The 1st ever Mr Hoist Competition - May 1999

Dave and I began the day in Amsterdam, packing to go home. As usual Amsterdam was wonderful and we didn't want to leave. We waited until the very last minute to say goodbye to our friends and catch the train from Centraal Station. We arrived knowing that trains departed for the airport several times an hour. As luck would have it, the big display board announced that the next train at Platform 2a was an InterCity to Schiphol and it was leaving in a minute. We raced up the stairs, the train pulled in, we both got on and away it went.

Twenty minutes later we were still travelling at high speed through the Netherlands countryside and we began to get a sinking feeling that something was wrong. The feeling was confirmed when we pulled in at Haarlem a quarter of an hour later still. In our defence, two Dutch friends tell us that they've been caught out like this too and complaints have been made about the departures board. But that doesn't help when you're miles from where you should be, the plane you're booked on is going to take off in less than an hour and there isn't a train in the country that can get you to the airport on time.

We raced into the street and flagged down a taxi driver. He said he could get us to Schiphol for 70 Guilders cash - and he did. It's a shame that our cameras were packed otherwise you would have had some impressive high-speed photographs of bulb fields and windmills.

We got back to London, unpacked, showered, ate and raced out again for the Mr Hoist competition. All contestants had to book in by 10.30 pm at the latest. We arrived at the club at 10.29 pm expecting to be able to run straight in. That's when we saw the queue stretching from the entrance back towards Vauxhall bridge. Not only was the club full for the event, but everyone was being thoroughly searched at the entrance for our own safety. Having flown back a day early for the competition I didn't want to miss it by having to queue, so I gave a sob story to security and rushed inside to change. My first shock of the night was that I was given free drinks for the evening. I had a pint of cider on the spot, but that didn't seem to calm my nerves at all so I had a second one. Plus a third immediately after going on stage. At that point I decided to switch to bottled water and not have any more alcohol at all. Honest - that was the plan.

(Click through for map)

My second shock was that we weren't going to be interviewed on stage after all, but had to write our responses to questions on the entry forms which would be read out while we were on stage. I tried to put some humour into my answers and play to the crowd. My answer for "Why do you deserve to win?" was "If this is based on looks I don't stand a chance ... " (big "aaah" from the crowd) "... but if it's based on loyalty to the club then I think I'm one of your most regular customers and would love to support you this way." (Rowdy cheer)

There were 8 contestants and we each went up and tried to appear confident in front of a couple of hundred leathermen and 5 judges all baying for flesh. I tried to remember the drill:

smile, sweetie....

... project ...

... flirt ...

... and shamelessly do ANYTHING for votes.

The results were read out ... 3rd place - some guy, whatever.

2nd place - Me !!!! Photos, cheque, applause, kiss and hug with the hunk handing out prizes - which surprised him as I don't think that was on offer. Tough, it was my moment.

1st place - went to the only contestant with any tattoos, chest hair or facial piercings, so I'm glad he won. No, really.

The winners were given their prizes along with an empty champagne glass, which Guy kept topped up for the rest of the evening. I don't remember much from that point on, but the phrase "I won it and I'm going to drink it" rings a bell.

So, that's how I became "Mr Hoist 1999 - 1st runner up". But then, I always thought it was more polite to come second.