He'll Packham In

 About thirty years ago, when I was young and cocky and inexplicably arrogant, Chris Packham, the bloke with the funny haircut and lisp off The Really Wild Show, was doing a book signing in my home town of Basingstoke. He sat at a little card table behind the glass doors of W H Smith, a neat pile of books on either side of him. And he waited. 

And nobody came near him.

I was hanging around the HMV opposite, cause my cool mates used to work there, and I'd be there each Saturday afternoon, looking smug, talking knowledgably about the week's releases, and getting in the way of actual customers who wanted to buy Robson and Jerome albums because it was a place of business. 

I was there most of the afternoon - this was before Pokemon Go or fidget spinners - and I watched Chris, roasting slowly under glass, and looking more and more demoralised as the afternoon wore on, and it really did seem to be wearing him like a pair of talc-free rubber knickers. The staff took turns chatting with him, and he looked genuinely pleased to talk to them. He seemed like a nice bloke, in fact. But he was famous, off the telly, with his stupid sticky up hair*, and there he was failing in the window of a small-town news agency, like a trapped wasp. 

I thought it was great. I stood there, arms folded, grinning. No one wants your books, mate. Your stupid books about Peregrine Falcon eggs, or whatever. Ha ha ha. What a loser. 

I got bored, so I didn't see him leave but he must have done, as I didn't see him when I popped in for a copy of the Melody Maker the following Wednesday. Gone back to his well paid job at the BBC with his tail between his legs. Suck it up, Nature Boy. 

Thirty years later, Chris still has his well-paid job at the BBC. He's very much the Attenborough apparent. He's kept his hair and kept the weight off. He has a CBE. He's published 17 books to date. (The one he sold none of in Basingstoke was probably Chris Packham's Wild Shots) He won an episode of Mastermind, his specialist subject being The Battle of Rorke's Drift, so he knows about TWO things. He's vice president of The Wildlife Trusts and the RSPB, and ambassador for the National Autistic Society. He regularly gets dead foxes and badgers attached to the gate of his property because he annoys the Countryside Alliance. 

The fact is, despite his unfortunate taste in music, Chris Packham CBE is a good thing. He has principals and ideals, speaks truth to power, and has the courage of his convictions. He's a genuinely impressive man. 

And I'm the sort of bloke who sneers at a children's television presenter trying to sell a book in a shopping centre. 

What a prince. 

The other thing about Packham, is he plays a long game. On the 21st November I'm launching my second book - Packham has 15 on me - and my first novel, Fine, at the Harrison Hotel in Belfast. I'll be doing a reading, and setting up a card table laden with the books I'm happy to sign if anyone wants me to. 

And Packham's in town that night. He's "in conversation" as part of NI Science Festival. Sure. Course he is. "Chris will share his insights on the fierce battle to save our planet's future."

Right. 

Or will he be standing at the back of the bar in The Harrison, arms folded, grinning, as I sit between two towers of unsold, unsigned books, biro slick between moist figure tips, and Packham's Cheshire Cat grin the only thing I can see, as he serves up revenge as chilly as a kestrel egg salad?

Forgive me, Chris. I was wrong. Anyone can have an off day, sales wise. And I bought one of your t-shirts for Susan. It had a robin on it. She likes robins. Leave me alone, you great ethical bully. 

*I appreciate the irony here