The time I nearly met Noel Edmonds…

So there I was, sat there watching the black and white telly. It’s Saturday morning, a bit rainy so I’m indoors. No running around causing mayhem for me. Luckily The Multi Coloured Swap Shop was on. It may have been multi coloured for many but for me it was several shades of grey on a rented TV, courtesy of Rediffusion. We’d had a colour one but couldn’t afford it anymore so the colourful delights The Generation Game and The World Of Sport had long gone. Anyway I can watch it till the precipitation stops then bam! I’m out, causing mayhem. It also had the best DJ on radio and now TV star, my favourite, Mr Noel Edmonds.

This was in the mid seventies and I was about eleven at the time I think. Long hair, hand me down bell bottoms and sannies that were worn out after endless hours playing out. I had a few heroes at the time, mainly sporting. Kevin Keegan was a footballing God. His hair was recently permed as was many a footballer at the time, curls tighter than a fleas arse. Come to think about it, it was very similar to my Aunt Mary’s but he had much better legs.

Swap Shop was a simple idea. You rang in and swapped things. Toys, games etc. But every week they had a outdoor swap shop in a different location hosted by a cheeky Liverpudlian called Keith Chegwin, a long haired grinned chap with a bit of an annoying laugh, like a choking ferret drawing it’s last breath. Keith would turn up somewhere on a Saturday for a ‘Swaparama’. Happy kids exchanging various games and stuff as Keith grinned his way around in a colourful jumper, the happiest man on the planet.

A jumper with Keith Chegwin in it.

I was just finishing my Weetabix when monochrome Noel said, “Keith! Where are you today?”

I looked at the telly, amazed.

“Hello Noel!” Keith cried with delight. He stood next to an old familiar brick wall with a large floodlight in the background.

“I’m here in Hull! At The Boulevard!” He screeched. “The home of Hull FC!” The cheesy grin in full mode. “The sun has just come out and-“

“It’s Hull!” I shouted at the wood chip wallpaper. I could hear mam on the phone, chatting away, oblivious.

Thirty seconds later, a loud, quick rapping on the back door and suddenly my best friend Mark was there, breathing heavily. He was slightly smaller than me with a mop of crazy, dark hair.

“We gotta go!”

I was already up and away. We were both so excited. Swap Shop here, in Hull. Unbelievable.

“What you taking?”

I thought for a second. I didn’t have much to be honest. A pair of very rusty roller skates that were frankly, a death trap. A couple of weeks before I was flying down my street, arms swinging, eight wheels spinning. My hair blowing behind me, loving life in the sun then suddenly it’s seven wheels….six…then I’m rolling head over heels on the pavement. I’d managed to fix them up but one of the little black rubber spheres just kept coming off so they were a no no. I did have a fort from a couple of Christmases past but the cowboys and Indians had a mighty big fight in there and the place was wrecked. The Wild West sure was bloody….All I had of any note was my football. A very reliable old ball with the fake leather missing, long gone from hours of being kicked and picked at by various hands. It now resembled the moon, gray and battered. I told Mark I’d take it.

He grinned a happy grin. “I’m  taking my compendium!”

My heart sank. The ‘Compendium of games’ consisted of a chess board that nobody had a clue how to play because it was for posh people, ludo, snakes and ladders with so many pieces missing and replaced with buttons of various sizes. The box had been taped up several times and a tea stain covered the picture on the front. A happy jaundiced family laughed as the boy had his head in his hands as he slid down a snake.

Still, none of that mattered. I could be a TV star!

When we got there, it was one of the most amazing sights my eleven year old eyes had ever seen. Busy camaramen on a small stage surrounded by kids, groaning as Keith cracked one of his terrible jokes. They say all scousers are funny but Mr Chegwin must have missed the humour gene somewhere along the way. His zig zag jumper was a tad snug, I reckoned he’d just been to the nearest greasy caff for a full English. To his right stood a small bank of monitor’s and I could see Noel Edmonds interviewing somebody. Mark nudged me in the ribs as we edged closer and we slipped our way through to the front of the Swaparama. Various toys lay carefully on the ground and some spotty kid wearing a washed out peach shirt handed over his action man that had one of his life-like rubber grip hands missing. That soldier had certainly had been in the wars.

Soon it was our turn and we both gazed at the most beautiful woman we’d ever seen. Her eyes were the clearest, lightest blue, skin flawless and light hair down to her shoulders. The delights of Debbie Harry and Kate Bush were still a couple of years away but I discovered my loins for the first time.

“Hello boys,” she said cheerfully in a very posh accent. The grimness of the North of England probably a million miles from her home. Noel and Keith were forgotten by that captivating smile. She took our first names then asked me what I’d brought. I held up the battered ball and you could see her heart sink. “And what do you want to swap it for?”

I hadn’t given that a thought so put on the spot I said, “Err…..a new one….”

She blinked those eyes a couple of times.

“….A new one..” she reiterated without much hope but smiled anyway and took the ball. Her hand wrote quickly on the card in a neat block.

BALL SWAP FOR A NEW BALL.

She smiled again and my heart did the cha cha cha as she turned to Mark.

“And what do you have?” she asked ernestly. Mark proudly held our the battered box.

“A compendium…”

She took it off him easily, rummaged inside for a second.

“Everything there?” she asked, knowing full well half of the contents were missing.

“Er…yeah!” Mark said confidently. When she asked him what he wanted for a swap, without hesitation he said, “A skateboard.”

Now I was a young kid but I knew the chances of the swap actually happening were slim at best, fairly improbable, but to be fair to Mark, his smile seemed convincing.

Suddenly Keith came to life, squealing.

“HELLO HULL!”

Everyone cheered with great enthusiasm.

“I need to choose two people to come and help me!”

The crowd of mainly kids cheered him on as we all waved like mad, determined to get on the box. This is it….my moment. If I get this right I’ll be a house hold name, like Yogi Bear or Basil Brush. I shouted and jumped like a whirling dervish, convinced he’d pick me. Twenty seconds later two girls, friends obviously stood on the stage. I was gutted. Even worse, they talked to the great man himself, Noel Edmonds. He asked them to tell a joke to win a prize but all I remember is nobody laughed. Even Keith failed to raise a titter and he normally tittered like a tit.

After an hour or so the drizzle started. In all the excitement me and Mark had forgot to bring a jacket, and soon we were soaked. We checked the Swaparama and a lot of movement had occurred, apart from ours if course. By this time the beautiful lady had gone, replaced by a bored looking chubby man with a hood so big he reminded me of Friar Tuck.

“These two yours?”

We both nodded, our tee-shirts and jeans drenched.

He spoke deeply from inside the hood.

“You want to take them back now?”

We both shook our wet heads, long hair dripping.

“Because let’s face it, you’ve no chance…..”

“We’ll swap them both for that tent you’re wearing…” Mark offered back with a grin that made me laugh.

After he kicked us off we took our possession’s and fell back into the now dwindling audience. Both of us wet footed and dejected. Keith jumped onto the stage with a comedy umbrella so small it just covered his head. Nobody laughed.

“What a git…” I said a bit too loud and a couple of kids, coats zipped up tightly, glared at me.

The devil in Mark came out.

“Fat scouse git!”

I hope somewhere in the BBC Archive it’s still there. Two soaking wet lads shouting “Fat Scouse Git!” over and over. Keith, as professional as ever, carried on without missing a beat. He’d probably been called it every week, up and down the land.

So we trudged home, feeling very down on our luck. Mark’s compendium stuck under his shirt. Inspiration struck me!

“Ey! You can have the wheels off my roller skates!” I told him.

“Just stick the wheels onto that crappy compendium and use it as a skateboard… “

“Get stuffed…”

Those not so good old days have long gone, but wouldn’t it be great, just to go back for an hour or two. Mark has gone, God rest him, Keith too. His career tailed away a touch and he ended up hosting a naked gameshow…True story… Noel Edmonds is still going strong…

…..And I still haven’t met him…..

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