I went on Eggheads
with some friends a few years back now, this is an article I wrote
before the programme was actually aired. This first appeared in Lukes
ace 'zine Ont' Road, issue number 16, you can now check out the web
version of the 'zine here. When the episode was finally aired we were
abused on twitter and then my office manager aired the episode in my
office to my amused co-workers, I live in hope my parents have
accidentally wiped it from their TV.
On a side note I
went to Highgate cemetery on Saturday and when I saw Marx's (newer)
grave one of my immediate thoughts was that his massive head looks
like a losing contestant on the Eggheads, having to sit behind his
friends watching down on their feeble attempts to beat a team of quiz
champions. I felt bad.
Some of the stupidest
ideas are often thought of in a pub, when six pints deep most things
seem possible and amusing. Every idea is an amazing one which can be
discussed with real fervour and then forgotten about in two or three
beers time when ones mind turns to less salubrious thoughts. Any
lingering thoughts of the "greatest idea ever" are almost
always wiped out in the morning when one realises it was a rather
silly idea that in the cold light of a hungover day is definitely the
last thing you'll ever consider doing. Sometimes though a few of
these ideas slip through the net and manifest themselves in real
events. Take for example 'The Straw Race' which takes place in the
village of Oxenhope, West Yorkshire every summer which originated
from an argument between two friends in a pub where one bet that the
other couldn't carry a bale of straw from one pub to the next faster
than him. It's now a massive annual event where teams of two dress in
fancy dress and carry a bale of straw on their backs and stop for a
pint in every pub in the village. I've done this race; it's a bloody
stupid idea.
Or take another example
of a worm charming event that takes place annually in Blackawton,
Devon. Some guy was in a pub in the village and was wondering what
would happen if he relieved the alcohol he'd been consuming onto it.
As he was happily pissing on the grass a load of worms rose to the
surface so he came up with the idea to stage an annual contest; now
hundreds of people descend on the village in fancy dress and piss on
the grass or some other shit to charm the worms to the surface. I've
not taken part in this but it sounds bloody stupid and something that
could only be dreamed up by a half cut person in a public house.
Britain is built on
pubs, eccentricity and now seemingly fancy dress. Something that
doesn't involve fancy dress but has a foot in both the other camps is
quiz nights. I proposed one night in a pub we should go on the
ultimate television quiz show Eggheads. It seemed like a brilliant
idea at the time; a chance to win thousands of pounds against a team
of professional quizzers on national TV. National TV? Why the hell
would I want to appear on national TV? But the idea had legs; I sent
out a few texts and posted a request for team members on Facebook.
People replied they'd be up for it probably thinking it was just
another stupid drunk idea I had which wouldn't go anywhere. A couple
of months later we were in the BBC studios in Glasgow, in make up,
getting ready to take on the Eggheads. What a bloody stupid idea.
It turns out Eggheads
has an average of two million viewers per episode and even though
most of these are likely to be OAP's or students they're still real
people. That's two million people watching me and my friends make
fools out ourselves. Two million real people. What was the point?
With a lot of things in life there wasn't a point, I was just drunk
and thought it would be funny and followed through with it for once.
I've never had any inclination to appear on national television but
with a team put together we were flown up to Glasgow from London and
put up in a hotel for the night ready to do a quiz in front of some
cameras at eight in the morning. That's no time to be taking part in
a quiz. That's no time to be doing anything.
It turns out I'm so
pasty the make up artists had to put blusher or something on my arms
as well as my face so I didn't appear too ghostly on TV, I'd hate to
think what they'd have had to do to me if I'd had more than four
pints the night before but after an extensive sessions in make up the
team were ready to go. It turns out being on TV is pretty easy, and
quite exciting. Our team broke an Eggheads record for being able to
talk into a camera. Apparently in almost 900 episodes no team has
been able to say their names, age and occupation into the camera
without messing up. All of us did it perfectly first time, the
Eggheads and the production staff were very impressed, our reserve
James said that CJ was going a bit crazy back stage. We were
naturals, we could do this.
Then the questions
started and we realised that actually we couldn't do it, or rather we
couldn't win it. We didn't get any of the categories we wanted but we
all managed to get at least one question correct but limply proceeded
into the final round with no-one winning their individual round. it
was left to Vinny to take on the five Eggheads on his own. At this
point Nay, Roshni, Tim and I were escorted into the other filming
room where our heads will appear massive on HD TV behind Vinny when
the episode is finally aired. Tim (this is another Tim, it's not a
case of my friend Tim..." and it actually being me, it was Tim)
decided at this point he had to go to the toilet or he'd shit his
pants. In his race to get to the bowl in time Tim forgot he was
wearing a microphone that was hooked up to all the production team
and Jeremy Vine, the presenter. Tim said afterwards it was the
loudest, most explosive shit he could ever wish to unload, a number
seven on the Bristol stool chart scale. Nay, Roshni and I heard
Jeremy Vine say that "there must be something in the water"
but thought nothing of it; we were too worried about our heads
appearing five times their normal size on national television. Then
afterwards Tim told us what he'd done; he'd shat in Jeremy Vines ear.
Vinny lost the final
round. We came and lost as a team, we got to see a bit of Glasgow, we
met and got our pictures taken with the Eggheads, we shat in Jeremy
Vines ear. It may have been a bloody stupid idea but it ended up
being a lot of fun. I'm just glad it won't be made into an annual
event in some little village where I'd have to wear fancy dress and
piss on a worm whilst carrying a bale of straw on my back around some
pubs.
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