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Brucie, nice to see you. RIP Bruce Forsyth.

I will never forget the day I was sitting in the editors chair at the Pink Paper, when one of my journos picked up the phone, turned to me and said: "Wookey, I've got Bruce Forsyth on the phone, I shit you not..."

The week before I'd run a showbiz gossip column by Ben Summerskill, which had made reference to the time Bruce had his BBC contract terminated without warning. Forsyth said at the time that the commissioner (a Mr Manly) was anything but manly, because he hadn't even had the guts to tell Bruce to his face.

Our columnist had pointed out that Commissioner Manly was openly gay, and was Bruce making a comment on the masculinity of gay people?

It was a really low shot by the columnist, not one I was about to defend to be honest. But Bruce was a total gentleman about it. He said: "I love gay people, always have. I was friends with Kenneth, I was mates with Frankie... This really hurts to think that someone has understood me so wrongly...

"Wookey, if I wrote you a letter explaining this, would you consider printing it?"

Of course we would, and we did.

He came across as a humble, polite and really good man, still cared about his public image, and his gay-friendly credentials even into his 70s.

One of my fave phone calls ever, even though technically I was getting a bollocking off Bruce, it didn't feel like that.

Clever. :thumbs:
 
And so concludes the stitched up travesty that was my work place's celebrity death pool. The current colleague that run the thing walks away with 300 odd quid and I'm a fiver better off a month. Fucking Cliff Richard and fucking Dolly Parton I had no chance.

Bye bye Brucie. A good Edmonton lad like myself (I think we went to the same school).
 
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