My urban adventure with the world’s greatest living explorer, Sir Ranulph Fiennes OBE.
It’s not often that you meet your heroes. Especially when their favourite habitat is trekking across polar landscapes or scorching deserts.
This time last year, my life’s purpose was staging Heathrow Express’ Christmas PR campaign, which meant transforming a railway carriage into a showstopping experience called the ‘Festive Express’.
The Christmas campaign.
For three days, customers hopping aboard were enchanted by a magical retro scene. They were greeted by postal elves, to the sound of sleigh bells, surrounded by twinkling lights and bathed in Christmas pine tree fragrance.
Handwrapped parcels, colourful baubles and natural branches were festooned. Families wrote letters to Santa on special cards, while others won Golden Tickets to spend at Harrods.
It made sense, then to recruit Sir Ranulph Fiennes to headline the Festive Express on his next adventure – ‘in search of the Spirit of Christmas’.
Our video shoot was organised with suitable military precision. A leading production crew set up a Hollywood standard filmset in London’s St Pancras Renaissance Hotel.
Over a breakfast briefing, Sir Ranulph regaled us with his exploits, which included blowing up film sets and losing team members in dangerous expeditions in the wilds of Arctic Canada. His latest epic documentary, ‘Explorer’ released last summer, features King Charles. A swarthy young Ran once made it to the final six in auditions for James Bond.
Not surprisingly, then, Ran’s autobiography is called ‘Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know’.
This up close and personal account from a living legend was exciting; especially from someone in the midst of a sellout speaking tour.
I was blissfully unaware of our own adventure ahead – landing me in Teddington A&E.
The film shoot.
The day ran like clockwork, due to finish at 2pm sharp. Sir Ran had his next gig in Yorkshire, that evening. Ran’s agent disappeared, leaving him seemingly unsure of the location of his car, so I dashed to escort him in the taxi bound for a Tower Bridge hotel.
From here, the djinn intervened. We emerged from the taxi with no car keys. The hotel could not help. The car park attendant could not locate his car. Frequent and frantic calls to the AA were stonewalled due to confusion over an address change. I spent the next three hours haggling with call centre staff. A replacement key? A three day wait. Impossible.
In between, mobiles buzzed with news between agents, colleagues, venues, and bemused relatives.
Now five hours overdue, my shoot had to be dismantled; crew left to beg the hotel for free storage of equipment and our valuables. Next up, Sir Ran’s coat was discovered on shoot, with a set of car keys. Could these rescue us?
Production director, Laurence, brought these while festive revellers surrounded us at my makeshift HQ in Tower Bridge. We located the car, keys worked, and set the satnav to return to our tired colleagues at St Pancras. It had been a long day.
The aftermath?
We urged a protesting Sir Ran to rest overnight in London; we all needed a hot meal and a few drinks. As he peeled back from the Embankment, towards Holborn, we ploughed into a traffic island with bollards. A loud bang and tyre blowout didn’t deter Sir Ran from stopping; until we found ourselves marooned in a busy Holborn with two flat tyres. The car was not in good shape.
In desperation, I charged out into the road to flag down an AA van – not wearing the right footwear and felt a sharp pain. It sailed on by. More calls to the AA, and by nightfall, we’d managed to rally help. The police showed up; we’d been spotted on CCTV. They treated us like royalty offering medical check ups at the station (no thanks). Thankfully, my coat and belongings were ferried from the shoot. Finally warming up, we begged free drinks from the opposite café which was closing. Gallows humour was setting in.
It wasn’t over yet. The AA driver had to fit two tyres, and escort Ran and his assistant back to Ealing, where they’d overnight. Laurence and I had to follow, in Ran’s car, by now midnight, in gridlocked traffic. We reached Ealing around 1am; I arrived home with a throbbing toe at 2am.
The finished video of course was a masterpiece, a tearjerker to rival the best John Lewis ad. It was syndicated across news platforms and reached a new fan base in Northern Norway.
That week, two visits to a chiropodist failed to remedy swelling and pain, I finally took myself to Teddington A&E, an X ray revealing a broken toe. No frostbite of course. Too late to do anything but a reminder of my own mad, bad adventure. Who needs a polar backdrop?
-ends-
Photography: Yada-Yada Ltd.
