h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

From the escrivoire of Major I. Sworter MA. RS (bar) :

I would like to consult the my fellow researchers on their feelings about an all too brief "15 minutes of fame" that occured to your humble narrator almost 50 years ago...

By pure serendipity, I found myself on a wireless quiz which was broadcast on the then Light Programme. It's title was "Have A Go" and was hosted by the Davina McCall of those days, the ubiquitous and brash Tyke, Wilfred Pickles.

The young Sworter was dragged to the recording by Great Aunt Ermintrude, who was what would now be called a "groupie" of the said Wilfred. Of course, with her air of authority and booming voice, Great Aunt ensured we were sat four-square in the front stall seats. All of a sudden I was grabbed by a homely matron of a woman and marched up onto the stage. The large lady, who it transpired, was Mrs. Mabel Pickles, then introduced me to her craggy faced husband as the next contestant.

Now, brains don't run in our family. In fact they don't even manage a crawl, so I was quivering with fear. However, in true quiz tradition the first few 'dolly' questions didn't tax the Sworter grey matter too much. I managed to answer my name without too many mistakes and won five bob for my troubles. As I reached the "Big Money" stage though, the sweat was beading...
I was faced with a series of really tough A or B optional stumpers, such as "Who's the Prime Minister - A. Harold McMillan or B. Joseph Stalin?". I was just about to answer B when Wilfred repeated the question. As he said "A" there was the unmistakeable sound off-microphone of someone breaking wind! It was Great Aunt Ermintrude. I grasped the mettle and answered A. Correct! A rattled Pickles tossed off an ad-lib about someone 'treading on a duck', as Mabel's little Tshitzu lapdog scampered hurriedly off-stage in fear of taking the blame.

There followed a sequence of lethal, but deadly accurate knowledgeable trumps, which repeated itself until I was soon successful enough to be faced with the last "Jackpot" question.
A trucculent Pickles fired the last multi-options at me. Alas, this time not a sound was heard. He repeated the poser, but again, nothing. I stalled and asked him to repeat it one more time. I glanced over to Great Aunt E., who was, by now, sitting on her own - the first three rows having been vacated by the rest of the "shock-and-awed" audience. Her face was the colour of lobster thermidore, with eyes on stalks and an unearthly rictus grimace. I stalled for time and asked Wilfred for the answers one last time...

A barely audible rectal strangle eeked its way into my shell-likes, followed by what sounded like the flutter of doves on the wing. The poor Old Girl had followed through. However, it was enough for me to have a stab at the answer.

" Give 'im the money Mabel! " the tight-fisted tyke growled through clenched teeth.
Cue applause, cue musical catchphrase - "Have a Go Joe, come and have a go, if you think you're hard enough...", cue the adolescent Sworter waltzing off with the crisp £5 note jackpot clasped firmly in sweaty palms.

Alas, the joy was but fleeting. Some Beeb sound-engineer Johnny had picked up Aunt's guffs in his headset. Pickles swiped the fiver back and threatened to call the Rozzers.

The gutter press of the day, the Telegraph, picked up on the story and I made a penny or two. However, it was several years before I could walk into the Mess without the inevitable "Fartergate" jibes.

I was that young innocent lad. But was I really a scoundrel and a cheat - or merely "riding my luck"?

You, the jury of Hootoo decide...

I can recall it like it was yesterday my very brief moment of fame. It was when I was a crew member onboard the Britannia. We were doing our usual anual visit to Cowes for the regatta prior to the trip round the UK. I was bow-man on board one of the Barge escort boats, and it was my first time at Cowes. My coxwain had told me all the horror stories about the dreaded Kings Steps at the Yacht club. They were made of stone and very slippery due to being tidal, and many a boat crew member had "come a cropper" while jumping from the boat to tie up on the steps. In fact it had become a bit of a contest between us and the many members of the press, who used to gather at the steps in the hope of one of us "coming a corpper"as it were. It was with much fear that I prepaired myself for the leap, as we drew near, and I could see the crowd,just waiting there. I had tied a knot at the end of my rope, as suggested by the coxwain, who told me he would get us as close to the steps as he could. This was a very difficult manouvre for him as well, as the tide was very fast, and he required a lot of deapth in the water. So this was it, I waited with a great deal of tension, for the coxwains word of "go" that was my prompt to jump! The gap of six feet seemed like sixty feet to me, especially when you only had four feet of wet slimy, sea weed covered step to land on. The word came far to early for my liking but I had to go, so I leapt. Now bearing in mind that our foot ware was just a simple pair of gym shoes with rubber souls, it was a very slippy landing. I did it, I was totally amazed, but to my horror I kept moving. It was at this point that the knot I had tied earlier came into its own, and just at the point when I was heading for disaster I felt the knot hit my hand and it stopped me dead in my tracks. So it was with much pride and relief that I turned to the windows of the Yacht club, removed my hat and gave a gracious bow! I can still hear all the cameras clicking and the flash bulbs flashing to this day. I do not know who was most relieved yet between the coxwain or myeslf.

But did stories about your fling with someone unsuitable get into the local paper? Even if you hadn't had one?

The last time I was in the local paper was when I got my taxi licence. Which resulted in a spate of letter-writing because we'd said I was the first woman cabbie in the area when I wasn't. And yes, that was deliberate.

No-one wanted to interview anyone I knew though.

Hi Mina, No none of my flings got into the local paper, I was careful not to get caught outMind you I had a few when I was a taxi driver myself
Smudger.

I was interviewed by a local news programme when I was 15 or 16 for my involvement in a silent protest (yes, I see the irony in that)...

When I was 16 the news did a human interest piece in my community work...

My family band has been announced my marquee in the middle of Las Crusas, New Mexico, but then I'm used to performing in front of a lot of people...

So I guess my 15 minutes is up. . It was good while it lasted .