It would seem that the BBC was/is a hotbed of sexual deviancy, and that the 'talent' seemingly has a free pass to get away with murder. Not literally murder, they haven't revealed their policy on murderers yet. Paedophilia on the other hand is apparently fine, as is any kind of sexual harassment of women in employment. First of all we had the dazzling revelation that Jimmy Savile was a predatory paedophile, (who would have guessed?), a 'well known soap star' was also at it, and that Freddie Starr (allegedly) and Gary Glitter (almost certainly given his form, sue me) had some sort of sex party in Jimmy Savile's dressing room, (if walls could talk, Jimmy Savile's dressing room would have enough material for a whole series of books).

According to a story in today's Daily Telegraph, Wilfred Brambell was involved in the abuse of young boys in the early 1970s, in Jersey of all places. One of the boys was a resident at Haut de la Garenne, who it would seem had an open door policy to the paedophile community, who used the place as a sordid pick and mix counter. Obviously this is another case of revealing the disgusting habits of someone who can't face justice, but then again, had it come out at the time when Steptoe and Son was riding high in the ratings, then chances are that the BBC would have buried the story to preserve a top-rated television show. There has to be at least some of these co-conspirators alive today to face questioning about why they kept quiet; were they in on it too perhaps? Were they bribed? Threatened? It wouldn't surprise me if they were part of a bigger child abuse activity. It's already been suggested that Jimmy Savile has a 'paedophile ring', there are as yet no reports on the rest of his jewelry.

Talking of creepy disc jockeys, a while ago I tweeted this...

Not going to libel, but my money is on E* 'S******' S****** and D*** L** T***** being mentioned in the news sooner rather than later.
— Steve Oliver(@SteveOliver76) October 8, 2012

I need to make it clear that I wasn't suggesting that either of the names were paedophiles, not that it matters because nobody will ever decipher who I was talking about. My prediction was based on the allegations regarding the behaviour towards women in the 1970s and 1980s, and recent revelations by Liz Kershaw among others about being groped by men at the BBC. You only need to watch the old Top Of The Pops repeats on BBC4 to see how sinister some of the presenters appeared. Well, now I want to let you in on a secret. One of the names I alluded to was Dave Lee Travis, that's what DLT stood for in the tweet. The only thing I said was that his name was going to be mentioned in the paper, I didn't say why, so nobody can sue me for this. It is not libelous to merely state that somebody was going to get their name in the paper, and believe me, I have been very careful how I phrased this blog. I am also on safe ground in my use of the word 'creepy', as that is only my opinion, I think Dave Lee Travis is creepy looking. It's his eyes. Anyway, Dave Lee Travis has found himself in the papers recently, accused of groping young women while filming Top Of The Pops. This might or might not be true, although I personally (can't sue me for having an opinion) have always found him a bit weird. Don't get me wrong, I used to like his weekend mid-morning show on Radio One when I was a kid. He was always a bit pompous, (people in glass houses, I'll say it for you) but his light-hearted idiocy was ideal for the time, and of course an inspiration for the Smashie and Nicey characters. To fully understand his leery creepiness, all you have to do is watch an episode of Top Of The Pops 1977 on BBC4.



Perhaps more creepy letch than full on Savile noncery at work here, from someone who didn't realise what a cunt he looks. He denies all wrongdoing, and we will have to wait and see what happens.

The way things are going, there are going to be a lot of names revealed very soon. We have already all found out what the papers didn't tell us, which is that John Simpson was prevented from reporting on the findings that a 'much loved children's radio presenter' abused young boys in his dressing room in a spree dating back to the 1920s. His reference to 'Uncle Dick' wasn't exactly the Enigma Code, as it appears to have been 'Uncle Mac', or Derek McCulloch to give him his full name, the host of Children's Favourites and Children's Hour. Another dead person who can't face justice.

The real problem is going to come when these names are revealed to be people that we all love, or like at the very least. I'm sure that anybody who was famous and working for the BBC back then is nervously awaiting questioning.

I am not going to libel the living, but has anyone noticed how silent Sooty has been?

I walked past a transit van parked up in a residential area, it might have been parked up while the driver did some work on a house, or maybe it was the house of the driver and had just finished work and was home for dinner, (it was after five). Whatever the situation, the van was parked and wasn't surrounded by any sign of life. My eye was caught by the sign on the side of the van, the sign that we have no doubt seen written on work vans before; "No tools are left in this van", written as a warning that there simply is no point in breaking into the van and attempting to steal from it. On the dashboard of this van, for reasons I do not know, there sat a cheese grater. Not you might think, a common thing to have in a work van, or indeed any vehicle. Not unless the driver insists on having his packed lunch made from scratch to the point where he grates his own cheese on site. Maybe he also slices his own bread, peels the leaves from a lettuce, and slices some ham. Perhaps his van was awash with knives, a breadboard, a knife and fork, and a choice of pickles and sauces?

My concern was that the presence of a cheese grater might have in some way negated the 'no tools' signage. Surely the cheese grater is a tool, a tool to aid the grating of cheese, (you can also use it for carrots among other things). You could of course argue that it is a utensil, and not a tool at all, as my girlfriend did when I brought the subject up, (I imagine this is what being married to Jeremy Paxman is like). But then again, is a utensil a tool? Or should I stop worrying about such piffling matters?

I'm sure everyone is familiar with the expression 'laminate five'. For the uninitiated, it is a list of five famous people that you are allowed to have sex with, with no consequence to your relationship. The 'laminate' part comes from an episode of Friends, in which Ross Geller went to the trouble of laminating his list. My girlfriend Mandi and I have openly discussed our lists on several occasions, and are confident enough in our love and commitment to each other to have such a list in the first place, which is of course based on fantasy. According to the rules of the list, if the opportunity should arise to have sex with one of five pre-selected famous people, then the other half of the relationship cannot complain, can never use this indiscretion against them in a future argument, and cannot leave their partner citing infidelity. It isn't that complicated, although naming people from your workplace might be considered an abuse of the list and its allowance.

So before I continue, my girlfriend's laminate five are, Johnny Depp, Jon Bon Jovi, James Martin, Freddie Flintoff, and David Bowie. Johnny Depp is the equivalent of a man having Zooey Deshanel, far too obvious and probably unavailable in the long run. I actually ditched Zooey for that reason, the queue would be far too long. I do wonder how this works from the other point of view. If one of your laminate five is happily married with a family, and you turn up on the doorstep politely requesting some carnal pleasure, is the celebrity's husband/wife legally bound to allow you to get on with it? That would be terrible.

One of my laminate five is the comedian Andi Osho, and I was reviewing her gig at Glee last night. We were meant to be doing a phone interview on LACE but it didn't happen, but last night I was reviewing for The Nottingham Evening Post, (as I still call it). Mandi came along to the gig with me, partly because she was feeling slightly wary of fact that I might just go through with it. Not that I would be in with a chance.

Andi recognised me from Twitter, and earlier in the evening I had tweeted that I was going to the gig and said that Mandi was coming with me so I couldn't play my laminate five card. She tweeted back about getting a list of her own, but it wouldn't work as she is single. Maybe she wanted to get the single point across? I always go backstage for a quick hello with the comedians, and I made a point of bring Mandi backstage too. When we were in the dressing room, I felt a bit weird knowing that Andi knew I fancied her, and that I was with my girlfriend and therefore couldn't do anything. Actually, legally I could have asked Mandi to wait outside while I fulfilled one of my list, and technically she wouldn't have been able to kick up a fuss. I'm pretty sure that it wouldn't be that easy in real life.

Obviously Mandi is the love of my life, and I have never known anyone like her. She is intelligent, witty, generous, and loving, and is also the sexiest and most beautiful woman I have ever shared a bed with. There are times when I think she's a bit out of my league, a feeling I haven't had with anyone else. I'd be stupid to ask her to wait outside a dressing room while I had sex with someone famous, so I'll be leaving her at home next time.

(That last line is a joke, I hope that is understood).

The gig review will be in tomorrow's edition of The Nottingham Evening Post (as I still call it), and is online today.

A few years ago I made a very brief mention of Jimmy Savile's connection with the children's home Haut de la Garenne.  Since the documentary about Savile went out on ITV on Wednesday, five people who attended Haut da la Garenne have come forward to say that they were sexually assaulted by him.

Last night, a YouTube video of Gary Glitter performing on Jim'll Fix It did the rounds on Twitter. The bit at the end where Savile comments to Glitter how the girl is very shy was about the creepiest thing I've ever seen. The saddest thing about the whole episode is that the kids asked to go on Jim'll Fix It in the first place, their letter being the start of it, as the song went. Nobody expects to go on a light entertainment show and get raped by the presenter. By strange coincidence, Glitter's name has entered the Jimmy Savile reports today, as a woman claims that she was groped in a BBC dressing room while Gary Glitter had sex with a youngster. There was another well known personality in the room, who also allegedly assaulted an under age girl. That man is Freddie Starr!

The papers have handled this development in different ways. Several papers reported that Starr had failed to bring an injunction against a libellous story being circulated, but didn't say what the allegation was. The Sun, subtle as ever, went ahead and mentioned Freddie Starr directly in connection with a light entertainment gang rape taking place. I know we have the innocent until proven guilty law, but would you bust a gut to obtain an injunction if you had nothing to hide? It quite frankly wouldn't surprise me if it turned out that Starr was involved, as there has always been something a bit sinister about him. He denies it, and only time will tell if he is telling the truth. The onus is on the accuser to speak up about Gary Glitter now, as he will then need to be arrested and questioned. If one good thing comes from this episode, then at least one less paedophile will be free to roam.

Jack Dee was brilliant last night, there was one particular riff based on a farty noise coming from the audience that had me in tears, and made my stomach hurt with laughter. The full review can be read here.

After the show, we went for a couple of drinks at the Horn In Hand, just along from the theatre and very close to the tram home. The pub is over the road from Trent University, and although it seems to attract a student clientele, this is not reflected in the prices. Now I am neither dirt poor or mega-rich, so it makes no difference to me what they charge, I go into a pub based on what the pub is like. A pint of Guinness (me) and a pint of toffee apple cider (Mandi) cost six pound something, which is about right for the city centre where a pint of Guinness averages the three pound fifty mark.

When I first moved to London in the early 1990s, I had come from being a college student in Boston, Lincolnshire. Boston was never a progressive town, but it did have (it might not any more) a good range of pubs that catered for the young and groovy; The Axe and Cleaver, The Indian Queen (known as the IQ), The Carpenter's Arms, (The Carps), The Town Pump, and two nightclubs that dealt with us cool young things by hosting the alternative night on a Wednesday. When Rumours stopped doing it, we switched our custom to The Corn Exchange. Prices were low. During my first week in London, I went for a job interview in Hamleys, (I got the job by the way), and went out after the interview to sample the delights of Carnaby Street by going into a pub and ordering a pint of Guinness. I was charged two pounds. TWO POUNDS! I never thought that I would live to see the day that I was charged two whole pounds for a pint. I had to walk home from a successful job interview because my desire for a pint had fucked up my bus fare.

So where do students go these days for the cheap life? Or, are students a lot richer these days? We used to go where it was a pound a pint, and I think that I might have actually soiled my trousers if I'd been asked for three pounds. Our routine was to meet up in the square and head to Threshers for cigarettes. Sometimes we would go halves on a packet, and take our own empty box to put our share in. There was a sliding scale of which cigarettes you would buy. If you were flush you would of course buy Marlboro Red, if you really wanted to look flash then you would buy a twenty box. The sliding scale would go further and further down, through Lambert and Butler, (Lammy Bammys), Berkley, Gold Mark were the lowest you could go before buying rolling tobacco and making your own. Whatever fags you ended up buying, you would decant them into a Marlboro packet so as not to look like you couldn't afford the same smokes that rock stars liked. The Town Pump was the first pub you'd go to, as it was a pound a pint until half ten. Once you had a table sorted, you would all buy two or three pints and put them down to savour until it was time to leave. Once in the club, it was the one pound a pint thing again. Nobody got a taxi home, we all walked as the town centre and the houses were conveniently close, if you lived in the sticks you would stay at someones house.

Talking of smoking, first of all I'm glad that I was a student during a time when you could smoke in the pub. The ridiculous ban on smoking in pubs has taken something away from pub life, and it is a shame to see that an entire generation of the future won't know any other way of life other than going outside for a cigarette. Tonight I saw two people passing an electronic cigarette between each other.

When I lived in a shared student house, we all shared the shopping on a Friday after college. Most of the stuff we bought was 'white label', in our case it was the dreaded Kwik Save and their No Frills range. As far as value for money was concerned, forget it, nothing lasted more than an hour before going off. One of the house worked a few nights a week in a chip shop, and she was allowed to bring stuff home if it hadn't sold. She would deliberately cook a load of stuff towards the end of her shift so that we could have a good feed when she got home at midnight.

I can't imagine students today living like this. Do they really have more money than we did? When we left the pub, we went to buy a pint of milk from a shop that was open late and seemed to place an emphasis on their close proximity to the university. A pint of milk cost 78p. I'm no tight wad, but you can buy a four pint bottle of milk for that in most shops, so I was looking forward to seeing what a 78p pint of milk tasted like. To my disappointment, it tasted just like regular priced milk. If the cats think they're having some of this, they can think again.

When Jimmy Savile died last year, I tweeted at the time that I wouldn't be a hypocrite by paying tribute to someone who gave me the creeps. I always said that he was a paedophile and now it looks like I had a point.

I don't like the fact that nobody came forward simply because he was bringing in the ratings and making a lot of money for charity. Was he really that untouchable in life that he could get away with having sex with underage girls, and using an approved school as his own private pick and mix. The phrase 'it is a pity that Jimmy Savile is dead' is one that nobody ever thought would be used, but this of course means that whatever the outcome of this investigation, Savile can't face justice.

People turning a blind eye to this kind of thing is the true crime here. Jimmy Savile, and others, could have been investigated and arrested at the time and saved a lot more innocent people going through the same thing.

When I lived in Southend On Sea, I found out that a local gym, The Academy on London Road, was a front for a child porn operation. Not only that, but my boss Fred Spring Junior was a shareholder. When I told people this, they either didn't believe me or knew about it but couldn't prove it. Fred was clever enough to not leave a trail, and his father Fred Senior was well regarded with the police and local magistrates, so could make certain problems disappear. Fred Junior was arrested for improper behaviour in a public toilet on more than one occasion, but these arrests were dealt with by his dad. The police didn't listen to me, and I worried that I couldn't do anything. When I left Southend, (not my choice), I tried a different tactic. I wrote a detailed letter to The News Of The World. I wouldn't normally have tried to deal with a newspaper you could best describe as 'cuntish', but TNOTW did enjoy a good expose in their time. I never heard back from them, nor do I know if they followed up my letter.