Last night, Stuart Maconie’s guest Caitlin Moran (oh, you know, wrote for Melody Maker when she was 16 or something, makes a big deal about once deciding on the wrong pronunciation for her name, ho ho ho) told a humorous anecdote some two-thirds of the way through the show, as part of a general “what people have stolen from celebrities” slot. It went something along the lines of a friend of hers still owning a pair of trousers that once belonged to Nick Drake, and how her friend swore there was a stain on the crotch. Maybe, Caitlin said—I’m paraphrasing becaus ethe technical giant that is the BBC is currently incapable of serving up its proprietary-encoded RealMush—her friend was hoping one day that she might be able to clone another Nick Drake from the trouser residues, and have him for keeps.
Which would all be amusing, were it not for a text message I’d sent into the show about thirty minutes previously as a humble contribution to this very same round of audience participation:
Neil Hannon of the Divine Comedy once threw his cigarette into the crowd at a gig. I didn’t throw it back, but kept it for years in a jar. Maybe I was hoping advances in DNA technology would enable of [sic] to construct a whole new Neil Hannon of my own one day, but an ex encouraged me to throw it out. Now we’re finally in the Scientific Future I’m gutted. Cheers, [etc.]
Dom Joly may have moved my cheese, but this is a bit much. You’d think the BBC would be averse to this sort of thing given the current climate, but then I suppose that’s how community feature-writing works.
Looking back, I should have expected it. Anyone who admits to nicking awards from Graham Coxon and PJ Harvey has clearly got form for this sort of thing. Anyway, at least it’s solved the puzzle of how someone would get to be a journalist at the age of 16. I can do that. Gis a job; you know, fourteen years ago.