The Day I Met Jimmy Savile by Katie

I used to live in Scarborough as a teenager. It was the first place I ever lived on my own; I’d left home in Aberdeenshire to go to Hull university which was inexplicably located there. Most people know that Jimmy Savile was a fan of the place and used to visit fairly often. You’d see him every now and again with his gold chains and harem of young girls (only joking) walking around town or in the corner of a local pub. He was odd thing to see when you were out and about – like a Madame Tussauds version of himself rather than actually himself. He looked like he’d seen better days.

Anyway, he used to be a regular in a café I liked to hang out in with my mates called “Rendes Vouz” [sic]. You could smoke inside and everything was made of yellowing Formica and you could get an egg butty and a brew for £1.80.

One day when we were especially bored, our attentions turned towards Sir Jimmy who was sitting silently at the rear of the café, smoking a cigar and nursing a very small cup of tea. We decided we should say hello. I decided I should do the honours.

I got up from my chair, Cutters Choice roll-up in the corner of my mouth and climbed out of our corner (the chairs were all plastic and attached to each other – being teenagers we were mostly sat on each others laps, fitting 6 people around a four person booth). I sauntered over and said: “Hello Jimmy, how’s it going?”

He looked up and replied: “Get fucked.”

I obviously wasn’t his type.