The Dashing Des Lynam

During most of the Eighties and Nineties Des Lynam seemed to be absolutely everywhere. In the final days before Sky hoovered up all the live broadcasting rights, he was the face and voice of most of the Beeb’s sport coverage. Such exposure could have been mass overkill but not in Lynam’s case. Such a consummate professional with a twinkle in his eye and an ear for the perfectly judged wry phrase, we couldn’t get enough of him. 

He hadn’t been an overnight sensation. I hadn’t realised at the time but the Irish-born, Brighton-raised journalist had cut his teeth in local radio and even Radio 4’s esteemed news strand Today in the Seventies. His TV career began quietly on the sport slot within the early evening Nationwide programme but really took off in 1979. Lynam’s stint on Radio 2’s live afternoon sports show served him well for his celebrated spell fronting BBC1’s TV equivalent, Grandstand. 

I was brought up on David Coleman and Frank Bough, linking live reports and films, device in one ear and pen in hand for four or five hours each week but Des brought an extra dimension to the role. Even ITV’s Dickie Davies couldn’t compete with Lynam’s singular moustache and line in leisure jacket and tie. Even with twenty-first century technology, few modern broadcasters can handle such a range of sports as Des did in Final Score, the ol’ vidiprinter beeping away merrily and the score draw count reminding us of a day when the Pools performed the job of today’s fantasy football. 

Des seemed even more at ease when Sunday Grandstand launched in 1981. Whether in Coleman-esque golf sweater or full lounge lizard garb reminiscent of some millionaire gangster sipping cocktails on his Monte Carlo yacht, he was the ideal man to link cricket, show jumping and cross-country on a summer Sunday afternoon while I was home from university. 

He was eventually granted weekend afternoons off but, between 1991 and 1997, he shifted to midweek to become the final incumbent of the Sportsnight desk chair although I will always associate that show’s signature tune with either David Coleman or Harry Carpenter. Then there were the global events. Of course it was Des chosen to front the Beeb’s Olympic Games coverage and the major football tournaments such as the World Cup (note in this clip he didn’t concur with Sir Bobby’s suggestion to substitute Gary Lineker who went on to strike the winning penalties!) and, notably, the 1996 Euros, where he carefully avoided ITV’s jarringly jingoistic pro-England stance. 

By this time Lynam was revelling in his reputation as a housewives’ favourite, an image happily exploited by impressionists like Rory Bremner. The Beeb was happy to exploit it too, believing the media hype about him attracting female viewers. The ‘tache had long since caught up with the prematurely greying barnet but, whatever the programme, once the opening titles had faded it was always reassuring to see Desmond Lynam’s cheery face welcoming us. I can’t speak for the legions of ladies said to be drooling over Des; for me it was all about the sport…. 

And he seemed to be the face for all kind of sports. He dispensed with the then traditional Aintree trilby for the annual Grand National outside broadcast and he was an assured anchorman on anything from Wimbledon highlights to athletics. On the radio, boxing had been his first love. Yet until the Nineties, Harry Carpenter had that gig sewn up on BBC Television. Then came the wholesale rights purchase by Sky and bouts were largely lost to terrestrial TV and viewers like me. However, I do recall watching back in 1987 Lynam’s interview on Grandstand with the new heavyweight sensation Mike Tyson. It was nicely judged and showed us a different side of the uncaged ‘beast’ who bludgeoned every opponent he faced in the ring. Tyson was soft-spoken shy and humble, and Des deftly drew him out. 

Then there’s the national game. Gary Lineker has been the face of Match of the Day for so long now, it’s hard to recall that he was once the apprentice to the master, Desmond Lynam. Bob Wilson could fall back on his career as Arsenal goalie and Adrian Chiles his longsuffering West Brom fan, but Lynam’s skill was in leading the team of pundits like Jimmy Hill, Alan Hansen or Trevor Brooking on live TV, be it on the big occasions or the weekly Premier League highlights show, MOTD. He possessed a light touch and even demonstrated some neat comedy acting on Comic Relief but also an expert handler of the serious stuff, as on the day of the Hillsborough disaster in 1989. 

However, when the Beeb lost the rights to football highlights, Des jumped ship to ITV. He was neither the first nor the last to follow the money to the commercial world but once he had to utter the dreaded phrase “See you after the break” I knew he would never be the same. It seemed like the end of an era and this clip seems other-worldly: Wycombe Wanderers in an FA Cup semi-final?! The passing of the baton was laid stark when Gary spoke to Des in a clearly rehearsed Sports Review of the Year exchange in 2003. The former host had gone to ITV and there he was, sitting alongside the long-retired Frank Bough and Peter Dimmock. I’m sure the metaphor wasn’t lost on him. 

To be honest I’m not sure Des seems comfortable guesting on someone else’s show. When he appeared on Fantasy Football League in ’96 I’d never seen him so lost for words. Perhaps it’s hardly surprising when Frank Skinner and David Baddiel were engaged in sexist banter with Dani Behr, but Des clearly wished he was somewhere else! 

Also in the Nineties, I’d often enjoy comedy sports quiz They Think It’s All Over on TV but it started out on BBC Radio 5 (before its Five Live re-brand), and guess who presented it? I actually attended one recording in 1993 and mused at the time whether it would succeed on TV. As it happened, panel game kings Talkback snapped it up but, despite doing a pilot, he decided against continuing, to the subsequent benefit of comedian Nick Hancock’s bank balance. 

Of course, Lynam’s skills and personality were too good for pigeonholing under ‘Sport’. At the height of his fame, he co-presented How Do They Do That?, a features series answering viewer questions by means of short filmed reports, and for a few years even fronted the Beeb’s Holiday strand, a role I’d completely forgotten. In more recent times, he’s hosted a few editions of Have I Got News For You? and also replaced the late Richard Whitely on Countdown, but I never watched that. Nonetheless I’ve always felt Des was best suited to the cut-and-thrust of live, unscripted broadcasting, saying all you needed to know with a few ‘bon mots’, a well-timed pause mid-sentence, half-wink and a twitch of that trademark ‘tache.

Frank Skinner - No Fantasy but the Real Deal

This collection of personal small screen favourites has already included a few versatile comedians who before my very eyes have progressed from callow newcomer to seasoned broadcaster. When Frank Skinner first appeared on TV he was already fully-formed. He’d transitioned from English graduate and unemployed alcoholic to award-winning stand-up comic. In fact he won the 1991 prestigious Perrier prize at the Edinburgh Fringe from under the noses of both Jack Dee and Eddie Izzard, no less. 

Brilliant writer-performers have dominated the box in the past four decades, from Ben Elton to Lee Mack, Nick Hancock to David Mitchell, but West Bromwich Albion’s most celebrated supporter just about squeezes past them. The former Chris Collins was in a few Channel 4 shows which passed me by but I’m pretty sure I’d heard his name by the time BBC2 first showed Fantasy Football League at the start of 1994. 

Dad and I were already familiar with the premise of fantasy football from newspapers so this new Friday night show, itself inspired by a BBC Radio Five series, grabbed us from the off. Hosted by real-life flat-sharers Skinner and David Baddiel, the cosy studio set purported to be their ‘living room’, albeit one filled by football fans, to which celebrity guests would be invited through the front door. It was all fortuitous timing. Lad culture was on the rise, Britpop was already gaining ground, the Premier League had recently led elite football kicking and screaming into a new shiny era of Satellite TV while stand-up comedy had completed its evolution from smoke-filled clubs to mainstream arenas. The Beeb was keen to join the party. 

OK, so it may not actually have been Frank and David’s actual settee but they both seemed so relaxed, introducing topical, funny football clips, sipping bottled beer and chatting to their guests. Frank, in particular, seemed so wonderfully at ease with his audience, be it in the studio or through the camera lens. In its three-year lifespan, the Fantasy Football content diminished while the comedy, often haphazard and spontaneous, became more prevalent. There were ongoing piss-takes, notably of an aggrieved Nottingham Forest striker Jason “Pineapple Head” Lee but also examples of genuine humorous cult hero worship. 

Perhaps my favourite regular feature was Phoenix from the Flames. These were filmed reports recreating famous footballing incidents with Frank and David larking about with the original participant. There were classic goals (e.g. Carlos Alberto, Geoff Hurst, George Best and of course Skinner’s WBA idol Jeff Astle), pitch invasions, referees and managers, not all of them accomplished in the art of speaking scripted lines. Malcolm Macdonald was one of the better ones. 

Like Oasis, Blur and Terry Venables’ England team, the summer of 1996 was arguably the peak of Baddiel and Skinner’s laddish fame (Frank was almost 40 but didn’t look it!). With Fantasy Football League part of that culture, and Euro 96 taking place on our shores, they teamed up with the Lightning Seeds’ Ian Broudie to write the greatest and enduring football song of all time, Three Lions. Frank Skinner’s face when the Wembley crowd was singing the chorus was a picture. 

The ‘Fantasy’ brand was revived periodically for subsequent major football championships, starting with the 1998 World Cup Fantasy Football League. The ‘Phoenix’ films were retained, and guests had an international flavour.  Holland’s Sylvia Kristel was surprisingly good but Denmark’s Brigitte Nielsen was an embarrassment, perhaps related to over-indulgence in the ‘green room’! The shows were an amusing addition to ITV’s live tournament coverage but the original charm was fading. 

Frank Skinner’s star was still rising. He had an easy-going, quick wit, natural intelligence and that breezy Black Country banter and to capitalise on his personality in ’97, the Beeb awarded him his own chat show. There were a few car crash exchanges early on but if Frank liked his guest there were some gems. Unfortunately Frank got a bit greedy with his pay demands and the deeper pockets of ITV were ready to pounce. The chat show jumped ship and in the new millennium Skinner was reunited with his old sofa buddy for Baddiel and Skinner Unplanned. The first few series were live, with predictably chaotic results but there was some amusing interaction with audience members and the closing song was a nice idea: Frank’s karaoke to David’s piano (who knew?!) accompaniment leading into the credits. 

There is, of course, more to Frank than a winning turn of comic phrase, impudent smile and extravagantly arched eyebrows. Soon after Fantasy began, Frank starred in a new BBC comedy panel show, Gagtag, chaired by Jonathan Ross. I forget the format but it was basically a lot of quickfire jokes featuring comedians of varying vintage, ranging from Bob Monkhouse and Eddie Large to Phill Jupitus and, another personal fave, Tony Hawks. It wasn’t a classic but there were usually plenty of laughs, many provided by Mr Skinner. There were inevitable performances on Have I Got News For You? and QI, the latter featuring his playing a banjolele. As a big George Formby fan, Frank has often been shown whipping out his ‘uke’ to give viewers a faithful rendition of old songs, much like Billy Connolly and his banjo, only funnier. 

In the mid-Noughties, I remember watching Frank on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross, joking with the host and promoting his new BBC sitcom Shane. I gave the first series a go, and my contemporary diary entry said it had “some amusing bits but he’s no actor”, and I don’t think that has changed. 

Instead he has built upon his strengths. I had my doubts about his replacing Paul Merton as host of Room 101 but he brought his own magic to the role. Those eyebrows certainly had some exercise when Danny Baker declared his choice for banishment in 2012. Then there’s the stand-up. It’s more than two decades since I saw him shamble onto the stage of the Cliffs Pavilion, Westcliff to deliver a highly entertaining set but, Covid permitting, he‘s back on tour in 2021. I hope he’s not lost entirely to the medium of television. Angie and I are as obsessed with the Fantasy Premier League game as ever but it’s probably not a smart career move for Frank to revisit the Nineties, however easy it would be to ridicule the finishing of Benteke, the muscles of Adama Traore or the vagaries of VAR.  He’s only 63 and there should be plenty more in the tank.

Sue Johnston - Acting Royle-ty

It might appear a tad perverse to select as a Treasure someone who has made her name in three major dramas I’ve never been inclined to watch, but Sue Johnston is so much more than the product of Corrie, Brookside or Downton Abbey. Like her Royle Family co-star Liz Smith, she was a late starter to television, not making her debut ‘til the age of 38. She appeared in the very first episode of Brookside on Channel 4’s opening night back in ’82 but it wasn’t until the next decade that I saw her on the box.

It was probably in Medics, an ITV series which ran for five years, but which didn’t keep me hooked for long. To be honest the most memorable character was played by Tom Baker who, like Brian Blessed, is never known for understated performances. Alternatively it could have been the same year as a casino owner in A Touch of Frost or in Inspector Morse, although this was only a minor part alongside the likes of Diana Quick and a very youthful Sean Bean.

Sue was on the right side of the law five years later, this time in the Beeb’s Crime Traveller. Like Medics, I don’t recall this being a long-standing regular of mine but I was prepared to give it a go. It was obviously a vehicle for Michel French, straight after his stint on Eastenders and based on the unlikely premise that he and co-star Chloe Annett could secretly use her late dad’s time machine for solving crimes. Hmm. Johnston played French’s boss who disliked his methods but presumably not his results. Despite being written by Anthony Horowitz (Poirot, Foyle’s War and novels featuring Sherlock Holmes and James Bond, though sadly not in the same story) it wasn’t recommissioned but they were fairly entertaining cop capers.

Waking The Dead lasted much longer; eleven years, in fact. Sue Johnston played Grace Foley, an experienced psychological profiler who was the calm, rational, ‘people person’ partner of more headstrong Trevor Eve’s DCI Boyd in his Cold Case team. Besides a healthy dollop of mutual respect, there was much witty banter between the two, a key factor in the show’s enduring popularity throughout the Noughties.

Whilst born in nearby Warrington, Sue Johnston was brought up on Merseyside. Her Liverpool credentials were advanced from her time on Brookside but apparently her allegiance to Liverpool FC is life-long. This informed football support earned her a few spots on Fantasy Football League in the Nineties. It may have been a comedy showpiece for Frank Skinner and David Baddiel but the guests also had the opportunity to demonstrate some genuine sporting knowledge. Back in ’94, Sue was by no means fazed by the lads or fellow guest Eddie Large, but I can’t recall, come the end of the season, how successful she was as a manager.

In 2004, I became riveted by the first series of the celebrity family history series, Who Do You Think You Are? To some extent, it has suffered through familiarity leading if not to contempt but at least to repetition. After a few years, I started to tire of the samey tales from the trenches or Caribbean slavery. Some of the best have been rooted in very ordinary social realism of nineteenth-century Britain, and Sue Johnston’s personal genealogical journey to life on the railways and slums of Carlisle was both gripping and emotional. Sadly I can’t find it on YouTube but the actress was mesmerising merely playing herself.

More recently Sue has been lured by some meaty dramatic roles. In 2018 she was in Kiri, playing star Sarah Lancashire’s elderly mum and last year was again in granny mode in Channel 4’s hard-hitting reminder of the Stafford Hospital scandal, The Cure. She portrayed Bella, whose unnecessary death sparked the campaign which resulted in the eventual expose of incompetence and shocking outcomes of spending cuts in the NHS. The mini-series also introduced me to the worrying notion of Sue Johnston as someone who was actually quite old in real life.

However, it is in comedy that she has become best known in recent decades. There was her role in Jennifer Saunders’ not terribly funny Jam and Jerusalem and with another excellent ensemble cast in the feelgood TV movie family holiday to Lapland. Co-star and fellow-Scouser Stephen Graham has said: “For me to work with Sue Johnston is like playing football with Steven Gerrard” although since then he himself  has become the Mo Salah of TV actors.

But of course I will never forget her as Barbara in The Royle Family. She didn’t always get the funniest lines but she’s utterly brilliant as the downtrodden mum being whisked along by the crazily commonplace conversations in the living room or even in the car. The scripts may have become increasingly formulaic but the characters remained true. From her spot at the end of the sofa, Sue Johnston showed time and again why she is one of the finest character actors of our time.

Basil Brush - Boom-Boom!

Back in the sixties, when programme budgets wouldn’t buy you a couple of seats at the Odeon today, puppets were a regular sight on telly. Apart from the Gerry Anderson adventures (Captain Scarlet, Thunderbirds, etc) we had all sorts. As a young child, I had a soft spot for the jerky strings of Pinky and Perky. Catherine and I even owned the pair as glove puppets. I also recall loving Sooty and Sweep alongside Harry Corbett while finding Shari Lewis’ glorified sock, Lamb Chop, rather creepy. 

Ventriloquist Ray Alan was always good value, with the monocled ‘Lord Charles’ on his knee, and then there was Basil Brush. I’m pretty sure I remember seeing him in black and white as the guest of popular magician David Nixon but it was after landing his own BBC show that the eighteen-inch red fox became a staple of my viewing repertoire.

Designed by animation royalty Peter Firmin (Bagpuss, Pogles Wood, Clangers, etc) it’s fitting that Basil should have been given an upper-crust voice. Apparently his creator Ivan Owen modelled that voice on that master of the arch-cad, Terry Thomas, and part of Basil’s charm was his ability to combine a slightly posh outlook with an engagingly mischievous personality. Although ostensibly a children’s TV character, Basil could get away with more topical jokes which also appealed to adults, an ideal quality for a panto performer in the ‘80s. It’s amusing to reflect that an old-school puppet was one of the most successful entertainers to bridge the gap between cheap-as-chips variety and the era of alternative comedy.

By the early ‘70s, The Basil Brush Show had been elevated to Saturday teatime, gently easing me from Grandstand to Doctor Who. You sometimes saw very well-known internationally-renowned musical guests, like Demis Roussos, Marie Osmond and Cilla Black but it was the interplay between Basil and his human co-host which was the main attraction.

Like the good sci-fi Doctor, you can probably tell a 50-something person’s age by his identification with Basil’s ‘Mister’. For me it was definitely Mr. Derek.  When Derek Fowlds died recently, the obituaries focussed on his role as Bernard in Yes Minister or Oscar in Heartbeat. However, for me he will live on as Basil’s straight man. Yet Mr Derek was more than just a puppet’s sidekick. Even today their relationship in playful routines, comic sketches or the climactic story readings looks remarkably easy and affectionate. Anthropomorphising a sharp-snouted fox shouldn’t work but it did, thanks to Fowlds, Roy North and subsequent ‘Misters’ and, of course, puppeteer Owen.

Then there’s Basil’s catchphrase. In the Seventies, far more than now, a show lived and died on a familiar saying, be it “May your God go with you” (Dave Allen), “Nice to see you, to see you, nice” (Bruce Forsyth) or “Stupid boy” (Dad’s Army’s Captain Mainwaring). For Basil it was that barking laugh and post-joke “Boom boom” which sustained his popularity and has endured for more than fifty years. 

While the original BBC show ended in 1980 Basil would often crop up in unexpected places. I recall Fantasy Football League which Dad and I would watch religiously in Friday nights in the Nineties. Frank Skinner and David Baddiel were the undoubted stars, inviting viewers and guests into their studio ‘sitting room’ to discuss footie and the then innovative concept of a competitive fantasy team game. When Basil first sat at Statto’s breakfast bar he came close to stealing the show. He even demonstrated an admirable knowledge of the sport, and his selection of Norwich City winger Ruel Fox (boom boom!) proved particularly perceptive.  Basil was such a hit that he made several return appearances which probably led to a more prolonged comeback in the twenty-first century.

Sadly Ivor Owen died in 2000 but, now operated by Michael Winsor, Basil Brush has remained a regular on our screens. He has even proved surprisingly adept at quizzes. He won a celebrity Weakest Link in 2005 and came close in the special 1000^th edition a year later (but who on earth were his fellow contestants?!). In more recent times he has held his own on Pointless Celebrities then in 2017 I watched him deliver a barnstorming cash builder on The Chase. OK, so the eventual success of the team owed a wee smidgeon to Charlie Higson but who could have predicted that a glove puppet would harvest £8000 for the cause?

But that sums up the brilliance of Basil Brush. Children’s entertainer, football pundit, daytime chat show regular and quizzer extraordinaire, is there no end to his talents. His personality and human traits have enabled him to outlast the likes of Sooty, Gordon the Gopher and the repulsive Roland Rat. For as long as there is someone with the puppetry skill and voice to operate him, Basil could continue a career in broadcasting forever.