I was the R.Whites Lemonade Man

Above, me in the famous R.Whites Lemonade Commercial.

Me in the 2nd (unknown) R Whites Commercial: "The Pop Star"

Story below!
*****************************************

In the early 70’s I acted in the famous R.Whites Lemonade commercial
WHICH RAN FOR 17 YEARS! It was the longest running commercial
ever in UK TV History.

But to be honest, I really can’t fathom why it was so much loved.

Every year it comes in the top 2 or 3 of the 100 favourite UK TV Commercials of all time.

Maybe I’m not objective but I don’t think that it’s particularly good,
or well directed or for that matter well performed by me.
But maybe it’s because there is a stunning song written by Rod thingmejig (sorry Rod) the father of Elvis Costello.
It was sung by a session singer and is very catchy, the “R.Whites”
refrain sounding like “Alright!”

I actually made 2 R.Whites Commercials at the same time.
The second one was much, much better. (photo above) I played a manic rock singer with long blond hair singing (well miming) the song and gyrating madly all over the stage.
But it was never repeated. Why? Well, and now the dastardly truth can be told, it appears that an unknown Elvis Costello was playing guitar in the group behind me and when he became mega-famous it is rumoured that he didn’t want to be seen as a humble backing guitarist so he didn’t agree for it to be shown again, understandably for him I suppose,

but not for me,

what about my repeats???!!!

I do have one indelible memory from the R Whites Commercial.
About a year after it was shown, I was in a pub. A man at the bar beckoned me over with a huge grin. Aha, another fan I thought, he wants to meet a celebrity, I'll brighten up his day.
"Hello." I said patronisingly.
"Hello, do you know," he said chuckling happily "that my son hates you?"
Big pause.
"Well thanks for the information." was all I could think of.
Exit one abashed actor.

Why am I suddenly telling you this? Because last week a nice UK TV Company rang me out of the blue. They said they are making a programme about TV Icons of the 70’s called "That's What I call Television" and would I like to fly to London from Israel and be interviewed? So I said yes and I’m going next week and will update you on the whole trip.

Saving Lady Trudy

Lady Trudy, Jack and Bernard

(Played by my son Jeff, my daughter Sophie and her boy-friend Meiron)

Below is an excerpt from my novel:
"HOOTS or the Honorable Order of Treasure Seekers." *******************************************

"Saving Lady Trudy"
Bernard knocked, panting, on the massive mahagony door of the Vermilion Room, where Lady Trudy was ensconced.
There was no answer. I knocked, we waited, no answer.
Bernard knocked again, still no answer. We took it in turns to knock. Still no signs of life.
I shot Bernard a significant look.
He answered it with an expressive shrug.
I raised my eyebrows eloquently.
He frowned momentously.
I narrowed my eyes knowingly.
He sucked in his cheeks suspiciously.
I said “Bernard pulling funny faces is all very well, but maybe Lady Trude has somehow been … got at?”
The words sent a chill through the air. We exchanged worried glances and then returned them.We set our jaws. We knew what was in each other’s mind. As one man we retreated down the corridor to get a good run and then with a mighty roar charged the door - at the very moment that Lady Trudy opened it.
This was actually very good news for us, as we ourselves would have been the eedjits taking any battering that was going on in the vicinity, since it is well known that massive mahogany doors are not even remotely susceptible to the hurlings of soft out-of-condition shoulders and would not have budged an inch.
Unencumbered by exotic timber but still roaring, we shot past Lady T’s astonished gaze and hurtled into the room.
Not content with this singular mode of entry, our lively progress was now aided by the medium of a carpet, upon which we slid, arms and legs flailing hysterically, across the highly polished wood floor, our roar suddenly replaced by a terrified screech.
Luckily a halt was precipately made to our progress by a friendly chesterfield sofa over whose substantial back we flew just before we would have shot out of the window.
“What on earth were you doing? Have you been drinking? Why didn’t you try knocking?”
Our heads rose from behind the sofa. “We did.”

©All rights reserved Julian Chagrin 2007