Anyone who works at Marton must stand a reasonable chance of appearing on television. It's only two or three miles to Blackpool's Promenade, where the large vans used by TV crews sometimes form their own traffic jams.
When Russell Harty visited Blackpool on 30 July, Robert Muir, who is chief hack for this inestimable column, appeared on the programme, "Russell Harty at the Seaside". I went along to Robert's home in Cleveleys to conduct an in-depth interview. We relaxed over a bottle of home-brewed bramble wine.
Marton Harry: Tell me in your own words what happened.
Robert Muir: That Friday afternoon I finished work at 4.30 ane walked to the Promenade.
MH: Walked?
RM: It was a sunny day and I enjoy exercise. My bike was in the menders.
MH: Some people wouldn't even walk around the corner for a packet of cigarettes. They'd take the car.
RM: I don't smoke or drive. Anyway, I bought fish and chips at a chip shop well back from the Prom.
MH: Very wise.
RM: And strolled along the front to Central Pier. It's free to go on, so I went out to the end. I saw a great crowd of people just to the north of the Pier, so I went doen onto the beach to see what was going on. They were all watching Russell Harty and a man with two donkeys in a roped offarea on the sand. There was a bunch of kids playing in the sand and a few dozen landladies in there with them, as well as three TV cameras, a director and some assistants.
MH: So what cunning ruse did you use to get on the screen?
RM: Russell Harty was standing next to the man with the donkeys and all the cameras were pointing ath them. They were waiting for the signal to start the interview. I just went and stood where I could look right down the lens of one of the cameras. I was tall enough to see over the heads of the people in front of me. It was all over in a few minutes. The director gave a signal, they did the interview, I think, in one take, then they moved on to the singing landladies.
MH: Were you on screen in the landlady shots?
RM: No. The area round the landladies was packed and the cameras weren't in a good position to shoot the crowd.
MH: What time did all this take place?
RM: About six o'clock. The programme went out at eight thirty the same night.
MH: So you had a chance to see yourself?
RM: I did. I'd arranged to meet someone in the "Grapes" in Blackpool. They have a TV set in there. They were tuned to ITV but when I told the people watching I'd be on at eight thirty, they turned over.
MH: So the tension mounted when the programme started?
RM: Yes. The donkey interview was on halfway through the programme. At first there was no sign of me, then there I was, full face, unobstructed in the middle of the screen, Russell Harty on one side and the man and the two donkeys on the other.
MH: How long were you on screen for?
RM: At least five seconds. Then from another camera angle you could see the top of my head for a while longer.
MH: What reaction did the people in the pub have?
RM: They gave me a round of applause.
MH: Did any of them buy you a drink?
RM: My mate did, but it was his round anyway. Nobody else bothered.
MH: Did anyone else recognise you?
RM: My sister and her kids in Fleetwood saw me, because I'd rung them up and warned them I'd be on. One of my aunts in Scotland saw me. I haven't heard from anyone else. All the people at work who watched the programme seem to have been looking at the donkeys.
MH: Well they say you should never work with kids or animals. Wasn't it Andy Warhol who said everyone should be famous for two minutes?
RM: Probably.
MH: The number of times programmes are repeated, you might eventually get your full tow minutes of a kind of fame. Your image has broadcast at peak viewing time on BBC1. Has it made any difference to your life?
RM: No.
MH: No agents searching you out? No offers of acting or advertising contracts?
RM: Of course not.
MH: At least it got you a personal, in-depth interview in this fine column.
RM: Yeah.
MH: Finally, Rob, as this is an in-depth, probing interview in the finest traditions of investigative journalism, I have to ask you to comment on the allegations that you're crackers.
RM: What allegations?
MH: That you're so severely disturbed that you not only talk to yourself, you hold conversations with yourself.
RM: Nonsense. I'm no more crackers than you are.
MH: I'm glad to hear it. Thank you for being so informative and thanks for the bramble wine.
RM: Don't mention it.
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The Satanic Juke Box. (September 1983)
For a bit of variety, I recently visited the second worst pub in Blackpool. The place was deserted apart from my grandfather and myself. Even the barman had taken himself through to the other bar.
My grandfather went over to the juke box and made two selections. Even as he was walking back to his seat, the dreaded Cliff Richard came on, singing something like, "I Love Myself Sincerely". The old man was furious and was about to shout for the barman, but I persuaded him that he must have pressed the wrong button. He insisted that he had programmed the machine to play "Motorhead Live" and Meatloaf's "Dead Ringer For Love". The Cliff Richard record ended, then "Motorhead Live" came on. My ears were still ringing when "Dead Ringer for Love" erupted.
After the selections were over, I stood beside my grandfather while he selected "Paranoid" by Black Sabbath and "Over the Top" by Motorhead. He did it correctly, but Cliff Richard came on again before his selection.
I put it down to an electronic fault, but my grandfather is inclined to the belief that Cliff Richard's powers extend beyond the ageing portrait he keeps in his attic.
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A Matter of Style. (February 1985)
I apologise for the exclamation marks which sometimes appear in this Column.
I never use exclamation marks and the sight of two of them standing next to each other makes me cringe, but somehow they creep into the Column between leaving me and appearing in Insight.
If I write something funny, outrageous or controversial, there's surely no need to underline the fact with punk punctuation.
(The exclamation marks in question have been deleted for this online version. Nowadays I very occasionally use an exclamation mark for parodic purposes.)
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