Am sat on the settee watching “Flash “ahhhhh, he saved every one of us” Gordon on the telly.
I have just seen Brain “am I shouting” Blessed on screen and have been taken back to a fairly traumatic moment in the early life of the man that would become Bingo.
The mists of time and tomfoolery hasn’t fuzzied this particular memory.
Picture the scene, a young Bingo, happy and rude like every other teenager. I was a skater (still am when the mood/madness takes me) misspending the majority of my youth down at South Bank, underneath the Royal Festival Hall with the other 4 wheeled reprobates of good old Lahndahn Tahn.
One bright Saturday morning, skating out of Waterloo East station towards the regular meeting point, making lots of noise (Clacka-clacka-clacka) as I rode down and out of the concourse, cruising effortlessly past the ticket machines, building up speed as I exited the station in a blur of motion, all that was left to negotiate was the taxi rank. It was here that I had my first brush with celebrity.
The aforementioned Mr. Blessed was with his entire brood, waiting for a Hackney Carriage to pick up them and their many bags after what was clearly a great family holiday.
Even at the terrific speed I had built up I could see this behemoth of a man in my path, but being quite adept at this wheelie-boarding thing I maintained my momentum, fixed on my line.
Usually the noise I was making would be enough to ensure that people got “the fuck outta my way”.
But Brian was talking to his family, organising the stowage of luggage aboard their black cab.
Brian’s “talking” however meant that nobody within 20 metres could hear me approaching.
Right at the point where I was about to glide past them, Brian decided to make a huge gesticulation with his massive arms. What he was trying to express to his family I don’t know, but the huge giant buffoon knocked me right off my board with the backswing of his hand, sending me flying into a crumpled mess of ripped denim and Dead-Kennedy T-shirt on the roadside.“Young Man!” he bellowed “Are you alright?”
I couldn’t reply, my mind wouldn’t get a grasp on what had happened. I knew this face from somewhere. I hadn’t been in the presence of a real person from telly-land before.
“Are you injured? Is anything broken?”,
still I couldn’t muster a reply.
“Quickly, someone call an ambulance!”And then my mind switched back on again. The only natural response in this type of situation. Any mention of “imperial entanglement” was enough to get me into escape mode, having been expressly forbidden from going up town on my own, and certainly not allowed to get myself assaulted my members of the Royal Shakespeare Company.
I scarpered, hid, and after a while started putting the pieces together. It was then I realised who he was.
I had just been slapped by one of the Hawkmen!
A proud memory indeed. And an inspiration to one and all. I have no doubt the man himself regales many a dinner party with his version.