A while back I posted this about Ray Gosling, the broadcaster who claimed, in a BBC documentary, to have suffocated his lover in a "mercy killing". Turns out its not true. Says, Gosling, "I wasn't even in the country when he died". He has been convicted of wasting police time. It's a sad postscript to his career. In earlier days he was a doppleganger for a Room at the Top Laurence Harvey, Angry Young Man; the ascerbic professional Northerner role suited him well. His stories were gritty and realistic and tended to be made in Halifax, rather than Honolulu. And this was at a time when we were still used to the Mr Cholmondeley-Warner delivery for documentaries. When one reviews his material one can almost see a proto punk adrift among the milk bars of the early fifties, with his moody black suits and quiff. Even at the end of his career he does a good Johnny Rotten stare.
This is a recent clip of Ray Gosling in action, and early on there is a black and white flashback to the days when he looked cool and moody.
Some of us forget there is a difference between fantasy and reality. Clearly Ray did, but let us not forget, he was a one off in a sea of plastic nobodies.