

THANK YOU FOR BEING A FRIEND

We met at a student party. He was intervening in a cider fuelled dispute over a girl. He was calm. Rational. Possibly brave or just plain foolhardy. I was impressed. he went on to save me life on several occasions. The first time was 24 hours later.



The next night we went to the Aston University Geordie Society night which boasted Ray Stubbs the amazing one man blues band and comedian Mike Elliot and compere.



After watching the turn and also a sweaty man shouting "Gateshead" every few minutes the evening was over. I staggered drunkenly up to the compere to ask where the comic was.



"It's me yer"



Clive intervened. Calmly. Rationally. Or then again he may have just been being brave or more probably foolhardy and we tottered into the night.



So what sort of man was he was back then?



Without a doubt the Funniest most bizarre and possibly scruffiest human being I ever saw.

Old beyond his years and to me very worldly wise.



We discovered mutual love of pub and conversation. Birmingham in the late 1970's boasted dozens of horrible down at heel seamy boozers and we visited them all. One game we'd play was



Pub toilet bingo



Door. Lock. Seat. Paper. Lighting. Full house. Paper was known as Bathroom stationary he explained due to an elderly aunt terming it thus.



He was so inventive. We would spark off one another. With me the junior partner struggling to keep up. Strangers would edge their seats closer to eavesdrop.



He was a storyteller.



He also had the most wonderful sense of the absurd. As well as the ability to laugh at his physical imperfections.



Once after visiting the cinema to see Slade in Flame in Birmingham one cold and rainy winters night. He wandered into what he thought was a chip shop where his glasses promptly steamed up.



"Savaloy and chips please" he said.



"Sorry mate this is a taxi office." Came the reply.



Then there was his family.



He always spoke in glowing terms about his parents Bert and Molly and how they were the perfect team when they ran their business. How they had started with nothing and had done it all on their own and how he could never hope to emulate the success they had made of their lives.



We traded family stories of eccentric aunts who would turn the tv on to "look at the news" and a scary centenarian woman swaddled in blankets who he was left alone with in the front parlour. Just her. Him and a dinky toy. Her only utterance being "woo hoo hoo hoo". I don't think he ever found out her name as she was just known as "Little Auntie".



I tried to trump his tale with mine of a great grandmother who appeared to be made entirely of woollen shawls and talcum powder and the horror of the visit to her at the Fleur de Lys Nursing home which always entailed the kiss at the end of the visit.



He would talk about an idyllic childhood growing up in Rosniegr then Ashford With him tricycling up the street to visit the neighbours so they would make him tea. He once said happiness was a new toy car a new pair of plimsolls and the summer holidays stretching out in front of him.



A year or so after I met him and we were swapping tales as usual and he told me about his brother Mark. Four years older than he. Who he adored although Molly told me they fought a lot as siblings do.



As he was talking about him. He started to weep. He then told me Mark died very young before he had a chance to fulfil his obvious potential.



Clive would often mention him. He was always with him. I think his brother informed many of the decisions he made in his life and he was never forgotten.



If we were together he would often mention it was his brothers birthday or some other anniversary.



In fact last February Kerry my wife tweeted that we were up in Morecombe for the weekend and Clive immediately texted back that one of his favourite memories was of visiting his brother who was doing his teachers training up there and walking round the bay together doing impressions of TV nature programme commentators. Every observation ending with the line "and they make such a magnificent sight" or something similar. Clive had a mind for these observations and would always be 100% accurate. I was always rather less so. I got used to being corrected over the years!



Such was his brain. He was able to recite poetry. Song lyrics. Advertising slogans and tv dialogue at will. This probably explained one of his many strengths. He loved to write parodies.





Work.



Work was everything to Clive. He had ambitions to be a writer. He succeeded although not perhaps in the way he perhaps intended. It was glaringly obvious when we were at college doing our Communications Studies Diploma. An early form of the now discredited Media Studies degree that he was the star of the show.



He excelled at every module.



TV. He was a natural. However he knew that looking as he did a tv presenting career was out of the question.



Radio. He was a leading light in hospital radio and during his early freelance career did many voice overs for radio commercials. Using one of his many voices. Being a gifted impersonator.



Advertising. We had to write the copy and design a campaign for a men's underarm deodorant. The best I could manage? Blue collar rather direct campaign for "No Sweat"



Prevents perspiration... No sweat.!



Clive elegantly crafted a campaign around Abatis! The Greek word for an obstacle or a barrier.



Now that was a class act.



It was little wonder that writing beckoned. He was supremely gifted.



He started out writing for the Henley in Arden Digest. He was in his element. It was a tiny village magazine he wrote and produced it. He would ride off from his dingy bed sitter in Birmingham each day on his Honda 70. It was the closest he ever got to learning to drive. All the better for other road users with his eyesight frankly.



Each weekend he would regale me with stories of pompous and very camp members of the cast of the Archers who lived in the village and his favourite. The local copper Sgt Scudder who would ring him with the latest police report.



Occasionally if there had been an accident on the A34 he'd start the conversation with "Hello Clive. Scudder 'ere. I've got a nice fatal for yer"!



He ran the magazine with a bloke called Beamon who so he told me seemed to be made up of a kit of parts. Lifts in his shoes. A bad toupee. False teeth and a selection of nervous twitches. Brought on he reckoned by this blokes suspicion that his wife had tried to kill him by putting ground glass in his food. One day Beamon disappeared. With the money. For years after. The police would call asking if he'd heard from him.



So Clive needed a job and the only one he could find was at Mayfair magazine. Where he honed his writing style. He crafted wonderful articles about steam locomotives. Second World War bombers and the like. Secure in the knowledge that no one would read them as they only bought the magazine for the naked girls.



When he wasn't at Mayfair he sat in his flat writing furiously carving out a freelance career which included the Real water sketch for the Two Ronnie's. He often described himself as a hack. Anyone who has seen that sketch would tell you that wasn't the work of a hack.



One day his life changed. At Mayfair they used to make the letters up as no one wrote in. So he invented one about a slapstick fetish where people would cover themselves in custard.



To his surprise and delight he had a deluge of genuine letters. He needed a name for this and Splosh was created. He also decided he needed another name for his freelance work and Bill Shipton was born.



He started Splosh as a magazine and then moved into films.



So he was able to combine so many of his talents. Writing. Producing and helping.



Clive or Bill if you prefer as a man was always drawn to the underdog. He always wanted to help people. One summer for instance he helped build a kids adventure playground.



With Splosh he not only provided top quality fun and entertainment. He was the first person in the world to do so. How many of us can say we started something that had never been seen before?



He also created a community. Many people from the Sploshing fraternity had felt isolated and alone. He brought them together and showed them that it was alright. It was normal. It was fun. It was life affirming. The world took on a rosier hue after a pie in the face,



Which goes part way to explaining the large numbers of people who have been saddened by his death. Their tributes pouring in to his and other websites.



Off duty he was the life and soul of the Marina Fountain. Writing the newsletter and holding court. It was a place he loved as it was full of fascinating characters. He liked nothing more than to sit there talking about anything and everything with anyone. He held no prejudice.



It was a side of him that many didn't realise existed.



He was in many ways an intensely private man. I knew him 36 years and I didn't know everything about him.



His Crohn's disease hindered him latterly and he found it difficult to travel. So working from home was ideal. He preferred to meet on neutral ground. So the pub it was. Not that I was ever complaining about that.



How do you sum up a life like Clive's?



He wasn't a rich man. That didn't worry him. He would have liked to have done more writing and we are all the poorer for that. I think had he lived we would have seen an hilarious autobiography. He had intended to write about his time at Mayfair. The stories he told were magnificent about a demoralised work force and their petty revenge on the people in charge.



Everyone who met him immediately found him riveting and the best company.



No one who ever met him could ever forget him.



He was the hit of my wedding.



His best man speech was the voted the best ever by experienced wedding goers.



When Kerry my wife and I retired to bed for our wedding night hoping for our very own Mayfair moments. All we could hear were great gusts of laughter from the bar downstairs as Clive held court and recounted tale after tale to a rapt audience of new friends who had only met him a few hours before.



I could go on all day about this man. But he's probably fretting to get to the pub.



So now this is going to be the hard bit: To sum up.



He is irreplaceable. There was only one. There will never be another. The world is a darker sadder certainly less funny place for his passing.







All this has made him out to be a bit of a saint hasn't it?



Well he wasn't perfect.....





Twenty years ago when he was first hospitalised with Crohns he asked me to go get him a couple of pairs of pyjamas.



"I'll pay you when I get out" he said.



I'm still waiting!!



Frankly I think this is a rather extreme way of getting out of paying a debt. Don't you?

FUNERAL FOR A FRIEND

I mentioned on Facebook last week that my best friend of 36 years standing, one of the two wonderful people who agreed to be my best man at my wedding to the Dark Lady in 2011, had died suddenly.



It is a bitter blow. A far bigger blow to his parents who at this late stage in their lives have now lost both their children, (his older brother died 40 years ago as a student). How cruel life can be. They are a lovely couple are Bert and Molly and this is not the way things are supposed to be.

I first met Clive at a student party in a grim house in an even grimmer suburb of Birmingham. He was in the year above me and we bonded immediately. I can still remember saying to him the next morning when having slept on the floor of this vile house, unwashed and with a horrendous hangover waiting for the bus into the city centre.



"Nothing beats a good evening’s bullshitting"!



We decided that night due to our mutual interest in comedy and also my interest in music to go and see "Ray Stubbs the amazing one man blues band. Comedian and compere Mike Elliot".



It was for the Aston University Geordie Society. We were at the lowly Birmingham Polytechnic but we shared a campus so that was alright.



This was the first of several times he saved my life!



At the end of the evening as we were leaving having witnessed Mr Stubbs and a sweating compere shouting "Gateshead" every few minutes I staggered up to this bloke and asked where the comedian was. Not realising it was comedian AND compere. Rather than COMEDIAN. And Compere.

Clive saved me from a kicking on several occasions over the years.



I moved into radio, he into journalism and freelance comedy writing. He was the founder of a tiny magazine called The Henley in Arden Digest, which was notable for the local copper phoning him up with crime and accident tips. He delighted in the name of Sgt Scudder and would occasionally ring and mutter conspiratorially down the phone:



"Clive? Scudder 'ere. Got a nice fatal for yer"!



If someone had met their end on the busy A34.



1979 dawned and Margaret Thatcher was elected Prime Minister. His business partner did a runner with the money. Recession arrived and the magazine was finished.



By this time I was with the BBC and travelling round the local radio stations, mainly in the North of England. Clive loved to travel by train and would come and visit. The visits were broadly similar; Pub and conversation. In fact over 36 years we have done little else. Just in a variety of different locations.



He needed a job. They were hard to come by. Eventually he landed a job on soft porn magazine Mayfair. Ever after he blamed Maggie for his descent into a life of pornography.



Even if we were apart we would be in constant touch. He had ambitions to be a comedy writer. He was a very good one and the funniest man I have ever met. When we were on a roll, sitting in the pub firing out ludicrous ideas, people would edge their chairs closer to hear what nonsense we were talking.



As well as being a scream he was also very clever and well read. He was also good and free with his advice. This was useful as he picked up the pieces after a series of romantic failures on my part.



We didn't always agree. Occasionally there was the odd wounding word. He may have been slightly jealous of my perceived "success".



I never understood this. Here was a man who had not only written the "Real water" sketch for “The Two Ronnies” but also the excellent "Lester's Lists" for me which we repeated a few to celebrate my 26th anniversary on Radio 2. This was a man who had also started an entirely new fetish!

During his time at Mayfair one of the many editorial jobs was to make up the letter for the letters page as they received so few genuine ones.



One day for a joke he invented a letter from someone who claimed they really liked pouring custard into their knickers!



To his surprise they received a flurry of genuine letters from people who were into this but thought they were alone.



Sploshing was born!



It started small with magazines. Then there were films and latterly websites. He became a celebrity in this world. If ever there was a sex show on TV up would pop "Bill Shipton" (his pseudonym) with a bucket of gunge and a posse of scantily clad women. Far from being "filth" it was Carry on style slapstick comedy where the woman always came out on top!



"Belle de Jour" with Billie Piper featured Sploshing and got in touch to find out how to do it properly.



"So that's when the guy has sex with the gateau? No No No. The woman sits on it"!



He loved thinking up ludicrous plots and making his messy movies in his own studio. He was adored and feted the world over. Home Box Office from America did a big piece on him. Film Director John Waters waved a copy of his magazine on the David Letterman or was it the Jay Leno show?



Trouble was this took up all of his time so he wasn't able to do as much comedy writing as he would have liked.



Not that he was unhappy. True he could be a grumpy sod. However that may have been partly due to the Crohn's disease he suffered for the last 20 years of his life, restricting a lot of his travels and sapping his strength.



He was the life and soul of the pub: The Marina Fountain in St Leonard's on sea. He did the newsletter for them which was full of information about the bands due to play, and scurrilous gossip about the regulars.



When I went to meet him it was very difficult to talk to him uninterrupted as a constant of stream of friends would drop by his table to chat.



He hadn't enjoyed the best of health over the last few months but last time the Dark Lady and I saw him he looked a lot better and was in good spirits. So his sudden death is a terrible shock.



He is irreplaceable and leaves a massive gap. Everyone who met him adored him. He always had time and loved nothing more than a good conversation. If it involved pub… So much the better.



I often see things, think of things or you tell me things and I think



"Clive would love that"



Who can I tell that too now?



My life is less colourful. There is less laughter. Still I have the most wonderful memories of the funniest and most generous man I've ever known.

DARLING HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!

26 years! My time (so far I hasten to add) at Radio 2 has flashed by. The pudgy fresh faced youth that arrived here in the summer of 1987 has given way to a pudgy slightly more weathered middle aged man. However despite the passing of the years I still have all my own hair and all my own teeth. OK I lost half a molar 17 years ago biting into a kebab but with a little invisible mending you wouldn't know.

When I first arrived I'd been a DJ for over ten years so it wasn't exactly new but it was big. It was important. It was national. It's what Radio presenters dream about. It was the Man U of the wireless. I say wireless. For back then Radio 2 was a very different beast. I was too young for the demographic. By nigh on 30 years.

It meant that when I was on the air presenting programmes such as "Nightride" or "The Early Show". It was very difficult to know what to talk about. I couldn't talk about my life otherwise I'd sound like the audiences grandson. Nor could I pretend that I had their life experience.

"Remember the Blitz?" would have sounded ludicrous coming from me.

The language we used would also have to be tailored. We never used the term "gig" for when we went to see live music. It was "concert" or even "recital"!

When I first started at the BBC. There was a firm ruling:

"Do not mention alcohol as some listeners do not drink and may be offended"!

My first show came about sadly as a result of the lovely Ray Moore being taken ill with the cancer that killed him at an early age. It was bittersweet that the start of my national presenting career coincided with the end of his. He was unable to continue and so the schedule had to be reshuffled at the 11th hour. I was around and on I went. I was terrified. Well outside of my comfort zone. I have the cassette of it somewhere and more than a quarter of a century later I still can't bring myself to listen to it.

After that I started to do shows on a regular basis, alternating between the after Midnight slot and the early morning show which I do now. Then in 1995, huge ructions. The BBC decided that it would be good to move my show (as it had now become) to Birmingham.

This was an upheaval. Do I sell up and buy a house in the Midlands or stay put and commute? I chose the latter and for 10 of the next 13 years I lived on a canal boat. I was closer to my parents and sister and brother in law so there were advantages. It also meant I got to see my Mum a lot more over the last years of her life.

Then having sold the boat and moved into a house. The phone call came...

"The Controller wants to see you. I can't tell you what it is about"!

What would it be. A higher profile show? The axe?

"You're coming back to London"

So in 2008 I upped sticks and moved south once more.

By this time and since our move to Birmingham 13 years before there had been a seismic shift in the target audience coupled with my advancing years. The music changed. It started to reflect my own tastes. Stuff I had bought rather than my parents’ generation. The language changed. We became more informal. You could use the word "gig" without the management having an attack of the vapours. In fact we used a whole lot more words and began to sound like the person you would talk to over a pint in the pub. We could even mention the pub without fear of a deluge of complaints from the offended. (Although I can't recall ever having a complaint along those lines anyway).

Then in 2011 another change. The shows production was put out to tender. It would no longer be made by the BBC. I had no say in the selection process but to my great delight to was won by Wise Buddah a company who make a number of shows for Radio 2 such as the Terry Wogan, Johnny Walker and Michael Ball programmes. So I was in pretty exalted company.

Looking back over the last 26 years I've been very lucky.

I got to spend time with me old Mum. When I came back south I met the Dark Lady who in a moment of aberration agreed to become my wife and I get to fool about and play nice tunes on the radio.

For a boy from Walsall who started out as a filing clerk at the D.H.S.S I know I've been very lucky. OK so I've not exactly set the TV world alight. Maybe it would be nice to have a higher profile time slot. However with age comes wisdom...(even to me) and I've learned you can't have everything.

I can still remember those long tedious hours filing Case Papers in A-L. I didn't even have the whole alphabet to go at!

In general I've worked with many kind clever and talented production staff who have added a lot to the shows I've done and continue to do so. Dr Strangelove has moved on and is missed. Jade the Unnatural is doing a brilliant job and will move on soon herself and will also be missed.

I have every confidence that between the two of us, myself and the new person will continue the tomfoolery and the tunes. In many ways it’s now more fun to do the show than it’s ever been. As long as you are up for it. We most certainly are.

A huge thank you to you for listening and taking part.

Roll on the next 26!

IMPORTANT NOTE TO INTERNET CONSPIRACY THEORISTS:

Whenever anyone writes anything like the above. Pimply Herbert's on message boards put two and two together and come up with the following:

"He's leaving"

"He's been fired"

"He's ill. Probably dying"

"Obviously major changes afoot on the station"

In response to these rather overexcited posters.


NO.

Then in response to the following cyber mutterings:

"We'll they always say that. I've heard from a "source" (imaginary). That he's going/Ill/fired/abducted by aliens"



THE ANSWER IS STILL NO!

Not saying I expect to do another 26 years. I have no reason to think that I'm going any time soon and as far as my health is concerned. I think (hope) I'm good for a while yet.
If you are up for it lets continue to Ride the Night Horse!

IT ONLY TAKES A MINUTE

The other day as I was out walking a pleasant young Sikh gentleman fell into step next to me. He was dressed to impress and had spectacular aftershave.


"Hello I am Guru ........"

I never got the last bit.

Normally I am polite but slightly distant as I have an antenna for conmen and panhandlers.
However I am never rude. Can't see what satisfaction people get from being horrible to strangers even if they be cold callers or beggars.
"I can see you are a nice man"
Can't see anything to disagree with here. I thought.

"I can tell by the lines on your forehead"

He drew a rough sketch of my lined forehead on a pad he produced from the pocket of his elegantly tailored jacket.

His soft manicured hand gently took mine.
"You are in excellent health and have very nice hair"

Wow. How could he know all this just by looking at my palm?

"Look at my face. Remember my face"

He said.
"You are a sexy man"
Well who was I to disagree? The Dark Lady says that too. Although sometimes she has to leave the room directly after she utters it. Reappearing a few minutes later face slightly flushed from either laughing or weeping. Not quite sure which.

"You think too much. Do not think as much".
Uncanny. This has been said to me before; 30 years ago when I lived in the tiny North Yorkshire coastal village of Staithes. I was sitting in the pub; The Cod and Lobster one night and suddenly the local painter and decorator a chap called Fenton piped up:

"What's the matter with you"?
"Nothing. I'm thinking"!

"You don't want to be doing that at your age." He riposted!

Meanwhile a hundred yards further along the street and back in 2013. Guru....... was getting into his stride.

"You must not cut your hair or nails on a Tuesday"!

Not sure what this was about but then again he was right about the sexy bit and the fine hair!

"Look at my face. Remember my face". He said again.

This was beginning to resemble the ventriloquist Arthur Worsley and his dummy Charlie Brown.

"Look at me son when I'm talking to yer"!

"Have you ever been to Singapore"? He suddenly asked

"Once in 1989 for 4 days it was like going to the Arndale Centre"!

"I will be there....By your clothes I would say you are a poor but honest man"

"Well I wouldn't describe myself as rich but I do ok"

"You are poor but rich in your life. You are a happy man"

This was beginning to sound like one of those Music Hall mind reading double acts:
Man soliciting items from audience members to blindfolded man on stage.

"What am I holding in my hand? Take your TIME. Take your TIME"!

"Is it..a...a.watch"?

Huge applause from gullible audience.

Guru.......produced a card from his other elegantly tailored pocket on it were written words starting with Health and Happiness. Further down the list there were things like Money and Power.

"Choose two words to wish for."

"Health and happiness".

Without those everything else is meaningless.

He gave me a tiny scrunched up piece of paper.

"Hold this and tell me a number less than 100 and a colour. Not white or Black"

"38 green".

"Now open the paper".

I did although it took some time as it was very compressed. It read

"38. Green"!

"Now remember my face....and give me money. Paper money"

I did.

Amazing. So the "poor" part of his reading came true too!

CIRCLE OF LIFE 2

So try as I might. I wasn't finding anything to get too wretched about. Nothing that would qualify me for a seat on a daytime TV sofa. Nothing that would propel me to the lead in a tabloid.

No pictures of me drunken and weeping exiting a night club missing a shoe.

I seem to remember some years ago reading about "paradise syndrome". This was a condition that über rich and successful celebrities suffered from. In that everything in their lives was so perfect they begin to suffer feelings of dissatisfaction. They feel worthless despite all their success and material gain. Dave Stewart of Eurythmics fame was said to have been a sufferer.

Whilst I'm not for a moment suggesting I am one of the exalted few who are in this frankly envious position.



(There was a U.S sportsman who said "I've been rich and I've been poor, and I'm telling you rich is better).



I count my blessings every day in that I have a wonderful family. A job which doesn't feel like a job and as far as I am aware so far so good...my health!



As for cash. Well put it this way. A few years back a newspaper printed a comprehensive and lengthy list of the top radio earners......my name was conspicuous by its absence. Even better a few of you commiserated with me!

So where am I going with this?



Everything seems to be ticking over pretty well. That was until my mate Libido Boy tipped up last weekend. We had tickets to see a cappella kings "The Magnets" at the Union Chapel. Which is as you'd expect from the name a church. It's a wonderful venue. As its pews there are no marked seats. You have to get there early. We did. Rather too early. We were there an hour before the gig started.



"I'll get the beers in" I said generously! Once I'd found the bar I also found a notice telling me that no booze was allowed in the chapel itself.



So first strike!



We had to have a cup of tea each.



We were a couple of rows back with a good view. Then a large and frankly odiferous man sat right in front of us.



Strike two...or maybe...phew!



On came the Magnets. They were terrific. Rehearsed to the ninth degree. They had wonderful harmonies. They had choreography. They looked good and sounded even better. The high point of the evening was a "drum solo" by their beat boxer Andy Frost which was worth the price of admission alone. He is a genius and must be in league with the devil to get all those various sounds.

Lboy and I and the rest of the audience were having a whale of a time....then it happened:



BUSINESS!



Strike three.



I know I know it's probably me but when I go to see an act. I like them to do the work. I'm not overkeen on singing along and I certainly don't want to waste time trying to be the louder half of the audience ornate boys versus the girls or however artists try and pad things out.



I am still scarred from a Spinners concert in Wolverhampton in 1975

Please just sing the songs. You are so good at that it’s a shame you wanted us to sing instead. If we were any good you'd be watching us. Not vice versa.



"Let me here you say yeah!"



"No!"



Libido Boy leant over and muttered darkly.



"I'm not a fan of pantomime"!



That personal preference hiccup notwithstanding, The Magnets are a great act.



Then it was to the pub. We were gagging for a pint or several frankly.



Strike four.



We've not been in this particular boozer for some months. It's always very crowded but there is a guy on the wheels of steel playing ska and rockabilly and rhythm and blues.



Strike five



Seemed to have changed his format so it was more mainstream. More Bad Manners and the Kinks. Good but not as good as there were fewer surprises musically.



We had a couple or three and about 1.15am we headed it to get a burger and walk home.



Strike six.



MY PHONE.....WHERE'S MY PHONE??



We pushed our way back in. Of it there was no sign. I left my details with the landlord who said he'd check the CCTV. LBoy phoned my airtime supplier and had the sim disconnected and we slunk home.



The worst part was that I had lost a lot of family pictures. I was certain it was in my top pocket a hard place for anyone to lift it. However thieves are resourceful and skilled.

On the following Monday I wandered down to the pub to see if there was any news. Had they checked the video and seen who nicked it?



Apparently I left it on the table. As I left the premises and then returned it was not classed as theft. It was "loss".



Whoever picked it up from the empty table and didn't hand it in could have picked it up by accident I was told.



I suppose they could if they leant over presuming the earth had moved and it had slid away from them.



Or they arrived at the table and found it there and sort of thought it was theirs that had arrived there fractionally before they did. Possibly due to a rip in the space time continuum.



Or maybe it was a gregarious sort of handset that wanted to get the drinks in so went rushing in first!



Whatever. I am not sure that this law is a very sound one.



What galls me most though was that I was stupid enough to leave it there in the first place!



Strike 7-147



Do I qualify for the



"Alex Lester in theft horror"



Magazine cover?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

May 11th was my "eleventyfifth" birthday. (Curse you Tolkein).

When you have had as many as I seem to have had now they all appear to meld into one and also turn up two or three times per year.

Thirty took an age to arrive. Forty a while and since then it has just accelerated out of control.  So I had better hurry up and type this in case I don't make it to the end.

Having said that, I don't really feel remarkably different than I did as a young man; although these days I am less likely to drink so much that I vomit and the room spins round and am less inclined to sleep on friends floors.

Or walls and park benches if they were not forthcoming.

It's been an exciting two weeks since my last blog.

This was due to 2 Day and my birthday, coinciding with a week off.

The theme of this year’s Radio 2 "2 Day", where we move the schedules around, was the Orchestra.  Friday Night is Music Night that venerable institution which I have presented myself on occasion was celebrating the wonderful BBC concert orchestra and thoroughly deserved it was too.

An all-star cast was featured but the highlight without a doubt was the finale with the radio 2 presenters choir belting out "Dancing Queen"



It was a nice thought as I busted some moves up there on the stage of the Hackney Empire that Gary Barlow, Mick Hucknall and Sinead O'Connor had been my warm up acts.

After the gig it was a quick drink and home with the Dark Lady as we had an early start on the Saturday apparently as I was the birthday boy.

Breakfast in bed and then presents.  YAAYAAAAY. I like presents.

The DL is the best at this as she can second guess what I'll enjoy and so I was soon sashaying around the bedroom wearing a selection of new shirts and a rather fine jacket.  All fitting perfectly.  The only sartorial hiccup was a rather sprauncey pair of jeans.

The waist size was perfect.  The leg length was erm how shall I put this....a little long!

I have either lied about my height or she, blinded by love thinks I am somehow taller than I actually am.

Then it was the tube into central London as my sister and brother in law had sprung for tickets up the The Shard, the latest addition to the London skyline.




When we arrived the lifts were out of sync so we had to wait rather a long time in a queue watching a short film of London views.  Too short frankly as we saw it about a dozen times before the lifts were back working again.

Even though it wasn't the clearest day the views were spectacular.  We could see all the way to the Dartford Crossing which must be around fifteen miles.

On the way down in a city of ten million people we bumped into Johnny Walker and his wife Tiggy who were doing the same trip with some friends to celebrate a birthday as well.


Then it was lunchtime and the DL had booked a table at a Mexican restaurant.  I love Mexican although for some reason there were no fajitas on the menu it was very tasty and we didn't want to overeat as there was probably going to be sweeties later

On our honeymoon in New York in December 2011 I had booked us tickets to the musical The Book of Mormon which has to be one of the funniest and rudest shows I've ever seen with wonderful songs to boot.  The show has recently opened in London.  How would it compare?

First though we needed Smarties!  I'm sorry there are certain things in our lives that are inviolable.

Going to a gig?  There must be beer.

Going to the cinema?  There must be hotdogs.

Going to a show?  There must be Smarties.

Could we find any in any of the shops?  Nope so we had to make do with M&M's.

All good in their own way but somehow brasher, cruder and less sophisticated than their understated British cousins.

As we made our way through the theatre bar to our seats I spotted them.......on sale behind the bar.  Everyone else was guzzling their pre-show drinks. We snaffled a couple of boxes of the good ones and settled in our seats.

From the opening number "Hello" possibly the only song from the show that you could play on the radio it was a triumph.  Within minutes we had stopped comparing it with the Broadway version and just enjoyed it.  

What a day! It wasn't over yet.  After the matinee we hit the tube once more and headed back home to pick, up the car.  We were on a mission.  We had places to go.  People to see!

Night ferry from Portsmouth to France, we know it will always rain but we don't care.  We always have a relaxing time. Eating. Drinking. Watching TV reading and entertaining friends.

A week away doing nothing is really good for the soul.  Whilst I busied myself doing man jobs like sitting down and staring into space.  The DL carried on with her major project, sticking a lifetime of family photographs into albums.

She has been working away at this for some time.  She has now reached the mid 1980's.  Although she's not entirely sure but she may have got 1982 and 1983 in the wrong order!

End of the week and my truck driving pal Steve turned up with Annie his Mrs and we had fine old time with some more eating and what have you.

More entertaining company it is hard to find although when the women opted to watch the last part of the Eurovision Song Contest Steve suddenly came over all tired and went to bed.

Come scoring time the Annie and The Dark Lady suddenly decided it was time they too hit the sack.  So it was left to me to wade through the scoring whilst simultaneously doing the washing up.

Who said men can't multi-task?

NOBODY KNOWS OR UNDERSTANDS

The big talk this week has been about 2Day. This as you are probably aware is where we celebrate the breadth and variety of the stuff we do here on Radio 2 and its also an opportunity to boast about what we do.

As is normal with these events the big guns are brought out and paraded up and down our TV screens and newspapers.


This is the way the business works.


So on the show we have long since stopped worrying about competing for column inches as we know that the average Fleet Street journalist or TeeVee type wouldn't recognise the Best Time of the Day Show if it sat on their knee in a gorilla outfit and farted in their face!

So we, with your help plough our own furrow.



You have been very helpful in this regard over the years first with letter writing. Then faxes and over the last decade email the texts and now Facebook.



It also means we can interact with you so much more freely than we were able to before.



Back in the early days I could throw out an idea or ask a question and three days letter a letter would arrive saying:



"Rubbish"!



By then I'd have forgotten what I was talking about anyway.



Now however communication is instant and we can do all sorts of things on top of the usual playing records and fooling about. Instant is good as due to advancing age unless the response is instant I've probably forgotten what I was talking about anyway.

We now do radio with pictures. We also do it when the show is not on the air. With iPlayer and the Oddcast we also do the show 24/7. We are always there which is terrific. Unless of course you are not a fan in that case it's like embarrassing personal itching!


With the creative input and IT skills of Producer Dr Strangelove who oversees the whole thing and his glamorous assistant Jade the Unnatural who studio produces three of the five shows per week......hang on Jade 3 Strangelove 2. That may make it Jade the Unnatural and her glamorous assistant Dr Strangelove......well they both bring stuff to the party. We are always thinking of new and dumber ideas to keep you on board.


So when the 2Day musical gauntlet was thrown down the team immediately set to work thinking of new ways to get us noticed. Knowing full well in me they have a man with no shame. For whom the word "dignity" is just that a word. Just as garbure. glitch and froghood are words.

Something to do with music obviously. It was only a short hop from that thought to a One man band. The acme of music for fun. It is pure showbiz. You get the tunes and you get the spectacle. Also and perhaps most importantly you get the ludicrousness of it all.



A delightful East Ender called Jake kindly volunteered to take me through through process. He is a very accomplished performer and is a regular feature when foreign language students arrive in London. He greets them off the coach with a song a solo and a cry of "ave a banana"!

It's a lot harder than you think.

Akin to patting the top of your head and rubbing your stomach whilst at the dentist due to your mouth being crammed with metallurgy. With drums and cymbals laced to your shoes if you are not co-ordinated it just sounds like someone throwing a music shop downstairs.



I was surprised to learn that this quintessentially British pastime was in fact huge in Canada. With books being written on the subject as well as there being more one man bands per square foot than anywhere else on earth. (I think). Quite a boast (I think)!



They are possibly used as bear scarers.



So how did I get on? Alex Lester Putting the number 2 in 2Day. Judge for yourself with the following link