Robin Pilcher

For the past two mornings, I’ve found it really difficult to get out of bed. It’s got nothing to do with the weather, nothing to do with post-New Year blues – it’s simply because I’ve re-tuned my radio alarm clock back to BBC Radio 2 and I’ve been lying listening to Chris Evan’s new, energy-filled programme. Listen, I never had anything against Terry Wogan, but five minutes of his meandering, disjointed commentary (he admitted to that himself!) always made me feel as if I was about to plunge confusedly head first off the summit of Mount Altzheimer.

Anyway, I’ve always been a fan of Chris Evans, even when he lost the plot and got fired by Radio 1, as it was that rather undisciplined episode in his life that helped to sell my wife’s business. Kirsty had run Pedlars, a slightly eccentric clothing company, for about eight years, bravely building it up after a pretty scary run-in with breast cancer. The hallmark of the range were Pedlars themselves (first known to the world as Tinkers), trousers that were made up of four different fabric panels – tartan, leopard skin, floral, checked. They caught the imagination of both young and old during the ‘90’s and became pretty much cult wear.

And so it was that our great marketing campaign was to send out a free pair of trousers to any celebrity whom we thought mad enough to wear them. The trouble was that the trousers themselves were so bizarre that none of our chosen few were quite mad enough to wear them outside their own houses.

That was until the day Chris Evans got fired by Radio 1. There he was, on prime time news, getting into a car, flashing a distinct leopard and tartan leg to the thronging paparazzi. That wasn’t enough to get Pedlars immediate recognition, but thankfully, the young man obviously went home and drowned his many sorrows without getting undressed, and the next day was seen at Heathrow airport, enveloped ‘neath the caring arm of Virgin boss, Sir Richard Branson, and the trousers were splashed across the front page of every national newspaper. (I’ve still got a copy of the photo, but I don’t think I’d better post it up in case I contravene some copyright law.)

Thus, the word went out from Fleet Street, ‘Who makes those trousers?’ And the next day, Kirsty and I were sitting in the Pedlars office on our farm in Scotland with five or six newspapermen flashing photographic bulbs in her face and quizzing her about the business.

After about an hour of this, they closed their notebooks and said, “Thanks for that. Is there anything else you want to say?”

And I said, “Yes, she wants to sell the business.”

The journalists – and Kirsty looked at me, aghast. “What?”

“There’ll never be a better opportunity,” I said out the side of my mouth to her.” You’re going to get free advertising.”

TOO GOOD BOSS DECIDES TO SELL BUSINESS was the best of the many headlines in the newspapers the next day. Pedlars was sold within two months.

So, Terry, my good fellow, have that well-earned lie-in and maybe I’ll tune in on Saturday morning. But in the meantime, you keep rockin’ on, young Christopher.