Grizzly Adams?

A night out from back in 2000 with a couple of the girls from the Bravo Doll's House. This was during a period of unemployment (courtesy of the BBC's then head of children's web stuff - thanks for all the badmouthing you did, Mark) when I decided, perhaps foolishly, to grow my hair... and a beard.

I abhored looking scruffy and was very much at the time in favour of tucking in shirts, not leaving them untucked. As a consequence, I ended up going out looking like a man who had tried to tidy up his scruffy, unshaven, unstyled appearance with a lot of hair mousse and a neatly pressed shirt. Awful, simply awful. This photo was taken in Soho, for heaven's sake!

Bless Arwen (no idea what she is doing now) and Ellie (now one of the world's leading female porn film directors) for not running a mile. (Myleene and Beth not pictured - not present, in fact.) I think this is early in the night. Later, we would all go to a club (at which point I bailed out). I think Sarah Hedley and her cohorts were along for the ride too.

A couple of days later, my then flat-mate's Irish friend came over to stay and crashed on the sofa. He spotted my unkempt appearance in the morning (see - they call it the "just got out of bed look" now) and remarked that I was "looking a bit like Mr Adams, there, Steve".

"Ha ha!" I replied. "Grizzly Adams, eh?"

"No," he shot back. "Gerry Adams."

I shaved and got a hair cut later the same day.

"You're gonna be delighted, get excited..."

One of the things featured in the TV Cream Toys book is Paul Daniels TV Magic tricks and a reminder that, once upon a time, the little fella was a huge and well-liked star in the UK. I recently watched a couple of Paul Daniels Magic Shows (downloaded courtesy of UK Nova) and, at the height of his game, he really was a top quality entertainer.

Magic has always fascinated me, to the point where I keep buying easy-to-do tricks and practising them on my wife and relatives at Christmas. I once spent an entire evening in a pub with the other TV Cream staffers, boggling at the close-up magic stylings of David J Bodycombe. (In fact, a playing card not unlike this one, but signed by TV Quick editor-in-chief Jon Peake, is seemingly still glued to the ceiling in that very London drinking establishment.)

I took Jo along to see Paul Daniels at the Jermyn Street Theatre a few years back, and made sure I got an autograph at the end. We both ended up as stooges in the show, as there were so few people there (deliberately so - the tickets were exclusive and very expensive). Also in the audience that night? David "Kid" Jensen, and David Mellor.

The only disappointment was that, at such close range, it was fairly easy to see how a lot of the sleight of hand tricks worked. Which reminded me of the time, back when I was a nipper, that I was invited to take part in a magic show staged at Tarleton High School (although I think my parents pushed me into doing it, I was quite a gregarious littl'un). The trick involved me having to delve into a "magic bag" in which the conjuror had apparently placed various handkerchiefs and pull out the contents. I duly did as I was told and - oh, the hilarity! - it was a rubber chicken.

But I'd seen him do the switcheroo. The bag had two openings, so it was easy for the bloke to flip between them whilst covering his actions with a bit of business. I went back to my seat and never told anyone what I'd seen. Until now.

I still believe in magic, only slightly less than I used to.

What the toast says...

Sometimes a sweeping romantic gesture can be done on a budget. If you use your loaf.

This blog is migrating

I'm in the middle of migrating unloveable.co.uk over to the new Blogger software. So please forgive me if things start to look a little weird round here.

A concerned parent writes

My mum was never one much for writing, even before the Alzheimer's stopped her from being able to do so. My dad, on the other hand, was always jotting down short notes and sending them to me.

Compared to all the other letters I've got in the box (and isn't letter writing a dying art, eh?) my dad's were short and to the point - each one practically a "to do" list. Although this one, sent on 14 December 1991 is more circumspect and melancholy. It was most likely written after his second heart attack (the one that really took it out of him) and you can read the worry and the resignation between the lines. He'd have only been 55. Three years later and he'd be dead.

Of course, this is some time after I'd been chucked out of university but was still living in Aberystwyth (sharing with Irish Mark, Nerys and co. in rooms above what was The Central Hotel), working at Bronglais hospital for a pittance. In fact, after Christmas, I moved into Glynderwen, the shared house on Trinity Road with Rich, Ad, Big Steve, et al, largely due to a falling out with the landlord but in part a separate falling out with Nerys. It was better being around close friends, even if I did have the smallest, coldest room in the house. Even if I was the only one putting money in the electricity meter. Even if I did come home every night with a slightly more corroded soul after a day's denigration by an overzealous boss.

Despite my dad's stirling work with the local education authority in Lancashire, I didn't seriously contemplate a return to university until the following summer (and, by that time, it was too late to return in the '92-'93 year). But I did make it eventually, after a further "year out", back at home. Which at least meant I got to spend more time with family, and I earned a lot more money.

"Belting finish"

Literally on the back of an envelope, my university band's set list, either for our gig at The Bear (of which, more later), or possibly just for rehearsal.

In any case, the first number (apparently the theme tune to Doctor Who, which I distinctly remember practising on guitars with Rich in his T.C.E. hall of residence room) never made it to rehearsals. Of the rest, songs like All Day And All Of The Night, Johnny B Goode and Wild Thing demonstrate the residual desperation of having to play stuff we'd all learned in other bands.

Genuinely impressive stabs were taken at some tough songs, though. Attempting Bigmouth Strikes Again is no mean feat (and I think we cracked it, near enough) and Save A Prayer was tough on all of us, particularly with those high vocal notes.

More Than Words, whilst something Rich and I were happy to attempt a capella, was ditched for the full band. One song that did creak its way back into the set list was Heartbreak Hotel and, by God, didn't we wish it hadn't. I chose the intro to that particular song to urge people to get up and dance, and then had to watch Rich's girlfriend Rach do her very best to try and sway along to the stodgy, turgid and frankly slow version we launched into. It felt like an age.

However, the two songs that we really excelled at were I Can't Help Falling In Love With You (our own stomping medley of the Elvis version and the Lick The Tins cover we'd heard on the soundtrack of John Hughes' Some Kind Of Wonderful - track it down if you can, it's fab), and Starry Blue-Eyed Wonder (an Icicle Works album track suggested by Ad the drummer, also recommended). Crowd-pleasers both, they were. So much so, we played 'em again at the end when we'd run out of encores. A belting finish indeed...