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We haven't been out to the cinema in years, but the Bob Marley movie got me over to the city. It's the #1 movie in Canada.

Pretty brilliant movie. I shall be doing household chores to his CDs for weeks :-)

'8 out of 10 cats does Countdown' is a spin-off comedy show from the real thing, Diane. The original is MUCH less panto (despite my best efforts when I was on it), and was the very first programme on our Channel 4, when it was launched back in November, 1982. It's been an ever-present since then.

I was attracted to apply because of it's massive life-changing prizes. And even though I didn't manage to win the much-coveted dictionaries, I still left with a plastic Countdown carrier bag filled with a Countdown T-shirt, Countdown tie, Yorkshire TV writing pad, AND the name card they had Letrasetted for my appearance on the show. I know, I know - who could possibly ask for more, eh?

The producer who called me (these were pre-email times) after my audition in Edinburgh's Welcome Inn wanted to schedule me into a show with the legendary cartoonist Bill Tidy in Dictionary Corner, but I chickened out of that in case they made me draw something during the recording (Bill was notorious for drawing lightning fast cartoons... not something I can do), so when my episode was filmed, I had the joy of meeting the wonderful Sylvia Syms, then in her late 50s, but still fondly remembered for numerous films and TV dramas from her days as a young starlet, such as 'Ice Cold In Alex' (the famous beer-drinking scene famously being used, with Sylvia, in a Carlsberg advert - https://youtu.be/ghb7X6pqNz0 ).

She was also the key player in my favourite memory from that day. The Countdown audiences were all bussed in from local senior citizen homes, and most of them were of the vintage to well-remember Ms Syms from her Hollywood starlet days. So they were clearly excited from the off when she appeared on set, and she was brilliant with them all, clearly enjoying the the adulation herself. Then half way through one of the shows (they did a week's worth in one full day), her clip-on microphone failed. The sound engineer suggested she went back to her dressing room to be rewired with a new one. She dismissed the idea, with a, "We're all friends here!" wave of her hand, then whipped off her blouse on the set, and was rewired through her undergarment. Amidst the gasps from the audience, I swear I could hear the bleeping of numerous pacemaker warning alarms...

It was a splendid day out, and the hospitality was excellent. I'd recommend it to anyone, even those are normally shy of the spotlight.

Thank you, Roger! It's safe to post this picture now, since I'm totally unrecognisable today compared to how I looked back then... thank goodness!

Not that I was ever mobbed by Countdown groupies back then. The extent of my 'fame' manifested in my being followed round Woolworths the day after it broadcast. the elderly gent with a flat cap, spectacles and a splendid moustache never actually spoke to me, but everywhere I went in the store, his face would pop out at the end of the aisle, then promptly disappear again as soon as he realised I'd spotted him. He was probably trying desperately to figure out where he'd seen me before (something I know all about now that I am an elderly gent with a flat cap, spectacles and a splendid moustache... who couldn't tell you what I had for breakfast). I resisted actually the urge to approach him and provide a clue (my uncanny impression of the Countdown Clocks last five seconds). Hopefully the penny dropped before he forgot all about following me.

The only other 'fame' moment came a few days later whilst sat in my season ticket seat to watch my beloved St Johnstone. The guy that sat two seats away arrived to take his seat. The only communication we'd ever had up till that point was a mutual nod and and an "Aye!" before settling down to read our programmes. This time, however, he left his programme unopened and without looking at me said, "Saw you on the box the other day."
"Did you?", I replied.
"Aye!", sad he, "You were bloody rubbish!"

I couldn't argue with that, so I laughed (he didn't) and went back to my programme, and we never spoke again (I chose a different season ticket seat number the following year).

I was actually still in the game right up until the Conundrum (only one in those days) and I pressed my buzzer with only seconds to go, then blurted out a word I had just desperately made up. "TAWDREISH!" This brought a puzzled smile to my opponent, who had displayed utter devastation only a split second before, and she visibly relaxed as Richard broke the not unexpected news to me that I was wrong. I needed those points to win, so my one appearance duly ended, and she went on to become a Champion Of Champions, which made me feel a little better.

I'll let you work out what the correct answer was from the letters in my made up word. Like the late, great Eric Morecambe said to André Preview about the notes on his piano, I used all the right ones, but not necessarily in the right order.

It strikes me that I my have told this story before, possibly more than once. But as well as getting to that age where I struggle to remember stuff, I also tend not to give a toss any more.

That's the man, yes.

Who's Roger?

Daltry.

You're welcome.