Eddy Says

Eddy Says: We know where you live

By | Published on Monday 4 April 2011

Eddy Temple-Morris

Last week, I met three delightful young persons from County Donegal, a beautiful part of the world I was fortunate enough to hang out in for a glorious summer weekend, years ago.

During the course of our long conversation one of them smirkingly confessed to living near a place called Muff. Not nicknamed ‘Muff’, but actually called Muff. I’ve no doubt that in Gaelic that word has little or none of the connotations that the Anglo Saxons imbued on it to make it one of the funniest words in the English language. It was at this point I was reminded of one of my favourite episodes which befell me during my brief tenure at MTV in the late 90s.

Many of you know that I was headhunted from my producer job at Radio 1 and, even though I was reluctant at the time, given a presenter job on the then fledgling MTV UK channel. There’s another Eddy Says story in waiting here, so this time I’ll cut to the chase.

In the early days of my show, ‘Up For It’, 2-4pm every weekday afternoon, from a cupboard under the stairs at MTV in Camden Lock, before I’d discovered Zane Lowe’s demo on a VHS cassette, I used to get a lot of letters and emails. Getting emails in those days was a pretty big deal, most people didn’t have an email address, but this show used to also air on terrestrial television in New Zealand, and the Kiwis are, I seem to recall, the most technologically advanced society on earth. They all had email, and bombarded me on a daily basis.

I had daily competitions and was always open for interaction, with people mostly sending random pictures of people with daft mullet hairstyles for my ‘Wall Of Mullets’ in the ‘studio’. Inevitably, one day I got a letter from somebody in Muff.

Now, at the best of times, I have the mental age of an eleven year old. Just seeing that word makes me titter, I’m sitting on the Tube right now and I’m seriously attempting to stifle a mighty guffaw. At the time, I made a huge meal out of this bawdy and wonderful place name. Immediately, I was deluged with viewers own hilarious place names… the UK, Ireland, and New Zealand are a rich cultural mine of euphemistic, tittersome, sniggerworthy and sometimes downright hilarious place names.

This was too good for an inane mind like mine to ignore. I knew I had to take this as far as it could be taken, it was time for a competition that would open the floodgates, a competition so fiendishly simple, that it required no question, no answer, a competition for which the only pre-requisite requirement was to know where you live, and to tell me, it was time for: ADDRESSES WIN PRIZES.

The competition was dazzling in its simplicity: I gave viewers one week to get in touch with their address, it had to be their address and the fact that the prizes were sent out to that address made sure of each entrant’s authenticity. At the end of the week, I would run down the top ten addresses in the UK, Ireland, and New Zealand, the three places this show aired on either satellite or terrestrial television.

I remember that MTV was submerged in entries. The competition ignited the audience to a point of frenzy, there were more entries for Addresses Win Prizes than for any competition that year, probably that decade. Donna Air and Richard Blackwood were regularly giving away scooters, holidays, bikes, all manner of clothes and other desirable items, but this competition had so many more people entering, we were all quite shocked at the number of people who got in touch, and therefore the size of our audience.

By Friday I had the list, and my god it read well. I don’t remember the exact order, but of course I remember the winner, and the fact I read them out over the famous old Alan Freeman ‘Pop Pickers’ chart rundown music.

In no particular order, it went something like this:

Lickey End, Nr Bromsgrove
Brown Willy, Cornwall
Nobber, Donegal
Twatt, Orkney
Ring, Ireland
Shag Point, New Zealand
Shitlingthorpe, Yorks
Cockermouth, Cumbria
Slutshole, Essex
Fuckatane, New Zealand

The last one was the winner, of course. It’s spelt Whakatane but in Maori the WH becomes F. Delightfully.

The viewers rejoiced, the ratings skyrocketed, we roared with happy laughter. The Independent Television Commission, however, took a different view. They decided that I’d breached the boundaries of taste and decency so severely that they contacted MTV’s legal department and threatened the largest fine that had ever been levied at that point. The edict came down that either I had to make an on air apology the next day, or they would take 10% of MTV’s annual advertising revenue.

The interesting point was that despite my protestation that nothing untoward had happened, that all I was doing was reading place names, the ITC insisted that MTV was a ‘children’s channel’ and was governed by the same laws that apply to channels like CBeebies or Fox Kids. They were ultra paranoid as a result and insisted on both the fact I’d crossed the line and that the fine was appropriate for the offence I’d caused.

The fact is that I hadn’t received any complaints. On the contrary, I’d witnessed a veritable avalanche of ecstatic letters and emails in support of the show and this stupid but undeniably funny competition, which was, in essence, a celebration of community, but an argument was not what was called for here. I was told, in no uncertain terms, that I’d be out on my arse if this fine was upheld and that I had to come up with the goods in terms of an apology.

I did it. In my own way. The next day I grovelled profusely and told the viewers that I would not only be offering my sincerest and unreserved apology, but that I would also ritually humiliate myself in front of the camera. I took down my trousers, bent over and had my producer give me a dozen lashes with a huge rolled up Boyzone poster. (I hated Boyzone – a feeling I share with my old colleague Zane Lowe, who is convinced Ronan Keating is actually The Devil).

The fine was, thankfully, averted, but the shows success, and the success was considerable, spelt its own doom, as the cocaine fuelled executives there did that ‘ker-ching’ thing with their eyes and ruined that lovely little show by moving it to ‘primetime’ and needlessly spunking loads of money and resources on it. But that’s another story, a ripping yard that involves The Super Furry Animals, Stereophonics, LL Cool J and the rise and rise of Zane Lowe. I look forward to sharing that story with you.

Now I need a holiday… but where to go? Wank in Germany? No, too much processed meat. Kunt in Pakistan? Too much of a political hotspot. Same goes for Gash in Iran, and Crap in Albania. How about Clit in Romania or Anus in the Phillipines? No, I quite fancy a trip to Climax in Colorado… Ah, decisions decisions…

Eddy x



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