I vaguely recollect something about coming off the fields at Queen Anne and walking past the old grass tennis courts on the way to the changing rooms. For some reason they had put astro turf over them, and there was a tennis net 5ft high running the length of the one nearest the pond.
Got changed, but didn’t have a shower as I didn’t smell and the lights didn’t work in there.
Walked out the door to find myself in BBC Television Centre. I was trying to arrange a deal on the illegal import of Pineapple chewitts. I had then arrranged for these to be sold at 20 quid a packet. Also, I was selling the legal in this country orange chewitts back to the importer/dealer for 5 quid a packet.
But the bastard screwed me. He came into the canteen and announced that he was going to be selling the pineapple chewitts direct. I was not happy, as I was going to be out of pocket. So I convinced the dining crowd that all he was selling was orange chewitts wrapped in pineapple wrappers. Further to this I convinced them that I was in fact selling pineapple chewitts, but they were disguised in orange chewiit wrappers.
This plan was shakey, I knew that, so I needed another source of income. I met with a guy on the 2nd floor corridor of the doughnut and talked to him about the possibility of getting Mr Men books smuggled in at under 5 quid. He looked like the Grandad from the Munsters, and he also looked sceptical. I told him I was desperate, and that I had guaranteed sales.
He told me that they could manufacture the book itself, cut to size, for 4 quid, but this was without actually printing anything. We agreed that he would get back to me after he had spoken to his Columbian associates.
It was time for me to go back to work. I made for the 7th floor, and at this point as I neared the stage 6 lifts, I realised that I hadn’t actually put any clothes on since I left the changing rooms earlier.
Joe Dodd (Strollers CB, who doesn’t even work at the BBC) walked past and seemed in a hurry, and unwilling to talk to my naked self. I decided not to get the lifts, and instead to take the stairs.
For some reason I decided to pop into the filling station on the way up to the 7th floor. As I walked in, some reporter accosted me, and asked me what I thought of security on the corridor, and the police near the lifts. As I didn’t see either, I declined to comment.