The Good, the Bad and the Boring – Part Four

Victor Borge. Image: Reiner Hersch

The Great Dane sat across from me at the lunch table. It was the mid-1980s, and Victor Borge and I were to do an interview at the hotel in Wellington where he was staying during a tour of New Zealand.

The waiter appeared beside us to take our orders, and Victor indicated that I should order first. 'I'll have the Beef Wellington please,' I said, knowing that this was the posh Parkroyal and that the meal should be excellent. The waiter turned with a raised eyebrow to Denmark's greatest export after Carlsberg. 'I'll have a club sandwich.'

If I could have shrunk myself to disappear into my seat I would have done. Or, in hindsight, maybe I should have just changed my order there and then, say, to a dry cracker. Unfortunately I didn't.

So here he was, the world-famous pianist-comedian who for years had had audiences in stitches by combining musical excellence with comedy genius, playing with – and destroying – the English language while also doing the same with some of the world's greatest piano pieces. Mozart, I suspect, would have loved the humour of it.

The Clown Prince of Denmark.
Image: Jesper Jurcenoks

We chatted about Borge's musical background, and yes indeed he was, like Mozart, a prodigy. He had started learning the piano not long after he'd learned to walk, thanks to having parents who were also accomplished musicians.

Our meals arrived – Victor having had to wait for his humble sandwich while the chef prepared my Beef Wellington – and we tucked in. Rather like Hercule Poirot, Victor Borge personified the word 'dapper'; he was neat, trimmed, precise, tidy, with a twinkle in his eyes, and he was the perfect gentleman. Despite my asking him all the same questions that he'd been asked a million times by interviewers the world over, he answered them with good humour.

I asked him, 'What is the secret to your comedy?' He smiled at me and said, conspiratorially, 'If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret!' and smiled.

As I've mentioned in the previous articles on famous people I've interviewed, not all of them wanted to talk, or even be there, but I'm happy to say that the Clown Prince of Denmark was totally professional and fully engaged in our conversation. The following day I received a message from his son (with whom he was travelling) saying how much his father had enjoyed meeting me and doing the interview. I'd never had such a compliment from a celebrity before and never received one again. I suspect it said more about him then me, but hey, what a gent.

Another gentleman it was a pleasure to meet was astronomer, science broadcaster and

Carl Sagan. Image: Michaerl Okoniewski

author Carl Sagan. By the time he visited New Zealand in the 1980s he was already well known for his astronomy programmes on TV and was, arguably, the most famous name in science communication at the time.

In the UK, astronomer Patrick Moore was, as host of the BBC's long-running Sky At Night programme, also famous, and I interviewed him around the same time. While Patrick was dishevelled and lovely (and signed some books for me), he was a complete contrast to Carl Sagan. Patrick Moore fitted the stereotypical 'boffin' description, with his wildly effusive method of speaking and machine gun-delivery. I don't think anyone could fit so many words into an interview as Moore did.

Sagan on the other hand was more calm and measured, but also more outspoken. This worked for him as a science communicator because not only was he capable of simplifying difficult concepts for a lay audience, he wasn't afraid to address some of the big questions, such as the role of God in the universe. Patrick Moore stuck more to astronomy as a discipline, but they both shared success as communicators and as enthusiasts.

Sir Patrick Moore.
Image: South Downs Planetarium

The main difference was that Carl Sagan achieved global popularity (ref. his acclaimed series and book Cosmos) and some notoriety, to the point that Harvard refused to accept him either on their staff or as a serious astronomer. They disliked the way he popularised astronomy, but I thought he was the bees' knees.

As with Victor Borge, Sagan graciously put up with my questions, which I’m sure he'd answered a billion times before, and – being an experienced broadcaster – he was a dream to interview, knowing just how long to make his answers, just when to stop, or when to elaborate as required.

As I think I've mentioned, most of the famous people I interviewed have since died (not necessarily as a result of meeting me, yet who knows?), but Carl Sagan passed away at the obscenely young age of just 62. Patrick Moore and Victor Borge are also no longer with us, and nor is Marcel Marceau...

French mime artist Marceau, with his top hat, striped top and clown face (the trademarks of his character 'Bip') was world famous when I met him for an interview in the studio on our regional TV programme Today Tonight. My French wasn't even at intermediate stage at the time, but luckily his English was perfect, although I guess we could have done the whole interview in mime. I'm just not sure how I would have asked him how he got started in the 'art

of silence.'

Marcel Marceau as Bip.
 Image: Wikipedia

I'm not sure even if I asked him that out loud, otherwise I'm sure I would have remembered him telling me how he first used mime to entertain rescued Jewish children during the Second World War while he was secretly working for the French Jewish resistance.

What a fascinating man. And yet, the thing I remember most about him was his awful, awful wig. I'd met him before the programme in make-up, and could see then just how dreadful his rug was. It was curly, streaked with grey, but also filthy, matted even. I could hardly take my eyes off it, and yet here I was talking with a man who had been made a Grand Officier de la Légion d'Honneur in his native France and who had risked his life in the French resistance.

Needless to say, I never received any awards for my interviewing.

As an example of how naïve some of my interviewing was in the early days (early- to mid-1980s) go and read about my meeting with SpikeMilligan, a highlight of my broadcasting career but which disappoints me still as one of my biggest missed opportunities ever.

Mark Knopfler.
Image: Klaus Hiltscher, Wikipedia

There are quite a few other famous names that have been on the soft and squidgy end of my interviewing skills, such as Dire Straits' Mark Knopfler, Allan Clarke of the Hollies, and either Rupert Murdoch or Robert Maxwell (unbelievably I can't remember which!).

I've had a drink with the famous British character actor Derek Guyler, shared a flaccid and fleeting handshake with Kenny Everett, and I've had lunch with Clive Anderson. I've chatted (briefly) with Stephen Fry and had a more extended conversation on the set of Rivendell with Sir Peter Jackson. But now I'm just name-dropping, and there's not much to tell about any of those encounters.

Let me finish though by saying that, while many (if not most) of my televised interviews were bog-standard, unexciting and definitely not shock-horror-revealing, the best one I ever did, even though it was at the Avalon Television Studios, was without cameras and with no audience.

There’d been an industrial argument going on for weeks in New Zealand between the Employers' Federation and a national union, but negotiations had reached stalemate.

I was to interview two of the kingpins – Pat Kelly of (I think) the Cleaners' and Caretakers' Union and John Robertson of the Employers' Federation – live on camera. Again we were restricted to no more than about five minutes' duration, so it was unlikely I was going to be doing a ground-breaking interview.

Avalon TV Studios, New Zealand
Image: TVNZ

And so it proved; they both behaved extremely well, politely answered my questions, but hardly set the audience on fire with their blazing disagreements or opinions. They didn't shout or come to blows and I didn't have to referee. It was polite, sanitised, and – let's face it – probably boring. Until we retired to the TV One Club after the show for a drink.

Continuing to chat over a pint I asked Pat Kelly how the disagreement had started and what his concerns were. He told me and I turned to the Federation's John Robertson and said, “That sounds like a genuine grievance to me…” to which he replied, ‘Yes it is, but…” and proceeded to put his side of the argument. “That makes sense to me,” I said to Pat, who agreed it did, except…

And so it went on like a tennis match until in the end they were metaphorically shaking hands over the net and in accord with each other so much that I said it seemed there was enough common ground to progress out of the stalemate. Result!

From that day on I began to properly interview people by listening to them, but I never again had such a golden opportunity to solve a union dispute. And, I don't think I interviewed anyone famous again either.

If only I could go back in time, I would do it all differently. But that's hindsight for you.

If you've enjoyed this, please check out my previous articles on famous people I've interviewed here:

Part One – Rowan Atkinson, Arthur Lowe

Part Two – Dave Allen, Barry Humphries, Jeffrey Archer

Part Three – Dr. David Bellamy, Douglas Adams, Mel Smith & Griff Rhys-Jones

Previously: Spike Milligan

Keep Clam and Proofread

I am writing about mistakes in writing, which in itself is fraught with risk. Because the first thing you're going to do as a reader is look for errors in my article on errors, so perhaps I should apologise right up front if you find any. I can only say mea culpa in advance, and add that I am not particularly taking a 'holier than thou' position, merely trying to illustrate how infuriating and diverting mistakes can be.

So, caveat out of the way, let's get started with a sweeping generalisation: Contemporary journalism, especially online, is riddled with grammatical and spelling errors. And such errors totally spoil the impact of a headline or the credibility or even readability of an article. Or all three.

As a qualified curmudgeon I have recently been on the lookout for examples of literary languidity (which is a word I just made up, before you comment), examples which showcase listlessness and carelessness in headlines and body copy. 

Why? Because I see such things on a daily basis, in fact so often now that it calls into question whether journalists and their sub-editors are even reading what they've written before they publish.

I decided therefore to start collecting a few of these examples to share with you by way of evidence. Much to my non-surprise I found more than enough in just a day of normal casual browsing. Had I maintained my vigil for a week I could have completed a whole compendium of crap, but I think the ones I showcase here today will be enough. 

Let's start with an error worthy of half a million comments, about the NHS and how many of its workers have had to pay around £500,000 for parking at one hospital trust alone. As you can see in the screenshot, the £500k is described as 'hald a million', because, presumably, the sub-editor is working from home during the pandemic and allowing his/her cat to walk across the keyboard. But then, it is from the Mirror, so what can you expect?

Also, hald a million what? Even the body copy doesn't say. Here in the UK we know it means GB pounds, but in other countries they may think it was pesos, or zloty.

Whatever the currency, the Mirror isn't paying its hacks enough, obviously.

Then there's the woman who 'has went' viral online, according to the Daily Record. This mistake is likely because the journalist had originally written that the woman 'has gone viral' and then changed it to 'went viral' but without fully deleting the original draft. 

I saw read this online earlier...

Easy to do, but does this illustrate the larger problem, which is that journalists online are under tremendous pressure to get stuff published as quickly as possible, to beat the other online organs to the finish line, and therefore to be the ones 'breaking' the story? (Just nod).

Back when I was a lad ('were a lad'- Ed.) newspapers were physical things made of actual paper, that came out daily, sometimes twice-daily. Although they still had publication deadlines to meet, there was a strict chain of editorial command which acted as an increasingly fine-mesh filter system to spot and correct mistakes before the presses started rolling.

In today's digital environment however, content is king, and having up-to-the minute stories is vital if your organ's online status is to be credible and clickable. But the pressure to get content online creates its own problems - the faster you rush something into 'print' the less time there is to proofread and the more chances of mistakes getting through.

Mistake been made, reader am bemused

Which is almost certainly what happened at the BBC a couple of days ago where a missing 'has' changes the tone of this piece to one of pidgin English, rather than the polished delivery we've come to expect from Auntie Beeb; see the clipping, and smirk.

Here are a few more from my casual collection...

Americans 'air' giving Trump low marks. Just as we are giving really low marks to the staff writers at Audioburst. Using spellcheck or apps such as Grammerly probably wouldn't pick this error up as 'air' is spelt correctly, and Americans are quite likely to air something, such as their opinions, or underwear. (Also, who is President Trump Low? I rest my [upper] case).

Meanwhile, DIY enthusiasts will be agog to learn that they can put up a shelf in just '30 minute.' (That said, here in the UK it is very common for people to say that they were doing '80 mile an hour' on the motorway, though this could be a peculiarly northern thing - I haven't heard it much here darn sarf).

But the missing 's' again turns the headline into pidgin English, or maybe it just reflects the way the DIY instructions are written: Take shelf. Mark shelf position on wall. Use spirit level, make straight. Drill holes. Slip drill bit onto thumb. Swear. Sit down, read stuff online. See article: 'Plant shelf takes 30 minute to make.' Pour wine.

Why you write it like this, huh?

Forbes, which should know better, turns a question into a statement, and it's not rhetorical. Once again the urge to publish quickly results in a headline that is rendered meaningless by the simple inclusion of an errant question mark. If it had started with, 'Why should you...' the interrogative would have made sense. As it is it's neither one thing or the other.

This just to hand...

Finally though, not a headline or copy error, just an incredibly sloppy piece of knee-jerk publishing, and again from the BBC. 

On Monday a classic motorcycle museum in Austria caught fire and was totally destroyed, along with the valuable collection of 200 bikes inside.

In its rush to get the story out it looks as though a hack has searched for 'motorcycle museum fire' and published the first story that came up, which was indeed about a disastrous motorcycle collection blaze - but from Birmingham in 2003. 

No spellcheck or app would pick that up, only a measured, diligent approach to journalism, which, in our hectic, competitive and breathless digital age, seems to be missing.

Now if you'll excuse me I must go and proofread what I've just written - about 15 times.

But wait, there's more! This just in...

Part Three - The Good, the Bad and the Boring

Mike Bodnar continues his reflections on some of the famous people he's met...

The Botanic Man. Image: Allan Warren

Dr. David Bellamy was an unlikely candidate as a television presenter. He came to the public's attention literally by accident in 1967 when he was interviewed on the ecological effects of the Torrey Canyon oil tanker disaster.

The SS Torrey Canyon, an early supertanker, ran onto a reef off the south-west coast of England, breaking up and spilling an estimated 25–36 million gallons of crude oil. At the time it was the world's biggest oil spill, so naturally the media sought out experts. David Bellamy was one of them. It could be said that it was an oil disaster that made him a slick presenter. (That's enough – Ed.)

Bellamy was big in every way; he was physically big, had a big personality, a big and distinctive voice, and was big on the environment and its protection. In those days, with his big beard and his generally dishevelled appearance, he was what was called 'a boffin' – a science-type.

But unlike many experts of the day, David Bellamy was an instant hit thanks to his enthusiastic presentation (much arm-waving and gesticulating) and his ability to communicate complex information with ease. As a result, he went on to front literally hundreds of programmes on ecology, botany (he became famous as 'The Botanic Man'), environmentalism and many other issues. In New Zealand his programmes were popular also and he was given his own Kiwi TV series, 'Moa's Ark' (referring to the now-extinct huge-but-flightless bird, the moa).

SS Torrey Canyon. Image: Helston History

Also in NZ he fronted an advertising campaign against a noxious weed, Old Man's Beard, having been chosen not just for his ecological standing but because he had a beard himself as well as an authoritative and recognisable voice. The campaign was called, 'Old Man's Beard Must GO!'

So it was no surprise to those of us on the Today Tonight regional news team to find that Dr. David Bellamy was in New Zealand and was willing, ready and able to be interviewed, which was my job.

What I remember of the encounter was that he was first and foremost a botanist, not a TV star or celebrity. There were no airs and graces, or ego, and it was as if we'd been chums for years, not just on screen during the interview but before and afterwards. Pleasingly – to me anyway – he was as large as life; the Bellamy we all saw on the screen was exactly the same man off. Which made him easy to interview and – a major bonus – likeable too.

After the live interview we had a quick snifter in the TV One Club, the on-site bar at the studios, and then I gave him a lift back to his hotel in Wellington, a journey of about 20 minutes during which he talked non-stop. As we passed the hillside suburb of Khandallah on our right just before reaching the city centre he grabbed my arm and pointed up the hill.

Endangered: Hamilton's Frog. Image: doc.govt.nz

'D'you know, there's a man lives up there on that hillside who's the world authority on Hamilton's Frog?!' He pronounced it 'fwog'. Not only did I not know that, I'd never heard of Hamilton's Frog.

Anyway, I dropped him at his hotel and drove home, on a sort-of high that I'd just had The Botanic Man in my car. I related the whole story to my then-wife and we decided maybe it would be a nice thing to do to invite him for dinner the next evening, especially as he was in town alone.

The next day I dropped a letter off at reception for him inviting him to join us for dinner and offering to collect him. Sadly we never received a reply, so had to eat the Old Man's Beard salad and Frog pâté ourselves.

Douglas Adams. Image: Wikimedia Commons

Meanwhile, it wasn't just frogs in danger of extinction, it was the whole of Planet Earth in peril from a proposed interplanetary super highway that made Douglas Adams a household name. Luckily, the acclaimed author visited New Zealand before the Vogons had a chance to destroy us all.

Adams's Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy had already successfully morphed from radio to television and had proved incredibly popular. Douglas Adams came out to the Avalon TV Studios and I interviewed him live on air.

He was incredibly tall, something like 6'5”, but affable and easy to interview. I'd told our floor manager (also a Doug) that he'd be coming in for an interview and he rushed home to grab his three HHGG books for autograph purposes. I too had brought mine in, and Douglas Adams kindly signed all three of them. He even took the time to write, 'To Mike with best wishes, Douglas Adams', as opposed to a quickly-scrawled signature. Likewise with our floor manager.

Such signed copies sell for quite a bit these days, but it's the memory of meeting him I cherish more. He came across as a very sharp mind, very 'there'. He was at that stage already working on turning the Hitch Hiker's Guide into a film, though as with many such transitions it was a long drawn-out process (Disney had bought the rights). So long in fact that he died four years before it was completed and released (2005).

Although I don't recall the fine detail of what we talked about, I do remember how very engaged he was in the interview. He wanted to be there and wanted to talk, which is not something I can say about every celebrity interviewee.

Such as, for example, two of Britain’s most popular comedians at that time - famous for their roles in Not The Nine O'Clock News - Mel Smith and Griff Rhys-Jones. They were on the cusp of making their own show, Alas Smith & Jones – a pun on the original early 1970s television western Alias Smith and Jones – and were in New Zealand for a show and tour.

It was arranged that we (myself and a film crew) would meet them in central Wellington for an interview, which we decided to do externally (saved setting up multiple lights). I started the interview with what I thought was a legitimate question, given that they were now embarking on a career as a comedy duo, and that was: 'Do you see yourselves as the next Morecambe and Wise?'

Not Morecambe and Wise. Image: BBC

Mel Smith snorted and said, 'I don't know if the news has reached here yet but Eric Morecambe's dead!' They looked at each other and shook their heads, and the interview went downhill from there. Unlike Douglas Adams and David Bellamy they didn't want to be there, didn't want to engage and weren't at all amusing despite their on-screen reputations.

It was an unpleasant few minutes, and unsurprisingly I can't recall what we talked about after that, other than they were very reluctant to be classified as a comedy 'duo' and seemed non-committal about anything. Oh well, can't win 'em all, alas.

Coming soon-ish in Part Four: Mime artist Marcel Marceau, Astonomer and science guru Carl Sagan, and the great Dane himself, Victor Borge.

Part Two - The Good, the Bad and the Boring

 Mike Bodnar continues his series on famous people he has interviewed...

And welcome back. In the last post I told you about my experiences with Captain Mainwaring (Arthur Lowe) and Blackadder (Rowan Atkinson), two completely contrasting people from the interviewer's perspective. This time round, more contrast, in the form of Irish comedian Dave Allen, the legendary Dame Edna herself Barry Humphries, and an obnoxious up-himself British author.

Dave Allen on stage. Image courtesy Extra.ie

Let's start with Dave Allen, the famous stool-sitting, missing-fingered, whiskey-drinking, cheeky-grinned Irish icon. In the 1970s, 80s and 90s he was a firm television favourite, his shows commanding huge audiences whichever channel he happened to be working with.

He was particularly popular in Australia, where he also had his own TV shows, but whichever country he was screened in his material often caused controversy as much of it took the mickey out of religion, and Catholicism in particular. I think we all remember how he used to end his shows, with: 'Goodnight, and may your god go with you.' That catchphrase pretty much summed up his attitude.

Dave Allen came to New Zealand in the 1980s for a tour, and his manager got in touch with us on the TVNZ regional news programme Today Tonight to ask if we'd like an interview. We thought about it for a nanosecond - and I don't need to tell you the answer.

Luckily I was in the hot seat at the time and got to know Dave (as I call him) over a period of three days while he was in Wellington. He was just as charming and likeable as he was on his TV shows, a very genuine person who was as interested in you as you were in him. 

His manager - Graham Atkinson - suggested I meet him first at the venue where he would be performing, the Michael Fowler Centre. The MFC - named after a former Wellington mayor - was a modern construction with an auditorium that part-encircled the stage. After curtseying to Mr. Allen and fawning over him I went with him and his agent into the auditorium as Dave wanted to see where he'd be performing. 

'Have you sold those seats there?' he asked Graham, pointing to the tiers behind the stage. Graham sheepishly admitted that some had sold, and Dave immediately said, 'No. Move those people somewhere in front. I can't have an audience behind me.' He wasn't angry or being awkward, he genuinely could not envisage how he could perform to or make eye contact with people who would be behind him. Graham nodded, although if the venue had sold out I couldn't see where he would put them. But anyway, who wants to go and see a Dave Allen show and spend the evening looking at the back of his head? I was on Dave's side.

Sure 'tis himself at Il Casino, Wellington, NZ

The next day I met St. David The Funny for an interview, over lunch at the iconic Wellington Italian restaurant Il Casino. The candid photo here was taken while the crew set up the camera and tripod, which is why he's looking somewhat bored or distracted. In reality he was great to interview, and once that was done we enjoyed a longer chat over lunch. (It turned out the owner, Romero Bresolin, had opened up just for us and had his chef come in early, so in fact we were the only ones there!)

The usual quid pro quo for interviewing a performer was that we would get tickets to the show, and this was the case with Dave Allen. (And no, there was no audience behind him, so Graham Atkinson somehow solved that dilemma!).

Not only did we get to see Ireland's funniest man perform live, he invited my wife and I and another couple we were with backstage afterwards for a glass of Champagne, before we then all went back to Il Casino for dinner along with his manager (who paid for everything!). It's one of the highlights of my broadcasting days to have found myself sitting on Dave Allen's left at dinner over a wonderful couple of hours, and I still have to pinch myself now to realise it actually happened.

To this day I can't remember what I interviewed him about, or what we talked about over lunch and dinner - unforgivable I know - except one thing that has always stuck in my head; during dinner he said, 'Mike, how do you know what you read in the newspapers is true?' I was surprised at the question but said something about newspaper content being factual because 'it must be', or something equally naïve. He pushed harder, 'Yes, but how do you know it's true?' I said that I'd worked in a newsroom for a while and I hadn't seen any evidence of news being falsified. He just smiled at that. I can't remember whether we reached any conclusions, but in hindsight he had come from Britain where the tabloids by then had well-established themselves as 'shock-horror' organs with inflated 'news' stories and sensational headlines, so maybe his experiences of the media and mine were on different levels.

Anyway, it was one of those golden evenings and I feel very privileged to have had the opportunity to spend so much time in his company. Sadly Dave Allen died in 2005 at the relatively young age of just 68. He has gone with his god. R.I.P.

Hello Possums!

Dame Edna. Image: Wikimedia Commons

During the same era Australian legend Barry Humphries also came to town for a show, and
once again the opportunity for an interview was presented, but this time live in the studio. 

While Mr. Humphries was in make-up - getting ready as himself, not as Dame Edna - his manager took me aside and said, 'One thing: you are not to ask him about him being Dame Edna.' My disappointment must have shown on my face because I had indeed planned to ask him about 'being' Dame Edna. 'No,' asserted his manager, 'Barry doesn't want to destroy the illusion of Dame Edna as a real person. He will talk about her in the third person, but not as being a part of him.'

So that was that. I went into the make-up department and introduced myself, and Humphries was very genial, softly spoken and seemed keen to be there, something that wasn't always the case with guests who well-knew that TV appearances were all part of the publicity machine. His handshake was regal, in the sense that he offered his hand to me rather than shaking mine, but then I was, once again, in the presence of comedic royalty.

The real Dame Edna.
Image: Wikimedia Commons

The interview was, as usual on our limited-duration live programme, fairly short, but Barry Humphries was easy to interview and proved an entertaining guest. As instructed I didn't question him about 'being' Dame Edna; instead we talked about 'her' and her persona, and he really did talk of his character as a genuine someone else, as he did with Sir Les Patterson. In a way I'd rather have had him come on as Dame Edna so that I could have interviewed her about Barry Humphries, but I can't complain.

It was a lesson to me that actors with well-known on-screen personas do need to protect their integrity, and that a character, once established, takes on a life and credibility of its own. Mr. Bean would be a fine example, so too would Sacha Baron Cohen's Borat or Paul Reubens' Pee-Wee Herman.

Sadly I didn't get to go to dinner with Barry Humphries, but given that he's got multiple stage personalities we would have needed to book a very large table.

Jeffrey Archer. Image: Wikimedia Commons

You Wouldn't Read About It

And finally, the bad apple in this bunch: Jeffrey Archer, now 'Lord Archer'. However, when I met him in the 80s he was simply Jeffrey Archer, Author, having already by then written a clutch of best-selling mysteries and thrillers.

Archer was in Wellington to promote his latest novel, either The Prodigal Daughter or First Among Equals - I can't remember and have little interest in doing so. He came out to the studios for the live interview and I met him either in make-up or the Green Room before the programme and we chatted briefly.

He said to me, 'When I got off the plane earlier and met my agent I said to him, "If my book's not the first thing I see on the display stand in the airport bookshop, you're fired."' 

I nodded in agreement that yes indeed, such slovenly representation should be met with ruthless counter-measures, while thinking, 'What a prat.'

And in my opinion that's exactly what he was. I've rarely met anyone so self-centered, uninteresting or unpleasant in my life. The interview was pedestrian as I recall - I could summon up little enthusiasm for talking to him - and he rabbited on about himself endlessly. It was one of the few interviews where I was pleased that we were limited to only five minutes at most, and I suspect by then most of our audience had left their televisions to go and make a cup of tea, and wouldn't give tuppence to listen to him. In fact, not a penny more, not a penny less.

And no, I didn't find out if the agent got fired, and mercifully I didn't get to go to dinner with Jeffrey Archer either.

Coming up soon in Part Three: how I met Hitchhiker's Guide author Douglas Adams, almost had Dr. David Bellamy round for dinner, and how one of Britain's successful 1980s TV comedy duos turned out to be extremely unfunny...