Many years ago now,
when my hair didn’t have a hint of grey, when I was idealistic
and thinner, I had the pleasure of working on a local fanzine
magazine, Stone Circle. One of our exploits was to meet Doug
Naylor and put him through a grilling. Here is an article about
that intrepid day in the last millennium. Oh, what days…
Three
Stone Circle* reporters set out to interview one half of that
“gestalt entity known as Grant Naylor”. Doug Naylor was the half
we wanted now a whole humanoid after a complex procedure that
involved deciding who got the beer mat and that girl in the
Nag’s Head. ”Last Human” was Naylor’s latest work, and his
publicist decided a book signing was in order. Naylor was a
prime target for Stone Circle.
As we
made our way to Waterstone’s, the tension started to rise
amongst us. At this point I did not realise that we had a
special man with us, a man that saw no fear, the kind of
intrepid reporter that only Kate Adie and Dennis Pennis could
match. The man I speak of is John Isles**. Whilst my legs
started to shake, Isles gained strength, as my heart pounded
with anticipation, Isles was as cool as a youth hostel shower.
Isles
led the way into the battlefield. There was Naylor innocently
signing books for the Science-Fiction faithful, he was
unassuming and unaware of the cutting interview that faced him.
Our hard nosed hack saw an opportunity to grab Naylor by the
literature jugular.
“Can
you,” butts in Isles without hesitation, ”sign this book for
me?”
“That’s
it, disarm Naylor, make him feel in control,” I thought. “This
man is good.”
Isles
then went in for the kill, just as I wondered if Naylor thought
that he looked “too geeky to get into a Science-Fiction
convention”.
“Can I
have a quick interview, Doug?” asked Isles.
Doug,
Doug … this boy knew how to treat the stars.
“You’ll
have to speak to my publicist,” replied Naylor. This man was a
pro, he knew the press for what they were; mean mothers who took
no prisoners, just like Isles was not.
Unperturbed by this, Isles headed for the publicist, a short
attractive woman, but I knew instantly that she meant business.
“Can I
interview Doug?” Isles was straight to the point, no small talk.
“Where
are you from?” A business like reply from the woman.
“Huddersfield,” Isles stated.
“I mean
what magazine!”
Isles’
first mistake, the last, yeah sure.
“Um …
Stone Circle,” muttered Isles sheepishly.
“OK,
1:45 alright?”
“Yeah,
sure!” Isles replied, surprised.
“He has
done it,” I thought. “Naylor exclusive!”
Interview time. The interview took place whilst Naylor carried
on signing stock and in the background there was one of those
mechanical pavement sweepers that always smell of dog crap.
“A few
distractions,” I thought.
No
problem for the experienced journo, which is precisely why Isles
did have problems. The interview started.
“Now
then, Doug,” Isles was trying to forge friendship.
Naylor
looked up in response and readiness.
“******” muttered Isles under his breath, whilst shaking the
dictaphone. “It worked last night. How did it work last night?”
Isles said whilst passing the dictaphone to Andrew. Andrew shook
it, a truly technical action designed to show the dictaphone who
was boss. Clearly at this point the dictaphone was. Andy then
replaced the batteries the wrong way round. Desperate times call
for desperate measures. This situation was more desperate than a
dog in a treeless park after twelve pints of lager.
“Why
don’t you do it the old fashioned way?” asked the publicist.
“Because he’s a pro and pros use Dictaphones,” I thought,
wrongly.
“I
can’t do it the old fashioned way because it takes too long. And
I haven’t got enough paper,” Isles retorted mockingly. Isles
lost patience and tried to grab the recording device, a tussle
for supremacy followed, the upshot of which was that the
dictaphone worked.
The
interview started again after a minor sound check.
“What’s
your favourite episode?” searched Isles.
“D-A-I-R?” spelled out Naylor.
“Yes,
AllisDAIR,” replied the punter who was seeking an autograph.
Isles had Naylor spellbound with his journalistic magic.
Confusion reigned, autograph hunters butted in and an interested
road sweeper literally swept past every two minutes as quietly
as an atomic explosion in a library. Isles asked his questions
after a quick glance at his notes he had come up with the
previous evening and whatever he could think of on the spot.
But, he got he got what he wanted. Except the ones about “Who’s
Holly in the next series?” and, “Do they find Red Dwarf?” Never
mind.
“Well
done, John,” I said outside.
“You
know, on the exterior I looked cool and professional, but on the
inside I was shaking like a jelly!” he said in reply.
