It’s Not What You Think and Memoirs of a Fruitcake 2-in-1 Collection. Chris Evans

for around six hours, as a result of which we were given a supply of props to do ‘stuff ’ with. This ‘stuff ’ could be anything as long as it engaged enough people to make it look like Piccadilly Radio had something going on.

      The ‘props’ were made up mostly of promotional freebies we’d been sent over the last few months, including several boxes of disposable barbecues that were new on to the market. I took one look at these intriguing new inventions and immediately thought we could have some fun with them—we’d also been supplied with with trays and trays of raw chicken legs ready to be roasted and enough of them to feed a small army. ‘I know,’ I thought, ‘I will hold an hourly cooking competition, free food, the new throwaway barbecue and, most important of all, fire! The kids’ll love that,’ and they did, all afternoon. I felt like Robo-redcoat. I was getting bigger crowds than any of the other attractions, even well after the live show was over.

      At one point I had such a good crowd that I decided even if I took a break they would probably stick around. So I lit the latest row of barbies and announced that I would be back soon and looking for some new contestants.

      The crowd cheered and gave me a round of applause as I went backstage and climbed aboard the support bus for a quick drink and a change of shirt.

      It could only have been five or six minutes when the crowd started to chant for my return. This was fantastic, I felt like a rock star. None of the named DJs were still around and yet here was the crowd shouting for the warm-up kid.

      Although secretly I was gagging to run out there and soak up the applause, I decided to play it cool and wait for a while. Cool has never been my thing—I should have known better. After a few more moments, the cheering became literally manic, I could have sworn I even heard the odd scream.

      I simply couldn’t resist any longer. I had to get back out there, so that’s what I did: I ran out back on stage for the first encore of my show business life.

      ‘What’s the matter with you lot—are you crazy? Can’t a guy have a quick break and a drink, for heaven’s sake?’ is what I was about to say, but I couldn’t even see the crowd for huge plumes of black smoke which were now filling the stage. The six barbecues had all burnt through their bottoms and set alight to the floor. The only reason anyone was screaming or shouting was for the idiot with red hair and glasses to get back out there and do something about this before the whole truck was razed to the ground.