by Chris Evans
I know, I thought to myself, I’ll hire a market stall and sell them off.
A fun idea? No, a really bad idea, as it turned out.
Camden Market, where I had decided to set up shop, was a very cool place to hang out generally. So I took a six-month lease on a big lock-up there, in one of the old railway arches.
I also enlisted the assistance of my friend and housemate at the time, Big Pete, and together we set about repainting my new premises in time for our grand opening nine days later. By the end of our first day of decorating our style was beginning to attract a bit of attention, to say the least. Against the backdrop of the white, curved tunnels, we were splattering random colours all over the walls, all over us and all over anyone who happened to get too close or was too nosey.
We embellished this with what we felt were deeply meaningful statements such as ‘Nothing in this store has a price – like life.’
Not only was this sentiment hopelessly idealistic but it didn’t make any sense, when it came to retailing. I had the idea of letting people pay what they wanted for items, hoping any potential customers would feel the whole karma vibe and pay what they thought was fair. But within minutes of opening on our first morning it was evident that any potential customer wanted everything as cheaply as they could get it and, as far as they were concerned, any karma could go take a running jump.
Upon realising this, price tags were hastily added, but alas to no avail. I had paid fortunes for some of the items on offer, $30,000 for a sofa, for example, but our asking price of £5,000 had people walking away as soon as they saw the second zero. Although we probably had more footfall that day than any other market stall in the western world, we barely sold a thing.
Still, we’d met some very interesting people and had a day out in the fresh air into the bargain. A fact we intended to celebrate, as we headed off to the pub once we had shut up shop for the day.
With a raging thirst, Big Pete and I hit the bar, shoulder to shoulder with our new colleagues from the market. They had enjoyed the extra publicity my new enterprise had created and were happy to share a few drinks with us – far too many, as it happened and enough to ensure that it was going to hurt come the morning.
This was a pattern that would repeat itself for the next six months. Pete and I continued to flog off the accumulated detritus of my life, whilst also learning a few harsh truths about the selling game, namely:
Regardless of hangovers, fines were imposed for anyone opening up late.
Our prices would have to be dramatically reduced to stand any chance of covering the £950-a-week rent we had to pay come Sunday evening.
We would never see the £14,000 cost of transporting all the items out of storage in the first place, let alone make any profit.
In short, the market stall was a disaster whilst also being evidence that the crazy bulb was still burning brightly somewhere deep in my ever-fading ginger head. For heaven’s sake – the house I had recently bought cost over three million quid, yet here were Pete and I freezing our knackers off and sacrificing a large chunk of our weekends for precisely bugger all. In fact, minus bugger all. But it was my own fault for buying all this nonsense in the first place.
I once asked a wise old owl friend of mine what one piece of advice he would pass on. This is what he said: ‘Whenever you think you might want to buy something – don’t.’ As he took another drag on his pipe and then a sip of his beer and looked out of the window I waited for him to finish this pearl of wisdom, but he said no more and I realised that was it.
Stuff and the owning of stuff is a nightmare, a needless headache. It’s the ball and chain of consumer addiction that we all fall for.
Nowadays when I drive past a high street on a Saturday afternoon and I see all those hard-working people spending money they might not have on things they might not want and disappearing under countless bags in the process, I want to jump out of the car and scream, ‘STOPPPPPP! For your own sakes, take it all back and go out for a nice meal instead, or save up for a holiday, or anything – but just stop.’
Having said that, I still own more cars than any one man ever needs, a house big enough to be a small hotel and a garden the size of a small county. Never mind, I suppose it’s a work in progress for us all.
However, let’s finish this section with a smile. I live very close to the house where John Lennon wrote the line, ‘Imagine no possessions.’
And his place was twice the size of mine with 80 acres out the back. So what the fuck was he going on about?
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TV/RADIO JOBS I HAVE TURNED DOWN
10 The Cube
9 Audition for Sesame Street
8 Come Dine With Me
7 Consultancy, ABC TV, America
6 Don’t Forget Your Toothbrush, USA
5 This Morning
4 Generation Game
3 Deal or No Deal
2 Miss World(D’oh!)
1 The Mystery Man and his radio show
MY SATURDAY AFTERNOON SHOW ON RADIO 2, which continued to prosper, was well into its first year by now and there was soon talk of a more full-time position, but it was not to come from within the BBC.
‘There’s a man who wants to see you,’ announced my agent over the telephone.
‘That’s a bit vague, Michael,’ I replied. ‘Can you give me a bit more to go on?’
‘Don’t you trust me?’ he snapped.
‘Of course I do.’
‘Then be in my office this afternoon at two o’clock.’
Since I spent most of the week trying to stay fit, stay out of trouble, find a girlfriend and wait for the Saturday show to come round again, this was not going to be a problem.
‘I’ll see you then,’ I confirmed.
Michael was waiting for me in the boardroom of his agency, the same room where I had met Lesley Douglas almost a year earlier.
‘There’s a gentleman coming in to see you in a minute and he wants to offer you a job – for a lot of money. It’s a job that’s already done by somebody very well known but this gentleman with the offer wants you to do it instead. Although he says if we ever talk of this meeting after he has left, he will deny it ever happened and will allude to the fact that you and I are mere chancers attempting to kick up a fuss and increase your market value as well.’
Fair enough, I thought. I love a clear brief and they don’t get much clearer and briefer than that. Where I had been intrigued, now I was excited.
I fixed myself a cup of tea and waited in the boardroom. After a few moments Michael returned with the gentleman and his offer.
For the sake of this gentleman, who is still very active in the business of radio, I am now going to give only the bare minimum of detail of the proposal he brought to us that day. In a nutshell, he wanted me to take over the reins of something that was once great but was currently fading, in an attempt to make it great again.
I thought about what he had said for all of a second before informing him that though I was honestly flattered, I was very happy working for the BBC and although I was only appearing on a weekly basis, I hoped it would lead to more. It wasn’t about the money so much as the platform.
Unpeturbed, he then told us about the money. Suddenly it did matter. No wonder he had been cocksure, with that showstopper up his sleeve.
‘Bloody hell,’ I said. Michael burst out laughing.
‘I need to have your answer within forty-eight hours. This is a one-off proposal in an attempt to get us back to where we want to be. If I don’t hear from you, I shall take that as a no. Good day, gentlemen.’ And with that he was off.
Now here is the thing. I loved my Radio 2 show. I’d received more-than-favourable reviews and I could feel the audience beginning to forgive me my mistakes of the past. I also felt a deep loyalty to Lesley for believing in me, not to mention a growing bond with Helen, who had given up the chance of working on much bigger shows to help me with mine. But the job the man was offering was one o
f the best in the land, and for a truckload of cash.
I had to talk to the girls.
I spoke to Helen first and when I told her she said she had to admit she would completely understand if I felt I had to take up such an unexpected and lucrative opportunity. Having said that, Helen assured me she was certain Lesley would not want to lose me, and suggested she talk to our boss before I did.
No more than an hour or so later, Helen called me on my mobile. ‘Lesley is totally up to speed and says that she feels there is definitely a conversation worth having before any drastic decisions are made. She says give her twenty-four hours and come in to see her tomorrow afternoon.’
Twenty-four hours was all we had, but was it going to be enough?
The next day in her office, Lesley was eager to put me at ease.
‘Wow Chris, there’s no doubt this is an amazing offer you’ve received and I will understand and support you if you decided to go, BUT.’
To say this was the biggest BUT that I was ever going to hear in my life is not overstating the issue.
‘How about if we offer you a daily show?’
I was blown away, but there was more.
‘And after that we’ll see.’
What the heck did that mean? A daily show, and after that we’ll see!
There was that twinkle in her eye again.
The show Lesley had in mind for me was Drivetime, the slot currently occupied by the legendary Johnnie Walker. Johnnie would move to weekends as well as deputising for Terry Wogan on his breakfast show, Wake Up to Wogan, Lesley explained – something she’d had in mind for a while anyway.
But there was something else.
‘Terry will want to go at some time and I have a feeling that time is not awfully far away. How about you move to Drive-time, let the listeners get to know you a little more there and then when Terry says enough’s enough – on you go.’
On you go! On you bloomin’ well go!!!
‘Lesley, what are you saying? Have you just offered me the breakfast show on Radio 2? Is that what just happened here?
‘No – not yet, that’s not what I’m saying. If and when it becomes available, and if you’ve behaved yourself and things have gone alright on Drivetime – who knows?’
What a meeting that was. I would happily stay on Drivetime for a hundred years if it meant I had a shot at the big one. There was no need for any other discussion. Phone calls were made; the man with the offer would have to make other plans. I was staying firmly put.
A daily show on Radio 2.
‘And after that we’ll see…’
Five words I will never forget.
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THINGS I’VE LEARNED ABOUT MARRIAGE
10 It does not have to happen every time you have a romance
9 It does not have to happen every time you fall in love
8 It is not a game
7 Your marriage is more important to your loved ones than you might imagine
6 Your wedding is your wife’s most special day ever (other than childbirth) and she must be the star – willing or not
5 Don’t invite anyone you don’t want there, no matter what the fallout may be
4 There will always be someone who is not happy about it
3 It should be for ever
2 It doesn’t have to be for ever
1 Wives are sexier
WITH THINGS ON THE PITCH HOTTING UP, as it were, it was time for things off the pitch to get cracking.
I hadn’t had a steady girlfriend since I separated from Billie and frankly it was getting to me. I was running out of places to look until those two lovely telly favourites Ant and Dec came up with the bright idea of putting celebs playing golf back on the box.
The All*Star Cup, as it was to be called, would be an amateur golfer’s dream come true; three days of televised competition with two teams – one from Europe and the other from the USA – battling it out head to head, Ryder Cup-style, at the Celtic Manor Golf Resort in Wales. There would be team outfits and team bags, crowds of tens of thousands and ultimately victory, not once but twice, for Team Europe.
Already good but what Ant and Dec didn’t put in their programme proposal was that this golf-fest would also introduce me to the goddess who would become my wife.
Other than my mum and radio, golf has been the longest and most positive force in my life. My cousin Brian competed in the Open Championship and was my hero as a kid. He looked like a surfer, had a car I’d never even heard of before and was always somewhere else in the world other than Warrington, where I was.
Brian gave me my first half-set of clubs when I was nine, along with a few old, scuffed balls, and I played for four years on the field at the back of our council house before I could even think about affording to play on an actual course.
I can’t tell you how much I still look forward to a game of golf. I remember the time when losing the ball was not an option as it was the only one I had, and I am constantly aware of how lucky I am when striding out on to courses like St Andrews and Wentworth with as many brand new balls as I need, which is usually quite a lot. So having been asked to join the European team – the term ‘bit their hands off’ would not be out of place in describing my reaction – I was asked if I could spare the time to play a few holes at a course near London a few weeks before the tournament, so that the production company could make a short promo film.
This I was more than happy to do. I was always glad of any excuse to get out on the course, especially when they told me the filming would take place at the magnificent Stoke Park Golf Club in Buckinghamshire, a stunning course, and the location for James Bond’s infamous match against Auric Goldfinger.
When I arrived I was told that I would be joining my All*Star team-mates Jodie Kidd and Ronan Keating to make up a friendly three-ball. We played nine holes all in all, with lots of stop-starting and interviews. It was all about the telly programme rather than the golf, with the three of us laying down a challenge to the Yanks to ‘Come and get us if they dared!’ After we’d finished, Jodie flew off in a helicopter – she does that kind of thing a lot – while Ronan and I ordered a sandwich and a soft drink on one of several colossal terraces that flank the majestic clubhouse.
Whilst we awaited our order, Ronan looked up and did a double-take.
‘Here, Chris, come and meet a friend,’ he announced, jumping up.
I followed him to an ornate, low stone wall behind which, teeing off, were two men and the most beautiful creature I had ever seen, dressed in a skimpy pink top along with an almost illegally short black skirt, white ankle socks and a pair of super-cool golf shoes.
Who the bejesus is she? I wondered. She’s bloody gorgeous. And she was. Dark skinned with long, slender legs, so toned they looked as though they’d been carved, rather than grown, and a classically pretty Persian Princess face, with brown eyes and masses of thick brunette hair gathered cheekily into two bunches.
This, it turned out, was Natasha Elizabeth Annahid Shishmanian, or the Golf Nurse as she was known to thousands of readers of Golf Punk magazine. The Golf Nurse was a fictitious character that Natasha had brought to life as every male golfer’s fantasy; a beautiful woman who not only played golf, but who was on hand to help the ever-frustrated reader with his golfing worries. All this I was yet to learn. For the moment I just stood watching her, filled with wonder.
‘Hi Ronan,’ she said, seeing your man on the other side of the wall, before running over to give him a kiss.
‘Hi Tash,’ he replied. ‘This is Chris, we’ve been filming for the Ant and Dec golf thing.’
‘Oh yeah, I’ve heard about that,’ she said.
‘Hello,’ I gestured.
‘Hi, pleased to meet you,’ she returned politely.
After this brief exchange, Ronan and Natasha shot the breeze for a few more moments before one of Natasha’s playing partners called her over to take the shot.
‘Time penalty, nursey, if you’re not quick,
’ quipped one of them.
‘I have to go Ronan, please don’t look, I’m bound to mess it up with you watching,’ she said, before skipping back to join her game.
Alright, I thought to myself. She’s stunning, but is she any good?
After carefully selecting her club of choice and standing back to eye up the challenging par three hole, Natasha the Golf Nurse paused before taking her practice swing. Focused, she took the club head back and powered through on the down swing, her hips perfectly locked into place to create maximum power. As she made contact with the ball it rocketed skywards.
I was in love.
‘I love golf,’ I mouthed. ‘She loves golf.’ I suddenly came over all queer, as if I had five lottery numbers with only one to go for a £14 million jackpot. I tried to keep my cool.
‘Ronan,’ I whimpered.
‘Don’t say it, we’re all thinking the same thing,’ he interrupted.
And with that we walked back to our seats and our sandwiches.
I never expected to see Natasha again. I’d never met her before, so I could only assume we moved in different circles, but I was wrong.
The night before the first day of Ant and Dec’s tournament there was a huge party and guess who was propping up the bar with the best of them? As good as she’d looked on the golf course that day, the Golf Nurse looked even more sizzling when she had her fun boots on.
‘Oh hi,’ she shouted over to me. ‘Nice to see you again.’
She talked with a permanent smile, a big, wide, diamond white smile. I still hadn’t actually said anything.
‘Would you like a drink?’ she offered.
Not only would I like one, I needed one. I wondered if she was aware of the effect she had on the male species.
‘Yes please, what are you having?’
‘Champagne and shots!’ Natasha declared triumphantly.
‘Guinness instead of champagne for me,’ I said.
‘But you’ll have the shots, right?’
‘Right!’