So, we got to BBC Television Centre OK, me and my mam. Met her in the queue and we turned out to be 14th and 15th in the Buzzcocks line!
And as we were lined up outside the studio proper, waiting patiently, there was a bit of a kerfuffle…
Robbie Williams turned up out of nowhere.
I was stood literally five feet away from Robbie Williams.
I didn’t shout at him.
I didn’t smack him one.
I didn’t call him a lousy fucking hypocritical wanker former ‘dancer’ for Take That from fucking Stoke.
I’m so ashamed.
Show itself wasn’t bad. Chas of ‘Chas n Dave’ fame was a guest, so I was happy, even if he did hardly say a word. In fact, the whole thing was a little subdued and took ages. Three hours, or thereabouts to do a 1/2 show. Lamarr seemed to be in a foul mood, as opposed to his usual bitter cynicism, and the audience were hardly great aside from, well, me.
Still, anything that ends up with ‘I’m not fucking Icarus!’ as a punchline can’t suck.
I still can’t believe that I was within spitting distance of Robbie fucking Williams and I’m not in a cell and he’s not in hospital. So ashamed of myself. One day, Robster, your time will come. One day.