In the early summer of 1968, I was on the telly.

I wasn’t the person on the test card; neither did I feature on Police 5 and nor did I have my own chat show (producers tend not to give them out to 11-year-olds).

The BBC cameras had caught me at Lord’s, watching the visiting Australian cricket team practising in the nets there.  I’d travelled there, from Balham, courtesy of a Red Rover ticket, and featured on an item covering the Aussies’ arrival on Sportsnight with Coleman.  I did wait by the phone for many weeks after as I saw myself as the next Simon Dee.

Sadly, a career in TV was never going to be a possible due to genetics.

After the 1966 World Cup there was an ad in the Radio Times inviting people to apply to be the new commentator.  My Dad applied.  Sadly, for him, Motty got the job – and didn’t we all know it – especially during Match of the Day – as Dad berated the TV screen saying – in the style of Yosser Hughes – that he’d taken his job.

It was also this natural inclination to swearing which brought my Dad’s audition on Fifteen to One to a very abrupt and vituperative ending.

My TV career was ended as soon as it had begun; I’m sure TV executives do an MI5-type search of potential show hosts.  Although, I guess I should be grateful, as my Dad’s lack of anger management and extensive swearing vocabulary stopped me from being attacked by an emu.

“Quite remarkable!”