Chris Sievey died yesterday.

A couple of years ago, when I was working on the last series of the late-night, hardly watched computer games show videoGaiden, I became aware that I was doing a telly show that pretty much gave me carte blanche to do whatever I liked. It’s not something that happens often in telly. It’s probably the kind of thing that only happens when you’re doing a niche show that only a few people watch, and people think you know what you’re talking about.

When we were told that we could get guests involved in the show, there were people who jumped into my head immediately. We wanted Tim and Eric, comedians from America who hadn’t quite yet crossed over to the UK, and we wanted Frank Sidebottom. Mainly Frank.

Why Frank?

I remember the first time I saw Frank Sidebottom. I’m pretty sure it was on the children’s show No. 73. Here was this man in a suit with a giant head. And nobody made any reference to the fact that here was a man in a suit with a giant head. I remember him giving the thumbs up and smiling, despite the fact he couldn’t smile, because his features were just drawn on.

Then there was the Oink! comic. Oink! was the kind of comic you’d never see these days. It was like Viz for kids. I remember one issue had a free flexi-disc single on the front, and the lyrics went “Poo Poo Tinkle Tinkle Parp Parp Oink Tiddly Widdly Widdly Widdly Plop!” and it was the best thing that I’d ever heard. And Frank was in there too. Frank and Little Frank. Frank with his big beautiful eyes and his massive head that stopped being massive and just became Frank’s head. I had no idea who Chris Sievey was. There was only Frank. Everywhere, it seemed.

We had a videoGaiden Christmas Special, and had some time in the middle for a musical performance. Gerry McLaughlin, another member of the videoGaiden family, agreed that Frank would be a great fit. Gerry had his own shows on Channel M in Manchester and had worked with Frank many times. Myself and Ryan Macleod, my partner on the show, had already bored Gerry with questions – “What is he like? Have you seen under the head?” We wanted to meet Frank too. We wanted to touch the hem of his battered suit.

It wasn’t Frank Sidebottom who turned up, though. It was Chris Sievey. He walked onto the studio floor in a paint-spattered suit (he’d been doing some mental Blue Peter style craft thing on telly the day before) and with his real, actual, real, ACTUAL head on show. He looked a bit worse for wear, like he’d not had much sleep. I was standing at the other side of the studio, and saw Chris walking in. I was terrified.

I forced myself to walk over and shook his hand. I wanted to say “Frank, it’s an honour to meet you” but instead I was saying “Chris, it’s an honour to meet you.”

As ridiculous as it might sound, I think this was when I first realised that a man had created Frank Sidebottom. A man, just a guy, just this guy, had one day thought this madness up in his normal-sized head. He’d imagined it, and then he’d done it. For decades. This brilliant comedy character that became more real than any comedy character ever created.

It’s an honour to meet that guy, isn’t it?

Chris was quiet, likeable, keen to get his head on and get started. The head was bigger-looking in the flesh (I said “flesh” – EXACTLY) and a bit battered. Chris did something to his nose, I’m not sure what, I didn’t want to see the secrets revealed, and then popped the head on.

And BANG. Zap! Just like that, he was Frank Sidebottom.

“Where do you want me, lads?!” A spring in his step. A different person. Then this happened:

I remember standing watching, Ryan beside me, Graham Russell (the one man band who pretty much steered videoGaiden on his own) beside me, and we all felt the same way. We felt lucky. Pinch yourself stuff.

We got Frank back later in the series, in the very last episode of videoGaiden ever ever. We wanted as many of the “videoGaiden family” involved as we could, and I think we pretty much coined that term so we could feel related to Frank.

His death was a blow. Frank Sidebottom, that character, was a special thing. He existed in my head as a lovely childhood memory, and yet when I met him years later it was only me who had aged. I was bald, out of shape, and he was fit and young with his big giant eyes as bright as ever. How could that guy die?

When you do comedy, particularly sketch comedy, you’re always searching for a strong comedy character. You’re always dreaming of coming up with something that takes on a life of its own. Chris Sievey didn’t just come up with a character that took on a life of its own, he lived that life. He pulled himself back into the shadows and was true to Frank. He never sold the character out, never cheapened it. He never became a superstar, and was never given the credit he deserved. But Frank was fine with that, so I imagine Chris was too.

His influence? Man. I realised just yesterday, when rewatching Frank Sidebottom stuff, that I quite often come up with characters who bang on about their mum. That’s from Frank. I also got the feeling yesterday that I wasn’t doing enough.

Look at what Chris Sievey did. A talented musician and comedian, he could maybe have achieved a similar level of success doing session stuff or conventional stand-up. But he didn’t. Let’s not understate this – HE PUT ON AN ENORMOUS PAPIER MACHE HEAD AND CREATED AN ENTIRE UNIVERSE. Timperley. Little Frank. His mum. His shed. His shorts. He didn’t Zag when you expected him to Zig. He Zogged. He made himself immortal. It makes your standard comedy character with the daft suit and daft beard and daft voice and three minute lifespan seem pretty weak, no?

I’m convinced that in a hundred years, a 10 year old boy will stick a wire into his neck and stream a video clip of some episode of some show or other into his brain, and Frank Sidebottom will just happen to be a guest. And that 10 year old boy will say the same two things we all did when we first saw him – “What the hell is that?!” and then “Oh, Frank’s going to get what for from his mum…”

I’m so happy I met him, and so sad he’s gone.

Here’s an extract from my new book, “Grabbing Ladies”, a guide to getting yourself a woman.

If you’re reading this, then you’ve obviously had some trouble grabbing ladies. Now, grabbing ladies isn’t something that comes naturally, so don’t beat yourself up about it. Grabbing ladies is an artform. However, unlike snooker or darts, grabbing ladies is an artform that can be taught. So let’s take a look at the basic pointers of CATCHING A LADY’S EYES.

HOW TO CATCH A LADY’S EYES

1. ALWAYS HAVE A GOOD WASH: Ladies don’t like it when your thighs have rubbed up a good munk slick. It’s particularly bad if your arsejuice has mingled with the munk inside your pants and formed a paste. So, before heading out to grab a lady, get into a McDonalds toilet and give your nether regions a good puff clean under a hand-dryer.

2. CRIMP YOUR HAIR: It’s easy to find an electronic hair-crimper in any local Woolworths or Pennywise. Lay your hair into the shafts of the crimp machine and press down until you can smell burning. One look in the mirror and you’ll see the hair-do that women love best. Once crimped, you can spray Insette hairspray onto your face, for a waxy appearance.

3. LEAN ON THE KERB: You want to look cool for any passing ladies. Nothing looks more cool on a man than the pose of leaning over like you don’t care about yourself. The lowest leaning man will draw the most female gasps, so position yourself in a busy main road, and lean over with one hand on the kerb and your jaw inches from the gutter. If you’re struggling to balance, move your legs and feet in a panicky cycling motion, kicking up dust that will make the gravity around you heavier.

4. USE REAL EYELIDS: Other books and trend magazines will tell you that fake eyelids are all the rage, but there’s a range of motion that only real eyelids can provide. Fake eyelids, as you know, can only move along the horizontal, like curtains on a rail. Real eyelids also move up and down vertically, like the rope inside a forgotten belltower. If you want to wink at a lady, the vertical wink is far more unthreatening than the horizontal slide-wink.

5. FOUR GRUNTS, NO MORE: Over-grunting is one of the biggest reasons why some men will never grab a lady. The Golden Rule of catching a lady’s eye is FOUR GRUNTS, NO MORE. It’s important here that I clarify what I mean by a grunt.

UG UG UG UG is wrong. These are four semi-grunts. A double grunt is not acceptable. It’s not the 60s anymore!

UUGHH UUGHH UUGHH UUGHH is wrong. These aren’t grunts. These are acronyms for the Universal Underwear Guide: His and Hers. Avoid acronyms while wooing.

LA’TRACH! LA’TRACH! LA’TRACH! LA’TRACH! – Perfect! You got it! These are 4 textbook grunts.

If you follow these 5 steps, a lady will eventually glance at you. But what will you do once she has stared at you? How do you turn that look of horror into a lasting relationship? Read on, brave grabber!

Ode To Nick Clegg

Robert Florence 2010

Time to pull this website up by its burst, wet unravelling shoelaces and get some mutherfuckin’ stuff happening on it again. Is that fair enough?

If you’ve never been on the site before, have a wee swatch at our most viewed posts.

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The Sunday Herald asked us if we fancied writing something on the election week just passed. It’s not the kind of thing we’ve done before but we’re always keen to challenge ourselves. We write about the televised debate and Gary Barlow’s Tory shenanigans. Read it here.

The speed that this cloning science is moving at is frightening.

So, um, this is written in “Scottish”, that “local dialect” we all use up here.

Have you noticed this question popping up in restaurants recently? Waiters and waitresses asking you if you know how it works? I’ve asked a few people about it, so I know it’s not just me. You go into a restaurant, you get seated, the waiter comes over and asks, “Do you know how it works in here?”

Now, the first time I was asked this question was in a Spanish tapas place and I can understand that they might want to make sure that new customers know that it works a wee bit differently in there. They don’t want customers drooling at the prospect of a main course for £3.50 and then demanding to know what the fucking script is with the tiny plate. However, I’ve since been asked it in more traditional restaurants and was most recently asked it in a TGI Friday’s.

I assured the waiter in TGI Friday’s, who had loads of lollipops or condoms or something stuck to his baseball cap, that I did know how it works but as he walked away I was left with a nagging doubt – Do you really? Do you really know how it works in here? I started to get scared. I worried that my whole life would have the rug pulled out from underneath it when they brought me my Jack Daniel’s glazed chicken.

As the night wore on, it seemed that it actually worked in the traditional way; order food, eat food and pay for food. You might be familiar with this approach to eating out if you’ve eaten out anywhere in the world in either the current or the previous century.

I left the place, relieved not to have been exposed as some kind of restaurant dwelling ignoramus. A bespectacled pig in cream slacks and a corduroy bomber jacket, grunting dementedly, speaking in swine farts, unable to grasp the most basic concepts of dining in public.

Later that night I was awoken by a knock at my door. I grabbed the old claw hammer from under the bed and headed downstairs. Kneeling at my front door was the waiter from TGI Friday’s. He’d obviously been battered about the face. Blood and bruise was all over it. I could see the end of his condom hat sticking out of the side of his ruined mouth. He was kneeling with a revolver pointed at his head. Pressed into his temple, actually, by a man who was also wearing a TGI Friday’s uniform. A Steve Buscemi-like wee guy. His nametag read ‘KRISS’ and his hat was of the Papa Smurf variety.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” asked Kriss. “But did this waiter here ask you if knew how it worked in our restaurant this evening?”

“God, please tell him I did. Please!” begged the waiter.

I told Kriss that I had indeed been asked that very question.

“Thank you! Thank you!” cried the waiter through snotters and bleeding gums.

“And what did you reply, sir?” asked Kriss.

“I told him that I did know how it works.” I said.

Kriss let out a big exaggerated sigh and put the gun in his pocket. He removed his Papa Smurf hat and pulled the weeping waiter to his feet.

“Clearly, sir, you have no idea how it works! No idea at all. But because you lied about it I almost had to blow this poor boy’s fucking brains out all over my wacky shoes. Next time you eat in TGI Friday’s tell your waiter or waitress that you do NOT know how it works and you will receive clear instructions on how it DOES work. Then we can perhaps avoid the chaos you brought upon our little place tonight.”

And with that they marched off.

Lesson learned. Lesson. Learned.

Fun puzzle time here on connellandflorence.com with a special sneak preview of our new kids puzzle book Where’s KFNFXY?

How does it work? Simple. KFNFXY is hiding somewhere below and all you have to do is find him. So, on you go, fill your boots with fun and find KFNFXY.

Read the rest of this entry »

And it’s a big congratulations to SandyTorrance!

Sandy, could you email us your real name and address, so we can send you your prize?

CONGRATULATIONS YOU’VE WON AND YOU DID IT.

Love,

SandyTorrance