A Prisoner of Fan Fiction

Writer Mike Bodnar has published his first novel, Unity, knowing that no matter how popular it becomes he will not make a penny from it...

I've recently finished writing my first novel. Thank you; a hat will be passed round shortly.

Image of Patrick McGoohan courtesy of Cultbox

However, to be clear, I had a springboard to leap from, and I can't lay claim to the original idea on which Unity is based. That, dear reader, is all down to one Patrick McGoohan (see pic), and if the name rings a bell it's because in the 1960s he was famous for playing agent John Drake in the British TV series Danger Man (Secret Agent in the United States), and, in 1967-68, as the unnamed eponymous lead in The Prisoner. It's this latter enigmatic series from which my novel takes its inspiration.

Why? Because The Prisoner has, for the past 55 years, confused, bewildered and beguiled audiences around the world, and still to this day people ask, what was it all about? What happened in the end? Did he ever really escape? And, just generally, WTF?

Prisoner fans re-enact the human chess game
from the episode 'Checkmate' during a convention.
(Image courtesy Welsh Holiday News)

There are multiple fan clubs and associations devoted to scrutinising The Prisoner's story arc(s) and quirks in minute detail. If you add up the memberships of those groups on Facebook alone you'll find almost 30,000 devotees. And there are multiple websites which attract membership from around the globe. There are even cosplay-style annual conventions. In short, The Prisoner very quickly acquired cult status, and shows little sign of slowing down.

As a result, there are many, many books that have been written about The Prisoner, some factual, others speculative, along with many novels and novellas. The - excuse the pun - captive audience laps them up, so I knew before starting out on my writing venture that there was a market out there hungry for more. I hope so; I'm banking on it.

Initial trial print run

Or rather, I'm not banking on it. Because I can't. I cannot - in fact am not allowed to - profit
from this work because I do not own the rights to the original work itself, the TV series. That is now held by television company ITV. And before you ask, yes I have tried to buy the rights, but have met with a blank refusal, along with a warning to 'seek independent legal advice.' But I will not be pushed, stamped, filed, indexed, briefed, debriefed or numbered, to quote The Prisoner himself, and am determined to see the drooling audience satiated. I am resigned to not making any money from it though.

So why bother? I hear you ask. Because, although not a rabid fan or cult follower, I have been intrigued by The Prisoner since first being enthralled by it as a 13-year-old, and have enjoyed watching the odd re-run over the years since. I have also now had over fifty years to ponder what McGoohan was trying to say with the series, and - thanks to the Prisonerverse - I've been able to view numerous documentaries, interviews and other random material, all of which have also tried to answer the same questions. There is no shortage of analysis, and I thank all those who have done all that research for me.

Portmeirion, the charming yet menacing 'village'
where The Prisoner was held captive
(Image: Mike Bodnar)

But that doesn't answer your question. For a long time I've had oblique thoughts about the obverse side of The Prisoner's story. If he'd resigned and was then captured and interrogated as to why, then what was it that made him resign? Why did he need to be caught and incarcerated? What threat was he? And who held him prisoner?

With those thoughts tumbling around in my head for a few years it was no surprise to me when they finally coalesced into a plausible storyline, told from the side of his captors. This - unlike so many of the other tie-in stories - doesn't aim to continue the story after The Prisoner TV series ends; mine is instead a contemporaneous narrative, paralleling what happens in The Prisoner from episode one to the final bewildering act. Although, if I were to base my story on all seventeen episodes it would be pushing 200,000 words and likely be a trilogy, and given that there's no financial reward to be had I was not about to embark on such an epic adventure. 

Be seeing you

Instead I have taken what many regard as the seven 'essential' episodes of the series and written a 1967-based spy thriller that sits alongside those stories and, hopefully, makes sense of them, or at least provides a viable explanation as to WTAF is going on. It is a more palatable 80,000 words, or just over 300 pages in paperback form. As stated in my foreword, the book aims purely to entertain, not to swell any coffers, and if there is inadvertent profit it will go to the Royal National Lifeboat Institution, the RNLI.

I self-published the book as, to be honest, I couldn't be arsed sending it to publishers or agents who these days don't bother reading anything and don't respond anyway. Also, as a tie-in novel they're unlikely to be interested. So the sale price of Unity will be to cover production/publishing costs.

I'm officially launching the book during the 2023 Prisoner convention (21-23 April). Called Portmeiricon, it's being held at 'The Village' itself in North Wales, and the organisers have very kindly given me an hour's slot in Hercules Hall at 7pm on the Saturday (22nd) for the launch. Copies of Unity will be available. I'll even sign one for you!

(However, would you like to be one of the first to read it? You can get Unity on Amazon right now!)

But where, then, do I get my reward? Well, I have thoroughly enjoyed writing Unity over the past two years, and that in itself is profit of sorts. If readers actually like it then that also is a bonus, as any favourable reviews will be. But there's more; while I openly admit to having used the basic storyline of The Prisoner as my muse, I have in the process created a raft of original characters within the zeitgeist of 1967 London and the British intelligence community.

The author pretending to work

I've grown to like these characters, and as I wrote the last few pages of the book it dawned on me that I could craft a sequel, only this time using my own dramatis personae, and a story not related to the TV series; in fact having no reference to The Prisoner at all. This makes the next book a stand-alone intellectual property of mine, and one which, fingers crossed, I can make as much money from as people will throw at me. Form an orderly queue.

All I can tell you at this stage is that it's set in Britain and the island of Ireland in 1970, and is called (working title) The Liscannor Intercept. Yes it's another spy thriller, and yes I have started writing it. But obviously, it's classified, and if I told you more I'd have to shoot you.

Update, at 25 October, 2025: 

The new cover on the second edition

Here I am almost three years on from when I first published this blog, and I have recently released the second edition of Unity. Content-wise there's not much that's changed; I dropped links and references to the book's website which, alas, no longer exists as it became prohibitively expensive to renew the site. I also dropped the crowdfunding link because, well, nobody was funding me, so that didn't work. Never mind.

Reviews for Unity on both Amazon and Goodreads have been fantastic (including, importantly, from Prisoner fans), and it gets a five star rating on both sites, so if nothing else that tells me not to mess with it too much!

The biggest change for the second edition is a new - and I think more dramatic - cover, and I present it here for your consideration. The book remains available in three formats: paperback, hardcover, (in the UK) and as a Kindle eBook. Sales haven't been great, and I'm still waiting for a film deal. I have, however, dropped the Kindle price to a very reasonable 99p (in UK money), so now is your chance to check out Unity. Thank you.

Death on Air

The passing of HRH Prince Philip caused radio stations around the UK to quickly amend their playlists today. This was done – as one announcer explained on air – as a mark of respect for the Duke of Edinburgh.

So if you tune in to your local station you're not likely to hear any songs that relate to death, and nothing too heavy. Your favourite Satanic core and Gothic industrial tracks will have to wait for a bit, while Glenn Campbell and The Carpenters are dusted off and aired once again.

Not that radio jocks have had to scrabble urgently for an appropriately-mellow playlist – it will already have been there waiting in the wings, for occasions just such as this. When I worked in radio back in 1978, this was known as the D&D playlist – for 'Death and Disaster.'

Picture if you will a younger version of myself sitting at a radio desk that had large knurled knobs, a few faders, old-fashioned throw-switches, a row of gauges showing audio levels, and twin record turntables, one on either side. The microphone hung from above, and the headphones I wore were huge, but top quality. There wasn't a computer in sight.

Off to the right was a shelf with a collection of LPs (which stands for Long Playing records for those of you who are too young) which were the Death and Disaster records. These had been chosen – I was informed when I started – as the go-to stack of music in the event that a member of the Royal family died, or when there was some other nationwide tragedy. The music was innocuous, mostly instrumental, and unlikely to upset grieving listeners.

As announcers we were told that the most likely situation for using the D&D pile would be if the Queen Mother died, choking on her gin and tonic while screaming at a horse race on the telly. As it was, she outlasted my radio career by a long shot.

But anyway, here we are in 1978. Radio Nelson – call-sign 2ZN – was my first station, situated in the charming city of Nelson in New Zealand's South Island. It was a great station and very much a part of the local community.

So it came as no great surprise when our station manager, Don Jones, told us one day that in order to continue providing a valuable public service while the local newspaper was on strike and not publishing, we would be announcing local death notices following the six o'clock news each evening.

This, he said, was the least we could do, though elsewhere in the station the marketing bods were rubbing their hands in glee knowing that any local businesses wanting to advertise would now have to come to 2ZN rather than The Nelson Evening Mail.

2ZN Radio Nelson in the 1970s
Image: Nelson Photo News

We announcers were somewhat dismayed at this news. Not only did we have to read out the death notices, we were instructed to do each one twice. We prayed the newspaper's union and management would reach an agreement sooner rather than later, as we couldn't think of a more effective way to reduce the listening audience to record low levels.

In those days, on the top of each hour, we would take a news-feed from Radio New Zealand's corporate centre in the capital Wellington, and when that had finished we would switch back and read our local news, provided each day by our station journalists. It was following the local news at six o'clock that the death notices were to be read, using – you guessed it – music from the easy-listening Death and Disaster collection in the background. You can probably see what's coming.

I had been listening to the six o'clock news-feed and waiting nervously for our journalist to deliver our local bulletin, but even after the main news was halfway through he still hadn't shown. I had the death notices and had read through them, but no news is not good news.

Just before the main bulletin was due to finish the journo flew into the studio waving a raft of news stories at me and apologising profusely. I quickly scanned the pages so that I had some idea of what I'd be reading, then the main news finished and I turned on the mic. 'Good evening, it's four minutes past six and here's the local news...'

All was good and I got through the bulletin, except that during the final item I realised I'd forgotten to line up any D&D music for the death notices. Continuing reading, I reached out with my right hand and selected a disc from the Death and Disaster collection, secure in the knowledge that it had been chosen specially and would not offend anyone.

I put the LP on the turntable, dropped the needle onto it, and then, as I introduced the death notices I slowly faded the music up in the background. I was relieved to hear that it was indeed quiet, with no heavy guitar riffs, and no vocals.

'And now, we bring you today's death notices,' I said in a suitably sombre tone. 'We are sad to announce the passing of Dora Blakehurst of Motueka...'

I am making this name up right now as I have no idea who died, and even at the moment I was reading I wasn't taking any notice either because, through my headphones I was horrified to recognise the music that I'd blindly selected.

It was a very soft and instrumental version of Roberta Flack's 'Killing Me Softly.'

Rock and a Hard Place

Rich at last! Image: NBC News

I am pleased to announce that I am retiring. This will be my last blog ever, because I am now filthy rich and privileged. So you can all sod off.

Not that I've ever been able to monetise my blogs – they command audiences in the tens, occasionally the low hundreds. 'Wow! We must take out advertising around these!' said no business ever.

No, I am now able to put my feet up in the literal sense – no need to work, to save, to scrounge – because all my financial problems are solved, but it's nothing to do with my blogging.

It's entirely thanks to email acquaintances of mine – very generous acquaintances – who keep showering me with gifts, windfalls, and who insist on putting vast amounts of money in my bank and/or PayPal accounts. I am also a cryptocurrency millionaire (if not billionaire) due to some anonymous but very welcome Bitcoin donors.

It keeps coming too. Today I received £208,450.76p (thank you ONPID:JZ) with a further US$36,984.39 waiting in the wings and which I can access as soon as I confirm my account details. I have also just won an iPhone 11, I'm into the exciting second round of a draw to win a £100 KFC voucher, and I'm a 'possible' winner of a £1000 Primark Gift Card. I can hardly contain myself.

I have inherited China's economy...

My only concern is that my computer is, apparently, infected (which will be fixed as soon as I share my bank details with the correspondent), and I have a 'very-urgent' message (see pic).

This takes the tarnish off my cash windfalls and surprise vouchers somewhat, as I now don't know whether I've just inherited China's economy or not, although looking further down the text I notice a pumpkin emoji, so maybe I have to wait till 31 October to access my windfall from the Ka-Ching Dynasty.

But still. It's good to know that the bastards at New Zealand's Government – and the Inland Revenue Department in particular – who refuse to give me my pension, can now take a hike. In fact, I will soon be able to buy the whole of New Zealand anyway, and one of my first tasks will be to fire everyone in the IRD and eliminate the department altogether.

Why? Because – and this is a cautionary tale for any ex-pat Brits living in New Zealand and thinking of retiring back to dear old Blighty or anywhere else outside of Aotearoa – New Zealand does not give you your pension if you move overseas. Let me rant for a moment.

I paid my taxes fair and square for over 40 years as a worker in New Zealand. I always did my best to cough up what I owed, even engaging tax accountants to ensure I paid what was due in full. Always. Let me reiterate: I did this for 40-plus years. And now, because I've moved back to Britain I get nothing. Zip. Nada. Kahore he mea.

So long Brit suckers. Image: NZ Customs

Whereas those Brits who retired to New Zealand – or are about to – receive their British pensions without question. They do pass Go and they do collect £200. Or more. Unfortunately, for people like me it's a non-reciprocal arrangement.

Worse – but this is my fault – I have been able to work in the UK only since returning full-time in 2014; For me to be eligible for a UK pension I need to have worked here and paid taxes for at least ten years. So here I am caught between a rock and a hard place. No pension from NZ, no pension from the UK. (I use the term 'UK' loosely, as there is little evidence that it's united about anything. And don't get me started on 'GB'...)

Image: Civil Service World

I am of course allowed to work here, except that ageism is rampant, just as much as racism, genderism, and any other -isms you care to mention. There is no way I can get a job now at the age of 66, unless it's voluntary, and that would mean no pay-as-you-earn taxation, so it wouldn't contribute towards a pension anyway. However, in a way that's not the point; I am entitled to retire, but can't afford to. I am entitled to work, but nobody wants me. (Did I hear sobbing?)

Thank God then for my online benefactors. I've just checked my emails for updates and am pleased to announce that to add to my Bitcoin gazillionaire status I've just won a gift from supermarket chain Aldi, while New Zealand's star rugby player Sonny Bill Williams apparently has some investment advice for me, advice that – I'm assured – has 'experts in awe and big banks terrified.'

Trolls in New Zealand will, of course, say it serves me right for changing countries in the first place. Trolls in the dis-United Kingdom will say the same. Okay, maybe I was wrong. But if you're reading this and you're young enough to be considering a life-changing move somewhere overseas, do your retirement homework first.

Either that or I can put you in touch with my online financial benefactors. All I need are your bank details, PIN number and password.

The Success of Self-Publishing

 Mike Bodnar looks at what opportunities the Covid pandemic has created for aspiring authors...

The impacts of Covid-19 on the mainstream book market are many, with closed bookshops, cancelled book launches and publishers' strategies in disarray. However, none of this seems to have stopped writers. If anything it's given them a new lease on life.

With more time stuck at home due to the pandemic, an increasing number of people are using the opportunity to write that novel, memoir or history book, and submit it in the hope of publication, fame and fortune. You've probably got an idea for a best-selling book tucked away in the back of your mind somewhere too, haven't you? Go on, you know you have.

However, all this time for creativity has ironically increased the workload of publishers and literary agents, even if their sector is in chaos. In a recent Guardian article, one publisher said that their normal workload of four or five manuscripts a day had increased since Covid to as many as 16 a day, while a literary agent complained that her quotidian in-tray now included as many as 27 manuscripts. Yes, you read that correctly: per day!

So competition for publishers' and agents' attention is intense, but you can bypass mainstream publishing altogether by self-publishing, which an increasing number of indie authors are doing – and not necessarily due to a fear of rejection.

Self-published books are finally breaking through the decades-old stigma they've suffered, namely that if it's self-published then by definition it's inferior. (And yes, it has to be said that some self-published books are sadly wanting, if not dire.) On the upside, self-publishing has become the method of choice for many successful writers because it generates a bigger share of sales revenue, while offering more control over the work.

Out of this world success

Waving the flag for independence are fêted titles such asThe Martian, Fifty Shades of Grey, Still Alice, and The Shack – all successful self-published works. But what 'success' looks like is important, and not always to do with how many copies an author sells or how rich and famous they become, as we'll see.

Then there are self-publishing companies, providing everything from proofreading and editing through to cover design, printing, marketing and sales management. You choose how much of a package you want, or can afford. The main difference between these companies and the big established publishers is that you pay them to publish your work, not the other way round.

Self-publishing options today are many, largely thanks to the internet and digital publishing opportunities; on-demand printing, eBooks, and audio books can be achieved easily, with no publisher involved and with potentially much greater profits than traditional publishing.

But before you start you need to ask, 'How will I define success?' In the examples of sell-out self-published books above, success is in sales numbers, rave reviews, publishing contracts and film deals. But success can be a lot more modest and diverse than that.

For example, let's say you wish to write your family history. Your 'market' is likely

Rave reviews...

 your immediate and extended family. So, they get to own a professionally-published record of the family chronicle, while you have the satisfaction of being the originator of the work. 

There's no financial reward and no film deal, but your market – small and intimate as it is – will be delighted with what you've created (and they'll give you all the rave reviews you want).

Or you might write a travel memoir, based on your adventures riding a motorbike halfway round the world. Here you want to entertain and inspire others, so your target market is the armchair traveller and would-be adventurer. Success therefore might be readers saying they enjoyed your book so much that they're now planning their own adventure.

Avoid clichés like the plague

Then of course there's the novel, that edge-of-the-seat thriller, sci-fi drama or fantasy battle between the forces of good and evil etc. and so on. Self-publishing allows you to indulge in all the clichés that mainstream publishers would reject out of hand. Just be aware that your target market might do the same! 

Success here could be that despite all the science-fiction that's been written in the last 200 years, you come up with something unique that grabs the imagination of the public and nets you sales in the millions. Or maybe you'll just win an award of some sort. Clear space on the mantelpiece now.

But success could also simply be the extremely practical result that your publishing and promotional costs have been covered by sales, to the point where the book doesn't owe you anything. Any subsequent sales are a bonus, (maybe enabling you to create an audio book version!).

This, as a matter of interest, is the situation I find myself in; I sold all 500 copies of my self-published travel book Against The Current (a modest but practical number to print) and although now out of print, the eBook version is still selling, plus I've made enough from sales to not only cover the costs of publishing but also to fund the audio book version (which so far has sold around 200 copies and is still going). I call that success, even though I'm still waiting for someone to buy the film rights off me.

Sold out, sorry...

So success in self-publishing is what you make it, and not just about rave reviews, getting on a best-seller list, or striking a movie deal.

If you've been thinking of using lockdown to finally turn that book idea into reality, go for it. But decide upfront what your success is going to look like. That way you won't be disappointed.

Now, get on that keyboard!

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

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.