… but not a lot.
I did once met Paul Daniels and his glamorous assistant when I was hiking in the Yorkshire Dales. This was early ’90s. They were sitting on a bench outside a cafe taking in the view. We shared a pot of tea (I paid) and talked nonsense. I remember he mentioned how much he loved the Dales, and how nice it was to no longer wear that ridiculous rug atop his bonce.
I know he came across as a bit of a twerp, but he was genuinely pleasant company for the half hour I spent with them.
And I still have my 1981 LP ‘The Paul Daniels Magic Show’ somewhere.
You paid for his tea. Of course he was pleasant company.
A friend of mine ran a cabaret club for years and he would always say what a genuinely nice bloke Paul Daniels was and said he was really funny too. That’s good enough for me.
My friend was at a show at the Barbican in London with his wife. Also in the audience for the same show was Paul Daniels and Debbie McGee. Apparently, car parks at the Barbican are confusing and both couples found themselves hopelessly lost, walking around looking for their cars. Several times, they passed each other in the huge labyrinth.
Each time they bumped into each other, my friend tried to make light of it with good natured shrugs etc – but the “not a lot!” funster was not so cheery.
Many frustrating minutes go by, my friends decide to try another floor and press the button for a lift. The lift arrives, revealing Daniels and McGee inside. Daniels sees my friend and says “Oh for God’s sake!” . Again, my friend tries to make light of the situation but Daniels is not communicating, he’s quietly seething. In the lift my friend tells him that they weren’t following them around on purpose, they’re just looking for their car. Daniels apparently laughed mirthlessly, saying to the ground “oh I’ve heard it all now.!”.
My friend was now annoyed with him, letting him know that he was not particularly thrilled about spending this part of the evening with him either. My friend’s wife exchanged a glance with Debbie McGee, who gave her a small smile of apology as if to say “men, eh?”.
Hold the front page: Bloke gets pissed off when he can’t find his car.
The point is not that Daniels was annoyed at losing his car, but that he assumed BC’s friend was stalking him just cos he’s famous. Guh!
Also – he’s a magician, fercrissakes. You’d think any magician would be able to magic up his car. I’m sure David Copperfield wouldn’t have had this problem. Not even Doug Henning. Doug Henning never lost his car. Paul Daniels is crap.
Read between the lines dude – Black Celebration’s mate hid Paul Daniels’ car (he probably sniffed Debbie McGee’s seat too, the rotter) so he could follow him around a dark car park in a creepy, stalkerish way. ..
Nope, sorry Pops, you need to go to Specsavers. PD was hollow laughing because he realised that BC’s mate had assumed that PD would assume that they were following him. Keep up! Duh.
Drat! Foiled again!
Yes, the point was PD was thinking that my friend was following him around intentionally – along with all those fans and paparazzi that followed his every move. Seemingly.
Now that’s tragic.
(*Gets coat*)
Very good. Have an up.
Daniels seemed very guarded when he got the Louis Theroux treatment a few years ago. Not sure why he agreed to it, because you know what you’re getting into when Louis comes calling. Theroux obviously thought there was some weirdness element to his life that was worthy of investigation. But Daniels came out of it pretty unscathed.
I watched most of them – I thought all of Louis subjects were understandably guarded. I got the impression they all thought they could get the better of him, as well as too much ego, or too in need of the cash to say no. It was very rewarding to see Max Clifford caught trying to stitch Louis up.
I agree that Paul and Debbie did come over OK but that may have been helped by the fact that his other subjects the execrable Hamilton’s, 2 pedophiles, and Ann Widdecombe.
Daniels had a great career – he was successful at what he loved doing – and he seems to have had a great family life. And yet in the Louis Theroux show he came acroos as a bit of a grumpy old sod (as ganglesprocket says below -“chippy”), still irritated, perhaps, that he was never taken as seriously as he’d hoped. I got the feeling all those Spitting Image wig jokes really got to him.
I recently picked up a Louis Theroux collection on DVD from a charity shop. He clearly agreed to Louis because he spent the whole show trying to publicise Debbie’s ballet company, which he was supporting with his own money. It looked like it cost him a very large mount of dosh.
I suspect that his old shows probably stand up better than a lot of other stuff of the time. And I had no idea he was Andrew Lloyd Webber’s go to visual effects guy. To me he came across as a chippy guy with an actual craft he was skilled at and some genuine talent to hand. I suspect many people who met him thought he was a bit of a dick, but he was never a prat was he?
There is a fine line between being a bit of a dick and a prat though.
I’d rather be a dick than a prat
But I’d rather be a prat than a prick.
I’d rather be a sparrow than a snail.
I’d rather be a hammer than a nail.
I’d rather be a Chip than a Dale.
Jim Dale will be 81 in August! FFS
When I got my PhD in 2003 I tried to get people to call me Doctor Nookie.
It didn’t work.
Ooh, Dr Moose!
Was it a PhD in musical trivia?
Oh, wouldn’t you like to know.
Relax lady, I’m qualified etc.
Relax? Only if you’ve warmed your hands first.
Cold hands – warm iPod.
Whenever a celebrity dies nowadays, it seems a habit dig up as much dirt as possible. And if the deceased once said something vaguely racist, then that’s the jackpot.
It may not seem like it by my story above, but I did like PD a great deal. He was a naturally funny man. His misunderstanding with my friend makes me like him more.
A guy I worked with was a young boy when he tentatively approached Ian Botham for an autograph after a county game. He delights in telling this story. Botham said “fuck off!”.
Paging Geach……
And I met notoriously unpopular professional Yorkshireman Geoffrey Boycott for an autograph. He obliged without any issue, then went into the bar and started serving drinks to all and sundry.
And asked him for an autograph