Memoirs of a Fruitcake

by Chris Evans

  Now where on earth they plucked this figure from, I have not the faintest idea. I promise you, on the engine of my favourite car, that such figures categorically did not exist when the headline in question was written. The research simply had not yet been done. Yet people who really should have known better ran with this figure purely because it was now out there in black and white without a single one of them ever bothering to check or ask where it could possibly have come from.

  One national newspaper columnist even wrote that I had gone to Terry to seek his advice, when all I had actually done was turn up for a posh lunch to give Sir Tel yet another award to add to his now burgeoning tally.

  Whichever way I looked at it, I was plumb in the middle of a non-existent story and I could do nothing about it. If I’d dared to protest of course, it would look like I was jumping to my own defence and why would I do that if there was nothing to defend?

  So, because I was at home, my happy happy home, and because I knew what was being said and written was one hundred per cent completely made up, I did nothing. I just sat there and resigned myself to the fact that for once it was they and not I who had lost the plot.

  I did allow myself one other thought however.

  What if, when the listening figures were issued, they turned out to be up and not down?

  But surely that could never happen, could it?

  It was time for another prayer. I was becoming very religious.

  TOP

  10

  WHAT IFS ABOUT TAKING OVER EUROPE’S MOST POPULAR BREAKFAST RADIO SHOW

  10 What if I can’t get to sleep the night before the first show?

  9 What if I can’t get to sleep the month before?

  8 What if I can’t stop thinking about it the year before?

  7 What if I can’t talk about it for two years before?

  6 What if Terry changes his mind and wants to stay?

  5 What if they don’t like my first record?

  4 What if they don’t like my first link?

  3 What if Ken Bruce doesn’t like me?

  2 What if Lynn Travel doesn’t like me?

  1 What if the listeners don’t like me?

  THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER was that my bosses, my colleagues and I had privately accepted that the listening figures were more than likely to dip initially after Terry left, before hopefully stabilising and slowly beginning to recover. This was what always happened at Radio 2, when Jeremy Vine took over from Jimmy Young at lunchtimes, when I took over from Johnnie Walker on Drivetime, when Johnnie took over from John Dunne before him, when Steve Wright took over from Ed Stewart on weekday afternoons and when Jonathan took over from Steve Wright on Saturday mornings. My taking over from Terry would no doubt be the biggest test of this model thus far but from what history was telling us we’d better be prepared for bad news as opposed to good.

  It was horrible in a way because it was like we knew we were going to get beaten up but had to sit and wait there for the fists and boots to start flying in anyway. It almost felt like we were wishing our lives away just to get over those first few months for the tanker to slow down, so we could finally get to turn it around.

  But how low would the figures be, how many of Terry’s old gals and geezers would have deserted us, that was what really worried us?

  Anything fewer than a million, we had resigned ourselves to considering a minor victory, Terry was after all a giant who had been at the top of his game for close to four decades with an army of loyal followers and years of mutual good will.

  Can you imagine, therefore, how we felt when the official listening figures for radio in the first quarter of 2010 were published, showing that Radio 2 had broken all records not for losing listeners but for increasing them?

  We simply could not believe it. Like – really, really, not believe it. In a nutshell the results were as follows.

  The Breakfast Show had added 1.5 million listeners – we were up to 9.5 million and not only that, but every other show had achieved record figures too. The gains were unprecedented. In fact, when the figures first came through, they were sent back to be checked. Nobody could believe it.

  Ironically they were announced when I was taking my second week’s scheduled holiday.

  I was in Portugal, where we have a small place, and was playing golf – a four-ball with my best friend Paulo, along with two other pals, Donald and Michael, both of whom I have known for years. It was a game that had come about almost by chance, as none of us were aware that the others were around until the night before, when we’d bumped into each other in Paulo’s restaurant.

  We’d just had one of the most pleasant games you could ever wish for, laughing and chatting all the way round about the old times and where we were now compared with where we had been. We were all big drinkers back in the day and never tired of wondering how it was that we were all still here to tell the tale.

  After finishing off our round and depositing our clubs back in the car, we ambled off to sit at a table overlooking the 18th green. It was time to tot up the various wagers and see who owed whom what.

  ‘Drink, my good friend?’ asked Paulo.

  ‘Orange and soda please,’ I replied.

  ‘Same here,’ said Donald.

  ‘Me too,’ added Michael.

  Things really had changed.

  As the three of us began to figure out who scored what, where, my phone started to vibrate and flash. There was a message, and then another, and another, each one interrupting the last.

  ‘What the dickens is going on?’ I said to myself. Finally, after it had calmed down, I went into my text messages.

  ‘Chris, Bob at Radio 2 – call me asap,’ read the first. Bob was the controller who had taken over after Lesley resigned. I suddenly remembered it was RAJAR day (they are the company who collate all listening figures for the UK radio industry). I excused myself from the boys and wandered off to stand under the shade of a palm tree. As I pressed the callback button, I felt my mouth drying up.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello Bob, it’s Chris, what is it?’

  ‘It’s good, Chris, that’s what – it’s very, very good.’

  Now, as Bob is not a man prone to exaggeration, I had half an idea that I might like what he was about to tell me.

  The figures had exceeded our wildest expectations. We would have been happy with a loss, provided it wasn’t more than a million but over a million the other way – well, that was Christmas time! As Bob took me through the figures in a little more detail, he alternated between what sounded like a tone of mild disbelief and laughter. After he’d finished, I thanked him and immediately dialled Lesley’s number, where I left a long and rambling message involving a lot of ‘Thank you’s and ‘I love you’s, followed by, ‘Me, you, party, London, soon.’

  My second call was to Helen, my faithful producer and partner in crime, the Batman to my Robin – or was it the other way round? I didn’t care anymore, I was so relieved.

  In many ways Helen is the opposite of Bob when it comes to displaying her emotions and I was therefore greeted with a deafening scream when she picked the phone up. Obviously euphoric and I suspect no more than a few minutes away from taking the team out for a rather large glass of something bubbly, Helen screamed a bit more, and for now we were done.

  I would have loved to have been there to join in but at the same time I thought it was kind of apt that I wasn’t. In many ways, celebrating had often been my downfall, come to think of it, and now here I was on the most successful day of my career, standing under a palm tree, with a soft drink waiting for me at the bar.

  I took a moment to consider this. I was looking out over a fabulous golf course, the likes of which I could only have dreamed of playing on as a kid, when I had only a secondhand five-iron and a few old balls to play with on a field in Warrington. And now what?

  I took a moment to let it sink in. I was a very lucky boy.

  I called Tash next, who was thrilled, I texted Jade and then I
called my mum. She was pleased but more interested in whether we were all safe and having a nice time. When I thought I was done, the phone began vibrating in my hand. It was my voicemail calling me back. There was another message. I clicked the answer button.

  ‘Hello Chris, it’s Terry here – what incredible news,’ he said, chuckling. ‘What the heck was I doing hanging around for so long putting all those people off?! Well done, really well done, I’m thrilled for you, I really am.’

  Could the day get any better?

  And was it really happening at all?

  How on earth had my life ended up in such a good place when it had come so close on so many occasions to being an unmitigated disaster?

  Still shaking my head in bewilderment and smiling, I wandered back to where the boys were sitting. They had finished working out the bets.

  ‘Chris, my friend, you wanna know how it all ended?’ Paulo asked.

  ‘I think I’ve just found out but tell me anyway.’ ‘It finished all square.’

  See you on the radio.

  POSTSCRIPT

  TOP 10

  THINGS I STILL WANT TO DO

  10 Write and direct a movie

  9 Go a year without a single alcoholic drink

  8 ‘Acquire’ some more hair

  7 Get down to single figures in golf

  6 Race a classic car

  5 Buy a Hockney

  4 Buy a house by the sea

  3 Create the new TV quiz format

  2 See my kids happy

  1 Stay married to my beautiful wife

  NOW HERE’S THE THING. The second I finished writing this book, more stuff started to happen to me and as usual, lots of it – all really rather fast.

  There were the goings on surrounding my co-hosting The One Show on Friday nights. The former host had allegedly left because of my appointment. His female co-host also followed him out of the door. All my fault apparently (yawn!).

  Then there was the second set of listening figures for the radio show which came out in July. They were down compared to the first lot but still the next highest ever recorded. Even so, we all felt a bit crestfallen for an hour or two after we found out until we remembered how lucky we were to be alive in the first place, let alone have our health, lovely families and a great job. Upon realising this, we all cheered up again immediately and went to the pub for a pint and a bag of peanuts.

  There was also the small matter of me finally managing to buy my all time dream car – a Ferrari 250 GTO. Remember that for me buying something is entirely different to having the money to actually pay for it (Radio station, rock star mansion etc.). When it came to the GTO, once again, I would fall into the former camp as opposed to the latter. To raise the necessary funds for what was, in many ways, my most decadent purchase to date (and that’s saying something), I had to sell my White Collection. This consisted of six other classic Ferraris I’d had painted white, all with matching blue leather interiors. As well as these six, I also had to sell the Coburn car that caused me so much grief in the first place. Seven cars for one! I know what you’re thinking but it had to be done.

  My plans for the future? Well, I’ll have to do something drastic about my cholesterol first, or else there might not be one – it was over seven at the last count. But having said that, I want The Breakfast Show to be around for everyone that honours us with listening, until I’m at least 50 and I’d like it to always remain positive and relevant. I would like to stay on The One Show on Fridays and see it extend to an hour a week. I would like to write more books but to be honest, I have no idea about what exactly. I would also like to create a new television quiz format that was as good as, if not better than, Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. There is one particular idea I’ve been mulling over for a good while now that I think may have some real potential.

  Most of all though, I want to be a good dad to Jade and Noah and whoever else might come along. Tash wants another baby and so do I. At the time of going to print this has not come any closer to happening, or at least not as far as I know about it. I’d also like to remain happily married. Those are the most important things for me. If I can achieve them, I will be a happy husband, a happy father and a happy man. Who could ask for more?

  During the writing of this present volume, Memoirs of a Fruitcake, there were times when I shuddered at recalling how mad my life was. I remember thinking on more than one occasion, ‘Alright it may have been fun now and again but by and large, thank heaven those days are over.’

  I said this to my wife one night over dinner as the writing was coming to an end.

  ‘You are joking, of course,’ she said.

  ‘No, why, what do you mean?’

  ‘You are still completely insane. Have you forgotten the fact that you have since sold the black car you bought in Italy, along with all your other cars, to buy just the one GTO that we really can’t afford?’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘How about the fact that every day, you worry whether or not your radio show is any good, even though everyone you respect tells you it’s fine?’

  ‘Er …’

  ‘How about that you look at your belly in the mirror just before you go and pick up the Indian takeaway every Saturday night and then eat the lot, look at your belly some more and then hit the chocolate drawer?’

  ‘Yes, but apart from that …

  ‘And when you left the house the other day without anything on other than your trousers and you didn’t realise until you were on the M25 and felt the seatbelt rubbing into your skin and the pedals hurting the bottom of your feet!’

  She has a point of course, in fact as you can see, she has many.

  Someone turn the oven back on, there’s another fruitcake to bake.

  Loved Memoirs of a Fruitcake?

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  Also by the Author

  It’s Not What You Think

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  Copyright

  HarperCollinsPublishers 77-85 Fulham Palace Road, Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2010

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  © Chris Evans 2010

  Chris Evans asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

  All photographs are courtesy of the author with the exception of the following:

  Plate 1: Page 1, middle left: PHOTOGRAPH BY GARRETT BRENNAN/CPI, CAMERA PRESS LONDON; Page 1, bottom left: PHOTOGRAPH BY GARRETT BRENNAN/CPI, CAMERA PRESS LONDON; Page 3, above right: © Starstock/Photoshot; Page 5, middle left: courtesy of Gordon MacGeachy; Page 5, middle right: courtesy of Gordon MacGeachy; Page 5, bottom right: © Talking Sport/Photoshot

  Plate 2: Page 11, below right: Neale Haynes/Contour by Getty Images; Page 12, below: © Jackie King; Page 10 middle right: Jeff Moore/Jeff Moore/Empics Entertainment; Page 13, below: © Brian J. Ritchie/Rex Features; Page 15, above left: courtesy of the Radio Times; Page 15, above right: © The One Show; Page 16, © Rankin

  Endpaper photographs © Camera Press/James Peltekian; Getty Images; Daily Mirror/Mirrorpix; Press Association Images; Starstock/UPPA/Photoshot; Rex Features; Shutterstock

  A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

  HB ISBN 978-0-00-734568-7

  TPB ISBN 978-0-00-734569-4

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e
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  Ebook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2010 ISBN:9780007345724

  2013-08-05

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