Steve Canavan: TV fame but no £50,000 ... it’s been quite a week

Two things have happened this week (which is two more than usual in lockdown).

There has been an excellent example of just how pathetically weak I am as a human being, and I appeared on TV.

The former first. I went to Sainsbury’s to get some shopping (I know, how this column doesn’t win awards is beyond me) but on the way home realised I’d forgotten to buy chocolate for my three-year-old (which she’d expressly asked me to and as any parent will attest, a child promised chocolate who does not then receive it reacts in very much the same way as a serial killer prior to spotting another victim).

So I diverted to a Tesco Express, picked up a bag of Maltesers, and took them to the till.

As I was stood there, I noticed a display of National Lottery scratchcards and – and I don’t often do this but I was feeling particularly miserable about my existence and thought winning a million quid might cheer me up a tad – I decided to buy one.

They were loads of different types and they were displayed in cases marked one to 10.

“Can I have five please?” I said, for no other reason than scratchcard number five had a big slogan on it saying, ‘Win £50,000 every year for the rest of your life’, which sounded like a nice way to earn a living.

I bent down to put my Maltesers in my shopping bag and, as I looked back up, I saw the cashier bloke (who, interestingly, had a huge tattoo of Jesus on one arm – well, it was either Jesus or the lead singer of the Foo Fighters) had torn out five scratchcards – priced £5 each - and was holding them out for me to take, while saying ‘you’ve got to dream haven’t you?’

Now at this point I think any human being on the planet would’ve said, ‘Oh, sorry, there’s been a misunderstanding – I only wanted one scratchcard, not five.’

But, for reasons I’m unsure of other than I was born with a serious character flaw, replied, “yes, you’ve got to dream” and took the wad of cards off him.

‘Ok, with the Maltesers, that’ll be £26.50’

I coughed slightly and, feeling like a man who has just been mugged - albeit in a more preferable way to being pounced on by two hoodie-wearing teenagers in the local park - I handed over the cash.

On the short walk home I managed to cheer myself slightly by reasoning that if I’d just purchased five scratchcards, at least one of them must contain a cash prize. Indeed by the end of the walk I had convinced myself I was about to win the £50,000-a-year and was, in my head, penning a polite but firm resignation letter to my work place.

“Here’s your choccy,” I said, flinging the packet at my daughter on waltzing through the front door, before sprinting to the kitchen giddy in the knowledge I was about to win my fortune.

I didn’t win a single penny. £25 with no return.

To make matters worse I told the story to Mrs Canavan – I don’t know why I did this; maybe to encourage her to divorce me? – and she called me pathetic (hard to argue with) and was furious.

To counterbalance this example of my failure as a human, however, I have had a bit of fame this week – appearing on regional news, and it wasn’t even for committing a crime.

I play guitar and have been writing songs during lockdown, to fill the time and keep myself sane as much as anything.

Anyway, a few of them have been vaguely popular, and I got a call from the local news station asking if they could do a story on me.

My response was, “it must be a bloody slow news day” but they insisted and sent a reporter and cameraman round.

It was a nice but slightly odd experience. For example, I had to walk over the same bridge in my local park five times until the cameraman was happy with his shot and at one point told to stand on the edge of a pond and gaze wistfully into the distance (these are the kind of things that pad out a news story).

The report was on TV that night and it was Ok, but what I didn’t expect was how many people would see it. I had assumed no one other than my mother and the 10,000 family members she told about it would watch, but the next morning I went to a pharmacy to buy some cream for my hands. (I’ve a bit of dry skin, you see, but don’t tell anyone as I’m a bit embarrassed about it).

I sat on a wall outside the shop and was just in the act of smearing some ointment onto a particularly nasty bit of eczema on my right index finger, when a middle-aged woman stopped, hesitated, and stared at me. At first I assumed she just found me incredibly attractive. I mean when you look like me, with sticky-out ears and pock-marked skin, this kind of thing happens a lot.

She moved closer, and asked, ‘Are you Steve Canavan?’

“Erm, yes, I am,” I replied.

‘Ooo, I just wanted to say that I saw you on the tele last night,’ she said with a beaming smile.

I felt like Elvis Presley at his peak – this is how it must feel to be famous! – though it was slightly undermined by the fact I was sat applying eczema cream to my hand … which isn’t exactly the actions of a super-cool celebrity.

Having never been recognised before I didn’t know quite what to do next, but I thought it probably polite to make conversation, so I said, “thank you very much. Erm, do you live locally or are you…?”

‘Sorry, love,’ she said, cutting me off, ‘I need to get to Boots before it closes so I can’t talk’, and she walked off.

This fame thing is very difficult.