A man was very excitedly talking into his telephone. He had just received a telephone call and was now telling everyone of his good fortune. He was about to become almost famous, his name would not be mentioned but his phrase would. That was the important part.
The night before he had been sitting at a bar in central London when two radio producers or a radio producer and an editor, he wasn’t sure happened to take the two seats next to him. They were chatting about an appearance that Pamela Stephenson was going to make on their show the next day.
But they had a problem. How should they introduce her? Should they say “former comedian”? Or should they say “wife of Billy Connolly”? Each was a suggestion from one of them and so they were keen to criticise the other suggestion. In the end however they concluded that both suggestions sounded a little negative. So instead they mulled over the possibility of using “clinical psychologist”. But they decided that that lacked a little impact.
Defeated they turned to their beers in silence, until much to their surprise our man piped up with a suggestion. “How about,” he had said, “best-selling biographer”.
They had been so pleased they had bought him a beer, and over the rest of the evening had become firm friends. In fact, in a move rare in the London drinking scene they had even exchanged telephone numbers.
It had been one of them calling him to tell him that they were going to use his line, to thank him again and to suggest that they meet up some time soon. So now he was calling everyone he knew and asking them to listen to the show and hear his five seconds of almost fame.
At the time I witnessed this scene I really did think it was that his line was being read out on radio that made him so excited. But maybe, I’m thinking now, he was excited because he had made important contacts in the world of Radio. We shall never know, but either way I was glad to witness someone else’s unashamed glee. And I say “good luck to him”.