Bill Coad, Travel Weekly’s likeable regional sales manager, sported a massive grin last week after winning tickets to the European Cup Final on the Chris Evans breakfast show.
Bill is a red-hot Manchester United fan – he comes from St Albans, he watches all their matches at home on television and he’s sure he knows where Manchester is on the map.
Anyway, Bill had been trying for ages – at least a week – to secure tickets for the European Cup Final.
Staff at the Catalan Tourist Board had been pulling out all the stops for him but even they couldn’t get their hands on the tickets which seemed to be rarer than gold dust.
Then Bill heard Chris Evans’ Virgin Radio was giving away tickets.
When he got to the office last Monday, Bill rang up more in hope than expectation.
Amazingly he got through to Evans’ sidekick – and Manchester City fan – Jamie Broadbent.
He answered a few questions and was told he was on line seven and would be in the draw for the tickets.
Suddenly, line seven came up and Bill was live on the show. He answered a couple of easy questions, with the help of some outrageous clues, and then was on to the killer third question.
This was the question for the tickets – Evans warned he couldn’t give him any help with this one.
“Who sang ‘We’re going all the way’, which got to number 64 in 1988?” asked the Ginger One.
“Er, Wimbledon” guessed Bill, thinking of the FA Cup winners from that year.
Oh no, gasps of disappointment at the wrong answer. He should have said England. Evans gave his apologies and Bill, gutted, muttered a ‘thank you’.
Suddenly, Evans had a change of heart. “Were you planning to take anyone? A son perhaps.”
“Yes, my 11-year-old son actually,” said Bill. “Well, in that case you can have them anyway!” came the reply.
That was the last we saw of Bill.
Backchat learned later that the 11-year-old couldn’t make the game… so Billy Boy took his mate!
Hope Chris Evans wasn’t planning to do a heartwarming dad and son at the football match story for TFI Friday.
As Travel Weekly went to press we still hadn’t heard from Bill.
Presumably he was still dancing in a Barcelona fountain clutching a bottle of San Miguel with a grin the size of the Nou Camp stadium.
As Terry Venables would have said: “What a lucky chap.” Or something like that.