ollie

The long, not so uncharacteristically tepid autumn of 1992 was when my career really cranked up a notch. Graduating to the primetime breakfast show on SUB FM, the British Navy's submarine-based deep sea vessel radio station, I found myself not just on the cutting edge of the contemporary fledgling 90s culture but in a prime position to shape it in my own gibbon-faced image. Taking people's preconceptions of underwater navel broadcasting and, ironically, sinking them like oh so many poorly-built Russian submarines, I once again became a legend amongst the nation's sailors. Indeed more than one nautical heart was broken when, to the astonishment of nearly half of the station's 73 listeners, I quit the show in 1993. Dogged by rumours of increasingly unreasonable demands, outlandish behaviour and of conducting 'unprofessional' relations with the cabin boys, I severed my ties with SUB FM for good and fled back to shore. Safely on dry land and still considered by many a landlubber to be a rising star, my stint at the Royal Navy's 7th most popular radio station stood me in good stead for the emerging Aquatic House scene. Over the coming year I came to dominate the genre, turning my ever-versatile if rather clammy hand to the club scene. Adopting a new nom de plum and launching my own night at London's trendy G!mp club, Captain Birdseye's Fishfingers became the night for cockle-popping salty socialite clubbers and our my status as a superstar DJ was assured. Displaying sound long-sightedness and the shrewd knowledge that today's wax-spinning star is tomorrow's wack-assed drivetime radio-filler, I kept one gangrenous leg in the radio business often making guest appearances as Captain Birdseye on cutting edge trendy youth shows such as Mark Goodyear and Steve Wright. When the Aquatic House scene disintegrated amidst a whirlpool of pirate related violence and Inland Revenue busts, I found myself in court on charges of possession of 700 pounds of illegally imported frozen shrimp. It looked like the end of the line for me and my rubber face. If it hadn't been for a Times leader piece, entitled Who Prizes Open A Clam To Steal Its Pearl?, with it's articulate and moving rationale to not merely free me, but knight me, I would have been behind bars for the rest of the 90s and my most infamous exploits would never have occurred..........