TerryVision

I know very little about Andy Warhol other than knowing that he was a prime mover in the world of pop art, he painted a picture of a tin of soup, and that he once said something about everyone having their fifteen minutes of fame, which, having not even bothered to look him up on Wikipedia is probably more than I know about Ladybirds for instance despite having met more of them than I have famous artists. None became good friends. Ladybirds are quite fickle and soon fly away when spooked and, like leopards, they never change their spots.

Where I’m getting to, albeit by the scenic route, is that most people have at some point had a brush with the bright lights of fame (or in some cases, notoriety). For most of us it can be quite a small and insignificant moment but for others it can be the start of a journey towards bona fide celebrity status. Our destiny is in the stars.

The most common route to fame and fortune these days is via the medium of television, however it can devour the unwary in its relentless demand for entertainment. I have had encounters with this cut-throat world on a few occasions.

Firstly, I appeared in the audience of a 1980s mid-morning talking shop called ‘The Time The Place’ along with some fellow associates of mine, when we were all about 14. The subject of the show was the perennial concern of ‘the youth of today’. Loads of kids from schools in the Southampton area were bussed in to defend ourselves to house bound and unemployed daytime television viewers across the country. Some actors from popular kids show ‘Grange Hill’ were also present, although in the flesh they appeared to be closer to middle age than their on-screen characters were.

I don’t remember much about this programme other than being intimidated by the seemingly giant pedestal cameras in use at the time and being sat in the wrong place at the end of the show as the host, the late Mike Scott, leant in to the camera to wish the great unwashed at home farewell, thereby positioning his backside about an inch away from my face. I must stress however that this was an unfortunate incident and Operation Yewtree do not need to be informed.

The second time I found myself in front of the lens was a year later whilst browsing in WHSmiths. I was approached by a camera crew and was asked to peruse the rack of Mills & Boon books, without any explanation. Being keen to please I did so, only to discover some days later that I was on the local news during their Valentines Day feature where a cheesy reporter was trying to demonstrate that even men read romantic fiction. Needless to say, I kept my head down at school for quite a while after that.

Then things went quiet for a few decades, until last Tuesday. I’d been in Manchester for work and had arrived at a chilly Oxford Road station to find that my train home was not going to arrive for another 30 minutes. As I was seeking somewhere warm to shelter I noticed a camera crew lurking about. Assuming that this was some sort of A-level media studies project (they looked so young) I paid them little attention and tried to keep out of their way.

Whilst trying to work out on my phone if there was some elaborate alternative route available to me that would mean I could board a nice warm train rather than catch my death on Northern Rail premises I was approached by one of the young fellows from the crew. He explained that they were recording a piece for The One Show, that smorgasbord of early evening celebrity chat, serious features about the likes of terminal illness, great historical moments, and the threat of terrorism to pensioners in Oldham, and lightweight pieces about dogs in hats.

On this occasion they were filming a feature following a mature gentleman called Geoff who was trying to seek new employment by handing out free coffees to commuters with his contact details on the cup.  Interested in the prospect of a free warming beverage I agreed to partake in this televisual opportunity. I pretended that Geoff and I had never met and that this was all a surprise. I then went on to tell Geoff in this fairy-tale world that I would be able to help him due to all the connections that I have within the business world.

To be honest, I do know people, some in quite senior and important jobs that help to keep the wheels of industry turning, but I’m not sure they want to be introduced to a chap who thinks that his best option for employment is to hand out coffee to random passers by on the off chance they might secure him a role as a non-executive director. Naturally I didn’t explain this to Geoff as I was cold and I wanted a coffee, which I have to say was disappointingly tepid, but that’s the artifice of television for you.

My moment in front of the camera over, I went on my way on the assumption that there were many more televisual commuters around and that this was the end of the matter. I tweeted that I’d met Geoff and used the hashtag from the coffee cup, #GiveGeoffaJob.

Fast forward a couple of days and as I was heading home from work my phone began vibrating furiously as earnest tweeters found my message and shared it with their followers. I reasoned that Geoff must have appeared on TV but that I’d sadly missed his moment.

The next morning however I got curious as to who had made the final cut so I downloaded it. Sure enough, in amongst the hapless punters on screen came a cheery soul in specs who was promising Geoff his unmitigated support on prime time television.

Assuming that as no-one I know watches The One Show I’d gotten away with it and so I went to work with no concerns. However, after being in the office about 30 seconds I quickly realised that my brief appearance had not gone unnoticed, mostly by startled colleagues who’d had their domestic situations disrupted when I showed up unexpectedly on their televisions, in high definition.

Others who wisely don’t watch The One Show (no-one ever owns up to being a regular viewer, as I discovered) have threatened to download it via the BBC iPlayer to see how I fared. Hopefully they, like TV producers across the land, will see my natural charm and charisma bursting through the screen and that the calls for future TV appearances will soon come my way.

I’m currently eyeing up the opportunity to replace Nick Hewar on the Apprentice. I think I can just about muster the wit to lurk behind some useless graduates and pull faces as they make unwise and downright stupid decisions whilst trying to sell fish or doughnuts to the people of Guildford.

In fact I may even set up my own hashtag, #GiveTerryaJobOnTheTelly. I’ll get myself down the local railway station and hand out coffees with it on, just in case I bump into a passing media mogul.

Spread the word and when fame comes calling you can say you were there at the beginning. You can say you made me who I am. Then you can slag me off to the papers.

Fame is a cruel mistress.