Ray's Grand Plan to resurrect Big Lil, and restore the old lady to her former
glory as faithfully as possible, was the best news I'd heard for as long as
I could remember. Ray could (quite correctly) have concluded that he was having
a close encounter with a woman who was definitely a couple of cuts short of
a jingle package, and he might have sensibly decided I was not the sort of person
with whom he wished to associate. Fortunately, Ray has an affinity with strange
people like me, and when he expressed interest in the illustrious Knees Club
and invited me to be a guest on his Coffee Break Spot, I was over the moon.
Admittedly, had Ray not invited me, I would have turned up at Walton regardless.
Nobody could have kept me away from my beloved born-again Big Lil.
For anyone unfamiliar with the Knees Club, it was an organisation I started in 1966, while in my last year at school. My inspiration was the Kenny/Cash Show and the frequent witticisms by everyone aboard the Galaxy about TW's knees. All Big L DJs automatically became members. My three club officials and I asked as many pop stars as possible to join, but it was open to everyone. Knees Club members received a membership card and a subscription to an enthralling publication called Knees Monthly, most of which was written by me. Members of the opposite sex were only permitted to join on condition that they kissed us. OK, OK, I confess. The Knees Club was mainly a great excuse for kissing as many boys as possible, and I took my recruitment campaigns very seriously.
When I returned home after meeting Ray in Manchester, the first press pack he had issued about the RSL had already reached us, courtesy of Chris Baird, with whom Fluff and I had recently corresponded over tape-swapping. Some couples get their kicks from wife-swapping, but we have always opted for the ultimate sexual thrill of exchanging ancient tape-recordings. (I also suspect Fluff may have been tempted on the odd occasion to swap me for a Ferrograph...).
Chris Baird was the first member of the Big L '97 team with whom we had already come into contact, but did not meet until we boarded the ship. The second was Chris Elliot. When I'd met Ray at Manchester, he had wisely deemed it essential that Chris incorporated vital information concerning the history of the Knees Club into his forthcoming book, The Wonderful Radio London Story. After many lengthy phone conversations on the subject of knees, Chris and I felt like old pals, but our first meeting was on the ship.
At first, my plan had been to visit Radio London only for my Coffee Break appearance,
scheduled for July 24th, but the sorrow of not being able to participate further,
and particularly the thought of missing the final week, persistently nagged
at me. I was meant to be there. However, I felt I could not justify a week away
from my writing. Although I am pleased to have met with some success with my
work, being a full-time writer isn't exactly a job that rakes in the money.
This has placed Fluff in the unenviable position of having to support me. Fortunately,
we are both committed Anoraks. Fluff understood perfectly how important Lil
had been in my life, as she had meant a lot to him too. Although unable to take
time off to accompany me for the last week of the RSL, he actively encouraged
me to go. Shortly after I had sorted out suitable accommodation, Ray very kindly
invited us both to attend the reunion dinner and party on August 16th. I made
a further extension to my week's visit, and Fluff would come down and join me
on Friday 15th. This was a massive adventure for me to undertake, but I had
no idea what a momentous impact it would have on my life.
On Wednesday, July 23rd, the Paynes set out on their first pilgrimage to Walton. The trip was to be something of a recce run. Totally unfamiliar with the area, I needed to get my bearings and prepare myself for when I would be surviving on my own in this unknown territory. Of course, once having boarded the Yeoman Rose, I could hardly bear to leave. Committing myself to returning at a later date had clearly been the right decision to take and I was eternally grateful to Fluff for having propelled me into making it.
The moment of picking-up the Radio London transmission for the first time was unnerving. Back in the Sixties, car radios weren't fitted as standard. The only way I'd ever been able to listen to Big L in my parents' car was by holding my trannie up to an open window, twisting it hither and thither to catch the signal as the vehicle changed direction. By the end of the journey, I would end up with a stiff neck and a sore arm, but contented ears. In 1997, in a pub car park outside Harlow, we were obliged to tune our car's digital display to 1134 KHz, instead of 266m medium wave. We had to drive many more frustrating miles, however, before we were able to receive the signal clearly enough to hear it. When we finally did, there was a spine-tingling sensation of being drawn back thirty years by the station's transmitter. Everything was there. The familiar jingles, the old adverts for Bulova watches and the brilliant Kenny Everett-made promos. Big Lil was back on the airwaves and suddenly everything was fine. Instantly, we found ourselves ensnared by a time warp encapsulating a sunny afternoon in 1967. How could the world be less than perfect when you immediately reverted to being seventeen, the Roman Emperor ruled once more, and Johnnie Young's Craise Finton Kirk was in the Fab Forty at number 34?