An R I and P please Bob The late Bob Holness once broke my leg.

I suppose I should expand on that title.

As a child I was one of those self-centric people who believed not so much that the world revolved around them, but rather that their every action had a direct and intended impact upon the rest of the world. So… a child, then.

On a morning just like any other, I was overcome with a resolution just like any other. I was going to convince my parents that they had gone deaf.

But how to achieve┬ásuch a feat? Quite easily of course, by turning down the sound on the television. This wasn’t quite back in the days before TV remotes, or televisions that had a preset volume level every time they booted up, but it was back in the days when low income families still had them. Our television was a gaudy brown box that looked every bit as corrugated and brittle as the packaging it probably came in, with one giant knob for tuning and another for volume.

Some swift manipulation of the volume dial and I was assured that when my parents came to watch television later they would be presented with nothing but silence, and instantly assume the worst had happened, and that their hearing had fled from them.

Unfortunately I wasn’t just a deviant and adventurous little child, but also a rather stupid and careless one. Simply turning a dial does not produce the desired effect, you have to turn it the correct way. Coupled with the fact that I watched more television than anyone else in the family, it was not my parents but myself that was surprised, and not by silence but by the face of Bob Holness and a wall of sound that rattled the windows, blew the fluff off the speakers like only vintage equipment can, and sent me flying backwards from the television set and over the glass coffee table, to land violently shin-first on the back of an armchair.

So. Bob Holness broke my leg. Thanks Bob. Rest in peace.