Cat Stats

My dear old Nan took two rescue cats in last week. Turns out that they're the two out of ten cats that don't prefer Whiskas, it's kosher meat or nothing for those buggers. It's costing Nan a fortune.

Law of 'The Fist'

You may recognise this character from Channel 5’s docurama ‘The Four Doormen of The Apocalypse (Nightclub)’. Barry ‘The Fist’ Mason was perhaps the most famous of the four bouncers due to his popular catchphrase “Do you wanna punch in the throat?” There was a three week period in 2003 when every bugger was using that catchphrase, even Tony Blair slipped it into one of his speeches. Barry was enjoying great success, 10% of which went straight into my agent Bernie Shimshewitz’s bank account. As we were both represented by the same agent Barry and I became firm friends and it came as no surprise when he turned to me for advice when his fame began to wane. Turned out that he wanted to use the money he’d earned from the TV show to start a children’s day nursery in East Anglia. He was worried that his nutjob reputation would work against him in the childcare sector but I told him that all he needed to do was soften his image slightly. He achieved this by simply doctoring the LOVE and HATE tattoos on his knuckles so they read GLOVE and HAT. Goodbye Barry ‘The Fist’, hello ‘Uncle cuddles’.

Looking good, feeling gooder.

After spending 20 notes at the salon (‘A Guy called Tony’ opposite ‘Tony & Guy’ on the High Street (ask for Stacey)). I was determined that the only thing people would notice about me at the ‘Bergerac’ reunion was my new hairdo. John Nettles hardly recognised me.

Thai double - not

I took this photo when I was in Thailand. It's pretty old and translates as: 'WELCOME TO SIAM, TWINNED WITH SIAM'

Misquoted History #1

Many of history's most famous quotations have been misheard or selectively edited to suit our own purposes. For example we can only be grateful that the first part of S.S Titanic Captian Edward John Smith's cry of "Shoot the women and children first!" was drowned out by a foghorn.

What's on your iPod #5

Poor old Freddie Gage. If ever a musician suffered at the hands of penny pinching record labels it was him. He was signed to Rainbow Records when their top A & R man fell in love with his happy-go-lucky approach to bubble-gum folk music. Sadly though the label went with a right dodgy printers for the album cover to save a few quid. This, his only studio album, was actually supposed to be named after Track 1 ‘All My Friends Are Dead Nice’.

Crossed wires.

The lazy lob that I had developed over dinner soon deserted me when we got back to Miriam's house and I realised what she actually meant when she told me that she liked to experiment in the bedroom.

Sold! To Harrison Banks.

I was at one of Elton’s (Ben) charity auctions the other week and I thought it was only right that I bid on something. I decided to go in low on a lot that no other bugger seemed interested in and ended up winning dinner for two at Antony Worrall Thompson’s restaurant for £48.72 (I was convinced Sid Owen was going to bail me out with a higher bid but he bottled it at the last.) As it was his birthday I decided to take my agent Bernie Shimshelwitz with me, little did we know but we were in for a shocker. First off AWT’s all over us, camping it up like there’s no tomorrow, in fact if he’d have got any camper he’d have needed a tent. The starters turn up (I had the ocean churn surprise and Shimshelwitz had a glass of red) and the first thing I pull out of mine is a suspect ginger hair. Thompson’s all apologies claiming that it must have come from his beard. That was a lie, his ‘wife’ had black hair. Rumbled.

Can I stay at your place next Saturday Lionel?

I’d love to ask Lionel Richie just what it is he thinks is so easy about Sunday Mornings. This is what I woke up to last Sunday. Mental. It was about as far from easy as you can get. In fact the whole day turned out to be a bit of a tension convention. I’ve got to get that lock fixed on the bay window.

Scream if you wanna go faster!

I decided to take my dear old Nan up to London last weekend to spend some of the royalties I got from that Werther’s Original ad. What a day we had! We headed straight for Harrods to buy Nan a carrier bag and I treated myself to a pork terrine in the shape of Princess Di’s face (delicious). Then it was over to Madame Tussard’s where it took Nan a good hour to realise that the waxworks weren’t real. (I caught her babbling on to Alan Titchmarsh about her hydrangeas.) I’d promised my agent, Bernie Shimshelwitz, that I’d get my photo taken with Freddie Mercury. Bernie had worked with the Queen frontman back in the eighties on an exercise video and he was forever telling me what a personality he was; he says there was something totally infectious about the man. I really fancied going on the London Eye but when we got there Nan said she was going to opt out on account of her disliking of “the gypos that operate big wheels”. Fairdos. I propped her up against a wall and jumped on. It didn’t go as fast as I’d have liked and the cars didn’t rock but the view was cracking. It’s amazing how much cleaner London looks from the air. When I got off I couldn’t see Nan as she was surrounded by a load of people. Turns out that she’s fallen asleep standing up and the tourists thought she was a ‘living statue’, she’d drawn one hell of a crowd and earned 63 quid in the process. As she was doing so well I decided to leave her there for a bit and nipped into Maccy D’s for a fillet O’ Fish. 2 hours later we were on the train home £130 quid richer. Good work Nan.

Busted!

A couple of years ago my agent, Bernie Shimshelwitz, decided I needed to cash in on my cameo in Love Actually (aka Shite Actually) and get myself some tabloid exposure. He called in a few favours and got me a date with Jordan. We got a central table at Browns and then hit the Ivy. The paparazzi were happy to oblige, snapping away all night. Sadly you could only see the top of my head in the papers next day. You see I’m 5’9” and Michael’s 6’6”… I think he quite fancied me though.

Come in Number 2 your time is up.

The say necessity is the mother of invention, so when my dear old Nan kept getting caught short in Savacentre I knocked this little beauty up. I call it 'The turn out Cruiser'. Nan was well chuffed with it and convinced me to take it on BBC's 'Dragon's Den', what an error that turned out to be. I hadn't even made it half way up the flippin stairs and the Scottish fella shouts "I'm oot!" (I think he took offence to my Tam O'Shanter.) Needless to say the other jokers followed suit but I had the last laugh. I've just sold three cruisers to Mick Jagger. Up yours Bannatyne.

Simply gutted.

I once had the misfortune of understudying Leslie Grantham in a West End production of 'Tootsie'. Old Les was a bag of nerves and paranoid as you like about going on stage. He insisted I was in full makeup before every show in case he choked. Thirteen weeks and the slimy git never missed a show. So there I sat, all alone, looking into the mirror pictured above. Two and a half hours every night with Mick Hucknall staring back at me. Soul destroying

Chokeback Mounting.

I came across a bunch of photos I snapped when I took a few months out to cruise Route 66 on a chopper. I needed to clear my head after just missing out on the part of ‘Body number 2’ in BBC’s ‘Waking the dead’. I think now, on reflection, the whole episode was one big mistake. First off, I had a bit of a fashion meltdown and I’ll be the first to admit that I looked like I’d come straight out of Sue Ryder rather than Easy Rider. Secondly, riding high on the hog through 8 states can take its toll on the body, especially when you’re riding pillion (or bitch seat as Swampy called it). The old derriere took a proper pounding. I can still taste his leather jacket.

Harrison Banks live on BBC Radio 2's Radcliffe and Maconie Show!

My agent, Bernie Shimshelwitz, pulled a few strings and got me on the Radcliffe and Maconie show earlier tonight. Follow this link (for one week only!) and fast forward six lots of 15 minutes. Nice one Bernie, but 12% of Jack Shit's still Jack Shit I'm afraid.

You'll like this....not a lot!

Us artists like to look after one another, and I was happy to free up a room in my flat for AbracaDeborah back in the late eighties. She was working the local cabaret scene hard with Flopsy, a rabbit she’d liberated from the Max Factor lab. Sadly for Debs she was laughed off the stage at every turn largely because the audience couldn’t get over the sight of a bunny permanently made up with lippy, mascara and false lashes. Debs couldn’t seem to magic up the rent after only a few months, so she had to go. Ironically she now works in AbraKeebabra in Levenshulme.

Gopher broke.

Housewife’s favourite Philip Scholfield is famed for his ever present grin but mention Gordon the Gopher to him and he’ll go ape shit. Back in the day Pip and puppet were the dream team but things started to go tits up when they made the move from the broom cupboard to Going Live. Gordon went right up himself and fell in with the wrong crowd (Dean Gaffney & Tinhead off Brookside). The three of them were down China Whites every night stuffing all sorts up their hooters. The final straw for Pip came when the gopher tried to grab Sarah Greene’s boob live on air. They never worked together again. Last I heard Gordon was working as the head cover for Bob Carolgees’ 3 Wood.

What's on your iPod #4

Another one of my agent, Bernie Shimshelwitz's, clients from way back was Boyd the Singing Postman. He could really play and had a voice like a lark. He never made it mainstream though thanks mainly to his propensity for lurid lyrics and right wing politics. His reggae version of 'Every Hole’s A Goal' has to be heard to be believed.
He wasn’t even a real postman; he took the uniform off a dead one in the Blitz. Shameless.

Movie Buff Study Notes #1

David Lynch uses a phrase ‘The Duck’s Eye’ to describe that moment in a movie when everything comes together in one beautiful moment. To view this scene is to know the movie and to recognise the Director's vision. In the same way the whole of the duck can be seen and understood by looking into its’ eye.
For me the best example of this is in Independence Day when Will Smith chins the alien and says “Now that’s what I call a close encounter!” Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Yes?...I mean No! Yes?

Last year my agent, Bernie Shimshelwitz, decided to cash in on the celebrity chef craze by opening a top end London bakery with Gordon Ramsey. I knew this venture was doomed from the start for two reasons. Firstly, Bernie knows absolutely nada about bread (he thought Ciabatta was a character from Star Wars) And secondly, Ramsey’s a proper weapon. We all went out one night for a KFC and Gordon’s acting like a grade ‘A’ pomme de terre. Seriously, if I had a quid for every time that joker said the word ‘YES’ I would’ve had enough coin to clear my overdraft and still have change to take my dear old Nan to bingo. Spending an evening in London with a man that can only say ‘YES’ has serious consequences. All I can say is this. We left Chef Ramsey down Soho way, desperately wishing someone could hear him saying ‘NO’ through the gimp mask he was wearing. I’m guessing he found out the true meaning of The ‘F’ word that night.

It's a cry for help Harrison.

I swung by my agent Bernie Shimshelwitz's place yesterday on my way back from recording a voiceover for Dogtanian And The Musket Hounds Revisited just to see if he was feeling any better. As I mentioned he's been a bit down recently and lo and behold I find him in the kitchen with his head in the oven. He confessed he wasn't serious and was rather hoping Mrs S would discover him and finally stop chopsing about him getting the loft finished. You've got to laugh really, you see they're on electric and now not only is he depressed, but he looks a lot like Eliot Mintz into the bargain.

Is this it? Seriously?

It is written in legend that, when England’s need is greatest, King Arthur will rise from his rest and gather his Knights around him to defend the country he loved. Now, you have to admit Arthur’s going to be pretty gutted when he looks at the slim pickings he’s got to choose from Knight wise. I mean he’s used to fierce warriors like Sir Galahad and Sir Lancelot and what’s he got second time round? Cliff Richard, Jimmy Saville, Elton John and Ming the Merciless (pictured). They’re all going to shit it first sign of trouble (although I reckon Reg may wade in with a couple of haymakers before burning out.) It’s not all bad news for Arthur though. I reckon he’d have a right laugh with Terry Wogan.

Monkey Business

A word of warning. Never go to 'Monkey World' when the weather is hot. I took my dear old Nan there on Bank holiday Monday and it was proper baking. The Monkeys weren't up to anything, they just slouched around sunning it up. At eight notes a head you expect a little bit more action. But the nearest thing we got to activity was a chimp fumbling with his goolies. Fairdos it was pretty funny for a bit but it wasn't eight quids worth. I would've asked for my money back but Nan said it was the best day out she'd had in ages. I've got to get her out more.

Making your way in the world today takes everything you got...

I had a few snifters with my agent, Bernie Shimshelwitz, down the Rabbit and Ladder last night. After the fourth Sea Breeze, old Bernie gets a bit maudlin. He reckons he’s got the blues what with me, his best client, not working in months and Mrs S giving him earache about the loft conversion, not to mention his rash. And Brendan the landlord didn’t help matters when he called in Bernie’s bar tab, which using a bizarre drunken agent logic, Bernie tries to get me to pay 10% of. I paid it an’ all, soft touch that I am. Here’s fingers crossed for the male grey hair concealer commercial I’m waiting on, ‘Just for Twats’ or whatever it’s called.

Off Yer bike Son!

There is a part of London that will forever belong to my agent, Bernie Shimshelwitz. Namely the square inch of tarmac that claimed his two front teeth when he wiped out after getting cut up by Ken Livingston. If you think Bernie came off bad spare a thought for me, I was on the trick nuts.

What's on your iPod #3

I got my iPod off of e-bay and the memory hadn't been wiped. I hit shuffle last night and it threw this at me. A real dilema 'cos there's actually some banging tunes on it. Track 18 "Julie's Father's Shotgun" eases one's conscience a wee bit.

Judy, Judy, Judy.

My dear old nan always taught me to expect the unexpected, but I'll hold my hands up and admit that even I wasn't ready for Judy Finnegan without her makeup.