Jim Bowen
Sunday tea-time sadly doesn't exist anymore. Tea-time doesn't exist anymore. And Sunday evenings are gloomy affairs now, in which one last gin and tonic only marginally raises my spirits as the weekend dies a slow death and another week at work raises its arse over the parapet and starts to tangibly strain. But once upon a time, Sunday evenings were idyllic; so much so, that not even Gloria Hunniford's twee chat show or Harry Secombe's Highway could detract from it. And that is partly thanks to Mark's and Spencer's and partly thanks to Jim Bowen. My mum's Sunday tea was a lovely, smashing accompaniment to Bullseye. I'd be biting into a Mark's pancake, adorned with a thick layer of Primula cheese spread with ham (and admiring my teeth marks) as Jim welcomed the players, making the correct assumption that the gentleman would be throwing the darts and the lady would be answering the questions. Sometimes, there'd be two ladies and one would have arms like Popeye and a haircut like Bluto and Jim knew she'd be holding the arrows. I'd be drizzling salad cream over my perfectly round chicken slices, tomatoes, pickled red cabbage, pickled onion and mash, as the prizes were announced - 'iiiiiiiiinnnnnnnn one, a toaster and teasmaid' ('that'll save you going downstairs,' Jim would say to the ladies), 'iiiiiiiinnnnnnn two, a drill set for the budding handyman' ('or woman,' Jim would add, winking at Popeye-arms). And I'd be peeling chocolate from a tea-cake and then licking the cream off a chocolate meringue as Jim pulled a wad of notes from his pocket to send one couple on their way as another played on to miss out on a small car or win a speedboat ('We live 60 miles inland, Jim!') And the jaunty theme music would fill you with glee and the glee would get all mixed up with your Mark's tea in your tum and life was wonderful.
Geoffrey Hayes
Geoffrey from Rainbow was the glue that held together the disparate and dysfunctional motley crew of Bungle, George and Zippy, all of whom quite clearly had special needs and who would - without Geoffrey playing single foster parent - have ended up homeless and vulnerable, probably picked up by some unscrupulous circus owner and kept in tiny, excrement-soiled cages that they'd have to share with dwarves and bearded ladies. Geoffrey was a much-respected man of principle, against whom the children of the 70s aligned their moral compasses. If Zippy was being a shit, Geoffrey would say so. If Bungle indulged in one of his bouts of petulance, selfishness or sheer bloody foolishness, Geoffrey would give him a gentle reminder that he was only a phone call away from being shipped to Russia to dance for the communists. And Geoffrey was the only one who didn't perv over Jane from Rod, Jane and Freddy. In a decade in which male disinterest in women would immediately prompt accusations of 'batting for the other side' or being 'a bit dodgy', Geoffrey drew no criticism from any quarter. In some ways, I think he might have been Jesus.
Bill Maynard
'Selwyn Froggitt's on his way, never mind, oh never mind,' went the theme tune. That's all I can remember about it. Couldn't tell you who Selwyn Froggitt was, except that he was played by Bill Maynard, who made a career out of playing shifty buggers. He played a shifty bugger in Heartbeat and The Gaffer and shifty buggers each time he appeared in a Carry On. IMDB uses the more prosaic epithet, 'curmudgeonly reprobate' and that serves to remind us middle-aged shifty buggers that we are exactly that, because we were conditioned to idolise curmudgeonly reprobates back in the 70s. Bill Maynard is probably up to no good with Roy Kinnear and Peter Butterworth in the after-life right now.
Eric Bristow
Eric Bristow looked like your uncle and won some epic battles against the likes of Bobby George (who looked like your other uncle, the flash one with the jewellery that fell off the back of a lorry), Jocky Wilson (who looked like my Scottish grandad) and John Lowe (who looked like most people's grans). And then he went and lost to that young pretender, the cross eyed usurper and spoiler, Keith Deller. Deller ruined the romance of darts and no one's named a baby Keith since.
Chas Hodges
A friend of mine (in her 30s) once told me that her friend (also in her 30s, let's keep this anonymous) was in a relationship with Dave from Chas and Dave (in his 70s). That's some age gap. Not sure that it lasted that long. Maybe there was no pleasing her. Anyway, I didn't know which one Dave was until Chas died and it turned out that Chas was the one on piano with hair that looked like a mid-80s wet-perm. But who can blame her, because everyone loved Chas and Dave. Even if you hated Spurs, the two cup final songs from 1981 and 1982 were good fun and showcased another of the many talents of Ossie Ardiles (the others being acting in Escape to Victory and his lesser known work winning a World Cup medal in '78). Things went downhill after Snooker Loopy (awful awful song) and from then on every Chas and Dave record was released by K-Tel, retailed for 99p and had 200 tracks on it in one long medley.
Burt Reynolds
I found out later on that Burt Reynolds started out as a serious actor - I only saw Deliverance in my 40s and knowing what was coming, I fast forwarded the 'squeal like a pig' scene - and then he grew a moustache and became a comedy actor. Smoky and the Bandit films were ok, but nothing beats the Cannonball Run films. Burt pissing himself laughing with Dom DeLuise (the 70s answer to Jack Black) in the out-takes, shown at the end, is the most infectious laughter in cinema.
Denis Norden
In its first decade or so, It'll Be Alright on the Night WAS funny. Denis Norden standing with a clipboard (yes, fuck you, autocue!) and turning too slowly from one camera to another, always delivered a witty, sardonic nugget of commentary that actually enhanced the comedy of the clips. In later years, that same format and a much shitter script made the show seem tired and the best out-takes had all been used. But credit where credit's due and thanks to Denis, the term 'cock-up' has had an enhanced role in our common vernacular.
Glynn Edwards
Glynn Edwards was in every episode (I suspect) of one of the best TV shows of all time: Minder. He might have always had the same expression on his face - glum resignation - and over numerous years his lines rarely extended further than saying, 'Ello, Arthur,' 'Ello Terry' and making some reference to the former's unpaid tab, but he was integral to the success of the show. Reliable, predictable, routine... you realise later in life that these things are to be aspired towards.
Margot Kidder
The Superman films have never been bettered and never will be bettered, and Margot Kidder played Lois Lane with a voice like Marge's sisters in The Simpsons (that is, with a 60 a day fag habit-induced gruffness) and a fuck-you attitude that made her totally unsexy (which made you wonder why Superman could possibly fancy her). Her Hollywood lifestyle, from what I read, makes Keith Richard seem like a monk.
