Now then, now then
The strange man with the cigar and the tracksuit who sat in a giant armchair making Tarzan noises is back on TV. So what's it like to spend the day with Sir Jimmy Savile? Jim fixes it for Sam Delaney to find out
Saturday March 31, 2007
The Guardian
Sir Jimmy Savile lives in a penthouse apartment in a smart suburb of Leeds. When I buzz the intercom to inform him of my arrival, a long wait is followed by heavy coughing, a strange rustling noise and, eventually, some firm instructions barked in that familiar Yorkshire burr. "Push the door. Get in the lift. Wait." The photographer, her assistant and I follow his orders and huddle ourselves into his private elevator. We wait there in silence for several moments. Suddenly, Sir Jim's voice echoes all around us: "Now then. Are you in?" Where is the voice coming from? It's like he's floating above us inside the lift shaft! So far, this feels like Sunset Boulevard meets 2001: A Space Odyssey.
Before anyone has a chance to abort, the lift cranks into action and within a few seconds the door is opening into the home of a broadcasting legend. He stands before us resplendent in tight running shorts, fluorescent string vest and pink John Lennon sunglasses. His shock of blond hair is wilder than ever and he is chomping on a Havana cigar. "Is everything under control?" asks this 80-year-old madman of the airwaves. We don't know what he means but we tell him that it is. He is pleased. "I didn't know there was a lady coming," he beams at photographer Jenny, before taking her hand, kissing it and feigning a cardiac arrest. "I've got a terrible stabbing pain," he cries, clutching his chest. Jimmy Savile is an extraordinary host.
Sometime coal miner, club manager, pro wrestler, DJ, TV presenter, business consultant, philanthropist and author of the 1979 tome God'll Fix It, Savile has crammed a lot in to his eight decades. What he's perhaps best known for is his long-running BBC series Jim'll Fix It in which he granted the outlandish wishes of ordinary folk every Saturday teatime for almost 20 years. Whether it was a snot-nosed nine-year-old who wanted to perform with the Bay City Rollers or a 103-year old vicar who dreamed of performing a loop-the-loop in a glider, Jimmy would wave his cigar like a wand and make it all happen. He'd then hang a hallowed Jim Fixed It For Me medal round each guest's neck - produced from the armrest of his magic chair. "That chair was modified so it could make cups of tea and stuff," he claims.
Now he's back in the chair for a run of Jim'll Fix It specials on UKTV Gold in which he is revisited by the guests of yesteryear. "The show was never intended for kids but they hijacked it," he reminisces. "The reason is that you still have dreams when you're a kid. Then you hit 13, the hormones kick in and all you're interested in is chatting up that girl down the road. Once you turn 65 you start dreaming again, though." What were his dreams when he was a kid? "My intention was to be loaded with nothing to do and that's still true for me today."
With supplementary homes in Bournemouth, Scotland, London, Scarborough and beyond it's fair to assume that he's financially comfortable. But he's not quite living the meals-on-wheels lifestyle of the average OAP yet. "I was up at seven this morning, doing 10 kilometres on that," he says, pointing to the exercise bike he has out on his astro-turfed balcony. "I can't stay out there for too long though or crowds start to gather." Savile is a devotee of personal fitness, with scores of marathons, 110 professional wrestling fights and the 1951 Tour of Britain cycle race behind him. Despite an expanding girth, he remains sprightly. We shuffle into the kitchen to make tea and I investigate the Savile larder. It is dominated by old-fashioned chocolate boxes and packets of Walkers crisps. In the fridge there are some ready-cooked bacon rashers and little else. He doesn't own a cooker. "Food is just fuel for me," he says. I remark that survival experts say humans can survive for a week without food. "Survival experts?" he exclaims, suddenly animated. "You're bloody looking at one! I was made an honorary Royal Marine 42 years ago. They invited me to attempt their 30-mile exercise across Dartmoor as a publicity stunt. They didn't count on me finishing it though did they? They were embarrassed that a long-haired DJ could complete their toughest course so they had to make me a Marine. And a Green Beret."
Sometimes, Sir Jimmy sounds like a demented fantasist. But the truth is that he's led an extraordinary life. Every item in his eccentrically decorated home (Del Boy Trotter's flat meets Stringfellows) tells a bizarre story. There's the picture of him cuddled up with The Beatles; the diamond incrusted, solid-gold wishbone around his neck given to him by a former South African prime minister;
the framed photo of him with disgraced astronaut Lisa Nowak. "I did a personal appearance with her at Leeds University when she got back from space," he says. Before I've had a chance to comprehend this statement he continues. "After that she went home, packed her bags, drove 1,000 miles across America and tried to kill her love rival. Everyone said 'You bastard Jim! That could only happen to you!'" [That explains a lot! :shock: ]
And they were right. Sir Jim is a magnet for the preposterous, improbable and surreal. This, he believes, is why he has been invited to Chequers by every British leader since Harold Wilson. "I spent 11 consecutive new years there with Margaret," he says of his friend Mrs Thatcher. "Once, I went round to every bedroom in the house and left notes by the telephones saying 'In case of national emergency, call Jimmy Savile' and put my number underneath. The foreign secretary Lord Carrington grassed me up to Margaret but she took one look at the notes and said 'What a very good idea!'"
A perennial bachelor, Jimmy's motto when it comes to women is "Treat women right but don't believe a word they say. They might have a hidden agenda." So who does he hang out with in his spare time? "I eat with a different lady every night," he says. "The deal is: I pay, they drive. That way they can't get on the bevvy and start giving you brain damage." What about male friends? "At my age they've all died," he says. "Buddy Holly, Elvis Presley, John Lennon. The lot." Jimmy seems to be getting by without his illustrious list of deceased pals. In the afternoon, he takes me to the site of a new conference venue in Leeds city centre which will be called Sir Jimmy Savile Hall and house a museum dedicated to his life. His presence on site causes mayhem among builders and passers by of all ages. A middle-aged businessman approaches and asks Jim to speak to his wife on the phone. "No problem," says Jim, taking the mobile handset. "I don't know who you think this is but I'm the manager of the Golden Hands massage parlour in Manchester. Your husband is a regular face down here and is well behind with his credit." Then he hands the phone back to the scarlet-faced fan, pats him on the back and climbs into his taxi, another great Fix It under his belt.
Jim's amazing but true tales
"I'm an honorary Royal Marine and Green Beret."
"I turned a £600m pound loss into a £700m profit for British Rail in just over four years."
"I invented the plastic railcard."
"I invented Top Of The Pops."
"I'm a registered Manchester taxi driver."
"I own a mountain."
"I've got a quarter of million internet pages about me."
"There has never been a law passed that I couldn't bend."
"How much would it cost to hire me? A million pounds. And we'll work up from there."
"Big Brother paid me £150,000 for two days and I didn't even have to stay over."
· Jim'll Fix It Strikes Again is on UKTV Gold, Thu, 9pm
http://www.guardian.co.uk/theguide/tvra ... 29,00.html
