I said before my happiest days were at the BBC. I felt I could influence things. In Trading Standards as an officer you dealt with local and national issues. Sometimes they made the newspapers, but often no one else knew what was going on and court cases took ages. True I gave the press a lot of stories, I appeared on TV as a Trading Standards Officer in the middle of things, even filmed during a "discussion" with a "don't point that camera at me sonny, I'll shove it down your throat" video pirate in Harrow Road Paddington. Yes nice chap not exactly membership potential for the round table. It was stories I could tell to journalist that helped sell their papers, and in the end I jumped the Trading Standards ship for investigative journalism.
Why, because it was obvious to me that naming and shaming had more impact than the courts of the land. I sad indictment, but true,
So life at Lime Grove Shepherds Bush in the mid 80's in the days of Breakfast TV and Thats Life. Room 601 right at the top, overcrowded but what harmony amongst a team all wanting to do well, all wanting Watchdog to be a success. A fantastic camaraderie, Watchdog had been a slot in Nationwide and when I joined it was beginning a life on its own, a programme in it's own right against the wishes of Esther Ranzen on That's Life, consumer competition.
I remember Kevin Sutcliffe joining. Nick Hayes. the editor, used to ask me to look after the new recruits. So Kevein was under my wing for a while. Lovely lad, from Blackpool so he spoke funny, and always dressed as a rocker, but had no motorbike and no crash helmet, so was past the sell by date by 20 years for no real reason of transport, he used the bus and the tube.
Kevin walked with me to a bakers in Goldhawk Road Shepherds Bush one lunch time, and asked the lady behind the counter for barn cakes, do what she said, I was in hysterics as Kevin tried to explain, so I acted as translator for my colleague, excuse him luv I said, he's from Blackpool. On the way back munching his jam doughnut I explained to Kevin that barn cakes in London meant you were mad. loopy, as opposed to a kind of oat biscuit. A nation divided by a common language. But Kev took it well. We were soon driving up to Manchester to make some enquiries about a story and as we passed Watford Gap Services on the M1 Kev said to me "Right from now on I do the talking, 'cos they won't bloody understand you".
Which is not untrue. I remember Steve Rose coming up to a Birmingham Pub once where I had tracked down some roofers who preyed on the elderly. You know the sort that drive round, look for a house that has all the signs of an old person living in. Then knocking on the door and frightening the old folk into parting with £150 to fix a loose roof tile which was not loose in the first place. Of course the old trusted the con artist and had to take his word for it, and could not see for themselves. "Better get it fixed luv quick , if it falls and hits someone you will be liable, and it is leaking now, haven't you noticed it". Some of these cowboy builders would even rin the old dear down to the Post Office to cash the giro.
Anyway on the basis of 3 letters of a number plate I found a roofers van matching a description parked in a Pub Car Park. So I then traced where the driver lived and the film crew would turn up the next morning to doorstep the Roofer and his boss. But during our observations in the pub, surveillance and blending in with the customers, some young girl came up to Steve and said "I know you , you're from the Cup Shop", Steve's face contorted as he could not understand a word she was saying, and again I was in hysterics, knowing that the girl thought the pub was going to be raided for under age drinking by the force from the cop shop.
The doorstep, well after a night in the Holiday Inn, no expense spared on these productions, it was snowing. So I said to Lynn Faulds Wood, put a scarf on to hide her hair knock on the roofer's front door and pretend she was new in the neighbourhood, but the snow has caused a collapse of a section of her roof. Meanwhile the film crew and I hid behind a hedge in some one's front garden. Why people don't come out and say oi amazes me, must be everyday they have a film crew squatting in their front garden. So matey buys hook line and sinker the damsel in distress story and as he and Lynn walk past the garden, up pops a cameraman and a sound man like a jack in a box and Lynn whips off her scarf to confront the rogue.
Wow, we used to laugh. We were the good guys and when you saw the eyes of the bad guys and their jaw hit the deck, well that was justice and comeback for their misdeeds. It gave me a real buzz. I had 3 priorities, we had to capture on camera the villains face, if he spoke that was better, if he engaged in an interview even better. But numero uno was his face on camera. The tricks we used to get up to to get them out of their houses or lay in wait at their offices. Of course the viewer never saw what the camera crew were up to laying in wait to turn the tables on the villain. All they saw was a street interview confrontation and the villain legging it slip sliding in the snow. Nor could we laugh until it was all over, so it was bite the lip, but it still makes me burst out laughing today when I think of what we did. The film crews loved it, they knew all the background work had been done, that a plan had been made and that justice was on their side. Those were the days my friend we thought they'd never end, we did sing and dance for ever and a day.
John form Kingston was a freelance stills cameraman that I often employed, for these tricky confrontations, he could take stills as back up for the moving camera. We did a lot together, even a couple of car chases in East London and up the M11. He was there when the customers of a cheap furniture retailer went bust, a group of them came up to me and said get your cameras rolling and watch this..... and they stormed the stage at the creditors meeting and beat up the delinquent directors.
But the best one was when we asked a road sweeper to borrow his donkey jacket and his road sweeping lorry in exchange for a cup of tea and egg on toast in the corner cafe. The plan then was for John with LB of Hounslow Donkey Jacket to knock on the door and say "Is that your car mate, we are doing road sweeping, with a mechanical road sweeper, can you move your car for a minute. Of course the crook comes out to move the brand new black Mercedes and hey presto guess whose on the road sweeping machine, its the BBC film crew, by jove, and you sir are a crook and a swindler.
Scuffles there were, mainly the cameraman got the attention 1st. Part of my Producer Director job was to protect him and the rest of the crew. hence I got the nick name Big Al. There was one job, a Mock Auction, where I asked for volunteers to film the event. I took a late call that this auction was happening that evening. It's illegal, but it's the sort of sale where the auctioneer shows something really good, they have stooges in the audience who pretend to but it. Everyone else ums and ars and wants a slice of the action and of course they get boxed and wrapped up tatty junk for their money. I was in the auction using a hidden camera and sound equipment and on my cue the film crew and Sarah the reporter were to come into the hall to confront the gang. So at the end of the sale I spoke into my microphone and in came the crew and suddenly their was a pitched battle. I had bullet proof Stevens as the cameraman, he had filmed in Vietnam hence the nickname and he was a big lad. 26 seconds he had hold of his camera, before it went airborne all filmed on my hidden camera in a bag, which I had to hand over to another crew member, so as I could wade into the gang attacking my crew, meanwhile Sarah who for vanity reasons never wore her glasses when filming, walked up to the auctioneer in bliss full ignorance of all hell letting loose in her wake. So the commentary went as such "The man in the black leather jacket squaring up and engaging in fisty cuffs with the gang is in fact our producer protecting the crew, and he uses himself as a barrier to stop the gang from shutting the doors as he shouts out and calls to me, so I can run and make my escape before the doors slam shut...bang".
It does bring a whole new meaning to "as seen on television". Those were the days and nights my friend, we thought they would never end.
Most of the time the crooks who were caught out let off steam, rant and swear, just occasionally it got really nasty. Lynn got 5 yards away from me once. We were at Ron Aylwards Cheshire mansion. He was the home improvement entrepreneur, whose Sunday Times Magazine glossy advertisements offered much, solar panels, the answer to flat roof leaks, a new prestigious driveway, luxurious central heating. Trouble was with Ron Aylward the only home he improved was his own. Every time the game was up, he would fold the latest venture and a phoenix operation would rise from the ashes fo the last. For instance his central heating was a series of electric fires plugged into a hole made in partition walls. Anyway Lynn got 5 yards away from me and Mrs Aylward lashed out with a dog chain right round Lynn's face as the camera rolled.
Another time 28 stone Mick was a transport manager of dangerous muck away lorries near the Blackwall Tunnel. I drove the Transit up to his portacabin door and from the van's side door the crew and Lynn could walk straight into his office. By the time I got in, the sound man was flying round the room as Mick grabbed the camera after throwing a pint of milk then a cup of tea at the cameraman, who now looked like the android in Aliens, covered in white milk. The sound man was still connected to the camera by the umbilical cord hence revolving around the room like a scene from the Exorcist. So I extracted the £25,000 camera from the guiness enhanced gut of the transport manager and gave it back to the besodden cameraman with the red recording light still illuminated. Mick then locked us IN his office as he waddled down the yard to get his drivers. Discretion now being the better part of valour, I kicked the door out and we all jumped into the Transit only for 2 lorries to bear down on us. Fortunately I can drive, fast and nippy. In fact I drove all the time because we always had to get somewhere in no time at all. Like Inverness airport 40 miles away in 40 minutes to catch the plane... and we did. So foot down I headed straight for the oncoming truck just as the one from the side missed us by inches in my acceleration, then at the last second I swung the transit hard left and then hard right and swerved round the oncoming truck, like a warship evades an Exocet missile, phew. So while the others stayed in a corner cafe, the cameraman came in my car and stood through the sunshine roof as we returned to the yard in a hired XR3i, a bit nippier to deal with any nasty lorry drivers, just to get some more footage and Mick shaking his fist through his office window. Those were the days my friend, they don't make them like they used to you know, when it was trouble up mill and tough at the bottom.
Last but not least for this chapter, I must narrate something slightly different but its not time for something completely different you will be glad to know.
Mike Embley was the reporter, the vegetarian that kept 450 passengers including me waiting on a Boston Runway in a 747 because he could not find any plums to eat for the flight.
