He, meanwhile, is sprawled across a vast squishy corner seat like a great hairy Roman Emperor and bickering with his wife Jenny, whom he calls The Booby (after a South American bird which is ‘stupid and pathetically easy to catch and squawks a lot’), about breasts. And in particular, the breasts of his previous visitor, a blonde and female interviewer, who has just left.
‘For goodness sake, John, why did you have to say all that?’ says Jenny, his (incredibly long-suffering) wife of more than 40 years. ‘You’re such an idiot. Just because she was wearing a low-cut dress. I bet she wore it on purpose and you fell straight into her trap.’
‘Oh shut up, Booby. Who cares? I like big breasts, I like to be able to get lost in them . . .’ Suddenly he stops and points at mine: ‘So you’ve got no chance. I’m a breast man. And big-breasted women are my favourite. Some men are leg men, some are bum men, but I like breasts. Always have — and the bigger the better. Take Kate Winslet, just fantastic — how The Titanic ever sank with her chest there I’ll never know!’
‘Oh shut up,’ mutters Jenny. ‘Who’s going to take you seriously on all your ageism stuff when you keep going on about breasts.’
She has a point. Because believe it or not, I’m not actually here to discuss bosoms at all, but to hear about John’s £3 million legal suit against his former TV bosses who recently decided not to renew his contract presenting Channel 4 Racing.
About which, it turns out, when we finally (albeit temporarily) get off breasts, he is very angry and very bitter.
‘I was sacked. Sacked! After 29 years! They say I was on a freelance contract, but I was sacked. And when you’re sacked, you’re humiliated — you’re embarrassed. People think: “He’s past it! He’s no good!” To be sacked . . . arggh, it’s the worst.
‘It was ageism. I am perfectly qualified — I’ve worked in betting shops since they opened on May 1, 1961, and on the racecourse as a bookmaker, a tic-tac, a floorman and a clerk. I was on Fleet Street for 30 years. I’ve interviewed Prime Ministers. I’ve won two British Press Awards. Who else has that experience? No one. If I was 42, they’d bite my hand off.’
But he isn’t. He’s 72. (Or something like that — he’s always been very elusive when it comes to his age and Jenny refuses to give hers at all.) And the makers of Channel 4 Racing have apparently decided they want a new-look, younger team, fronted by everybody’s favourite, Clare Balding (whom, incidentally, John loves).
Now, he’s suing Channel 4 and IMG
Sports Media (who at the end of last year became Channel 4 Racing’s new
production company) for £500,000 for ‘loss of earnings, unfair career
damaging, public humiliation and mental anguish’, plus £2.5 million
punitive damages.
‘Ageism is illegal — it’s the scourge of our society,’ he says. ‘I know I’m never going to get my job back — no chance. They’ll never back down now. So I’m doing it for the tens of thousands of people in this country in their 40s and 50s and 60s who are living under the threat of losing their job because of their age. And I’m very, very optimistic I’m going to win.’
So it must have been an awful shock last October when, with just 30 minutes’ notice before an official press conference, John was told his contract wasn’t going to be renewed.
‘I was devastated, absolutely devastated. I was beside myself. I felt wobbly just going to the races — I was a dead man talking. Suddenly everyone knew I was on my way out,’ says John.
‘He’s been very depressed,’ says Jenny, quietly.
Did he cry?
‘No! I’d bloody well hope not. I’ve never ever cried — not since I went to boarding school aged six. Don’t know how.’
Instead, he sat tight and tried to persuade them otherwise — ‘I didn’t want to burn my bridges’ — until at the end of the year it became clear that, after nearly three decades, his Channel 4 Racing days were well and truly over.
John had been the face of Channel 4 racing for as long as anyone can remember, jumping about in his capes, puffing on giant Havana cigars, waving his arms about in the betting ring, exhibiting an encyclopaedic memory of racing facts and figures, championing the punters like no other and generally drawing attention to himself at any opportunity (‘I’m a terrible show-off’).
He clearly loved his job and was good at it. But it’s hard to muster endless sympathy for a man who, over the years, has also done everything in his power to present himself as an obnoxious, sexist pig.
He took part in Celebrity Big Brother in 2005 and was the first to be evicted (‘It’s a badge of honour being voted out first,’ he insists), appeared on Celebrity Coach Trip with Jenny in 2011 (‘We’re the only couple to have been voted out unanimously, twice — I’m very proud of that’) and teamed up with Edwina Currie for Celebrity Wife Swap (‘I HATE bossy women’).
Each time, his image deteriorated as more of his sexist and boorish behaviour came to light and it emerged how he constantly belittled the ever-loyal Jenny/Booby, who waits on him hand on foot.
She goes out for his newspapers at 4am, brings him almond croissants and bananas in bed, cleans, cooks, chauffeurs (he can’t drive), holds his umbrella in the rain, runs errands at the races, does his accounts, runs his bath (or ‘tosh’, as he calls it — a throwback to his schooldays at Harrow) and lays out his (extraordinary) clothes each day. When they travel together, he even flies business class while she often sits humiliatingly at the back in economy.
After Celebrity Big Brother — where he strode round in just a pair of vast and greying Y-Fronts, picked his nose and ate it (declaring it was ‘good for one’s health’) and sulked for hours when deprived of a Diet Coke, he was voted second most hated man in Britain (after Simon Cowell).
‘I was very proud,’ he says again, wobbling his jowls sulkily. ‘A lot of people don’t like me — they say I’m loud and misogynistic and anti-women, and I don’t disabuse them of that. Why should I?’
But doesn’t he care that people don’t like him?
‘No. I’m not a pleasant person. I bear grudges, I harbour resentments, I never forgive, ever — because if someone’s done something to you once, they’ll do it again. I don’t have many friends, and I don’t want them. I don’t like being indebted to anyone. I’m always myself and that’s an unpleasant person.’
Of course, his awfulness may all just be an act — it’s hard to imagine why the (very lovely and surprisingly attractive) Jenny would stick about otherwise. But on present form, it’s hard to disagree. Particularly when she pops to answer the front door (barely five feet away) and he tells me about his annual two or three-week jolly to Vegas.
‘We’ll keep quiet about that. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,’ he adds in a stage whisper. ‘But I love playing poker and I see one or two shows and all that kind of thing.’
And does Jenny mind?
‘No . . . well, The Booby doesn’t know what goes on . . . All I’m saying is — and this is nothing to do with me — anyone should have an affair as long as the other partner doesn’t know. As long as you don’t set up separate homes and have kids with both of them — all that’s disgusting.’
So, does he have affairs?
‘Well . . . er, I don’t want to upset The Booby. I don’t want to talk about it. But so long as your partner doesn’t know, and it’s not serious or long- lasting, what harm and damage is it doing?’
Just so we’re clear, when he goes to Vegas, is he meeting a particular person?
‘Oh no, no, no.’
So it’s more sort of random?
‘Well, yeeees. I just keep quiet as to what goes on.’
And with that, he touches briefly once more on Kate Winslet’s breasts (‘Ooh! Just imagine!’), suggests I feel his disconcertingly soft hands (‘All the girls say, when . . . you know . . . how soft they are’), raves about the Jeremy Kyle Show (‘fantastic, not trash’) and his fantastic sexual technique, and runs me through his list of strict dos and don’ts for women.
‘Women should hide their necks. From about 25, they’re like chickens, all scrawny and disgusting. And they mustn’t wear high heels. Or show their foreheads. Foreheads are horrible — all lined and disgusting. And short skirts are lovely, but not with high heels. I hate high heels.’
Good grief. It’s hard to know where to go after that lot. Children, maybe — and why he and Booby (both only children) never had any? After all, they’ve had plenty of dogs — including one called ‘Double D’.
‘I adore animals — a home’s not a home without animals. But I hate kids. I loathe them. I’m the baby in this house and there’s no room for another. Children are awful things — it starts with all the crying and demanding for attention, you buy them clothes and they grow out of them. At five or six they’re always blubbing, then at 11 or 12 they start resenting you and after that there’s all the drink and drugs and sex problems — it’s terrible.’
Not all of them are like that,’ says Booby, who has by now returned to her chair and is sitting behind her laptop.
So was it a conscious decision not to have children?
‘Yes. Absolutely!’ says John.
And did you want children, Booby?
‘Let’s not go into that now,’ she says.
‘No, no!’ interrupts John. ‘I think she probably did a bit, but she’s learned the lesson — she’s grateful now’.
He and Jenny met at a party.
‘The Booby had a yellow labrador called Simon — I’d always wanted a yellow lab, so when The Booby came along at the end of the piece of string, I had to have her, too,’ he says.
And were her previous boyfriends anything like John?
‘The trouble was, they were a bit boring,’ she says with a rueful smile. ‘And then I ended up with him.’
‘She had loads of lovers,’ barks John. ‘Very sexually experienced the Booby was. They said she was easy.’
‘John!’ This time she properly raises her voice. ‘Don’t make up such stupid stories. It isn’t funny. It alienates people.’
It does seem a bit ripe for someone like him — a deeply sexist, uber Right-wing monster who bangs on (and on) about Kate Winslet’s boobs, to be quite so outraged at a bit of alleged ageism.
Maybe, just maybe — dare I say it — the powers that be had simply had enough of working with him?
‘They had it in for me! They wanted me gone. They sacked four or five of us, all over 50. It’s clearly illegal.’
If it had been left up to him, how long would he have carried on working for Channel 4?
‘As long as I was capable of doing it with no hint of senility.’ So is he experiencing any signs of ageing? ‘Of course! Maybe I can’t imbibe as much Dom Perignon pink champagne as I did.’
And is it harder getting up in the morning? ‘No! That’s what’s hurting now. I want to work and there’s no job to do. Work comes first — always has, always will. I can’t stand lazy people. I’ve never missed a day’s work in my life and I don’t think I’ve ever once been late. And now this — it really is mental anguish.’
While John and Channel 4 Racing have parted company irrevocably, he and The Booby are in it for the long haul. So what on earth keeps her there, fetching and carrying and putting up with all that lewd chat?
She’s a lovely lady — sharp, warm and twinkly and with a lovely figure, if not the biggest bosoms (‘but they’re very nice, though’). What goes on behind the showy-off sexist bluster and what, if anything, does she find to love about him?
‘His honesty, I suppose. He’s genuine, even though he’s being stupid now. He antagonises people on purpose — he’s impossible. It’s as if there’s something in his head that can’t allow people to like him.
‘But he can be very kind. And he does a lot for charity called Greatwood which helps disabled kids and retired racehorses.’
But he hates children!
‘No, that’s disabled kids — that’s different,’ he barks from his throne. ‘Don’t make me out to be some great philanthropist — I’m certainly not that! Or some great warm-hearted old softie.’
No danger of that, John. But what about Booby, she’s the one who’s signed up for life. Doesn’t she ever just want to just strangle him?
‘If you find him murdered one day, you’ll know,’ she mutters darkly.
And with that, we’re done. As I leave he’s already shouting and barking orders and blustering about.
And I can hear The Booby’s reply, not for the first time today: ‘Oh John, for goodness sake — why did you have to go and say all that?’
DAILYMAIL
‘Ageism is illegal — it’s the scourge of our society,’ he says. ‘I know I’m never going to get my job back — no chance. They’ll never back down now. So I’m doing it for the tens of thousands of people in this country in their 40s and 50s and 60s who are living under the threat of losing their job because of their age. And I’m very, very optimistic I’m going to win.’
So it must have been an awful shock last October when, with just 30 minutes’ notice before an official press conference, John was told his contract wasn’t going to be renewed.
‘I was devastated, absolutely devastated. I was beside myself. I felt wobbly just going to the races — I was a dead man talking. Suddenly everyone knew I was on my way out,’ says John.
‘He’s been very depressed,’ says Jenny, quietly.
Did he cry?
‘No! I’d bloody well hope not. I’ve never ever cried — not since I went to boarding school aged six. Don’t know how.’
Instead, he sat tight and tried to persuade them otherwise — ‘I didn’t want to burn my bridges’ — until at the end of the year it became clear that, after nearly three decades, his Channel 4 Racing days were well and truly over.
John had been the face of Channel 4 racing for as long as anyone can remember, jumping about in his capes, puffing on giant Havana cigars, waving his arms about in the betting ring, exhibiting an encyclopaedic memory of racing facts and figures, championing the punters like no other and generally drawing attention to himself at any opportunity (‘I’m a terrible show-off’).
He clearly loved his job and was good at it. But it’s hard to muster endless sympathy for a man who, over the years, has also done everything in his power to present himself as an obnoxious, sexist pig.
He took part in Celebrity Big Brother in 2005 and was the first to be evicted (‘It’s a badge of honour being voted out first,’ he insists), appeared on Celebrity Coach Trip with Jenny in 2011 (‘We’re the only couple to have been voted out unanimously, twice — I’m very proud of that’) and teamed up with Edwina Currie for Celebrity Wife Swap (‘I HATE bossy women’).
Each time, his image deteriorated as more of his sexist and boorish behaviour came to light and it emerged how he constantly belittled the ever-loyal Jenny/Booby, who waits on him hand on foot.
She goes out for his newspapers at 4am, brings him almond croissants and bananas in bed, cleans, cooks, chauffeurs (he can’t drive), holds his umbrella in the rain, runs errands at the races, does his accounts, runs his bath (or ‘tosh’, as he calls it — a throwback to his schooldays at Harrow) and lays out his (extraordinary) clothes each day. When they travel together, he even flies business class while she often sits humiliatingly at the back in economy.
After Celebrity Big Brother — where he strode round in just a pair of vast and greying Y-Fronts, picked his nose and ate it (declaring it was ‘good for one’s health’) and sulked for hours when deprived of a Diet Coke, he was voted second most hated man in Britain (after Simon Cowell).
‘I was very proud,’ he says again, wobbling his jowls sulkily. ‘A lot of people don’t like me — they say I’m loud and misogynistic and anti-women, and I don’t disabuse them of that. Why should I?’
But doesn’t he care that people don’t like him?
‘No. I’m not a pleasant person. I bear grudges, I harbour resentments, I never forgive, ever — because if someone’s done something to you once, they’ll do it again. I don’t have many friends, and I don’t want them. I don’t like being indebted to anyone. I’m always myself and that’s an unpleasant person.’
Of course, his awfulness may all just be an act — it’s hard to imagine why the (very lovely and surprisingly attractive) Jenny would stick about otherwise. But on present form, it’s hard to disagree. Particularly when she pops to answer the front door (barely five feet away) and he tells me about his annual two or three-week jolly to Vegas.
‘We’ll keep quiet about that. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,’ he adds in a stage whisper. ‘But I love playing poker and I see one or two shows and all that kind of thing.’
And does Jenny mind?
‘No . . . well, The Booby doesn’t know what goes on . . . All I’m saying is — and this is nothing to do with me — anyone should have an affair as long as the other partner doesn’t know. As long as you don’t set up separate homes and have kids with both of them — all that’s disgusting.’
So, does he have affairs?
‘Well . . . er, I don’t want to upset The Booby. I don’t want to talk about it. But so long as your partner doesn’t know, and it’s not serious or long- lasting, what harm and damage is it doing?’
Just so we’re clear, when he goes to Vegas, is he meeting a particular person?
‘Oh no, no, no.’
So it’s more sort of random?
‘Well, yeeees. I just keep quiet as to what goes on.’
And with that, he touches briefly once more on Kate Winslet’s breasts (‘Ooh! Just imagine!’), suggests I feel his disconcertingly soft hands (‘All the girls say, when . . . you know . . . how soft they are’), raves about the Jeremy Kyle Show (‘fantastic, not trash’) and his fantastic sexual technique, and runs me through his list of strict dos and don’ts for women.
‘Women should hide their necks. From about 25, they’re like chickens, all scrawny and disgusting. And they mustn’t wear high heels. Or show their foreheads. Foreheads are horrible — all lined and disgusting. And short skirts are lovely, but not with high heels. I hate high heels.’
Good grief. It’s hard to know where to go after that lot. Children, maybe — and why he and Booby (both only children) never had any? After all, they’ve had plenty of dogs — including one called ‘Double D’.
‘I adore animals — a home’s not a home without animals. But I hate kids. I loathe them. I’m the baby in this house and there’s no room for another. Children are awful things — it starts with all the crying and demanding for attention, you buy them clothes and they grow out of them. At five or six they’re always blubbing, then at 11 or 12 they start resenting you and after that there’s all the drink and drugs and sex problems — it’s terrible.’
So was it a conscious decision not to have children?
‘Yes. Absolutely!’ says John.
And did you want children, Booby?
‘Let’s not go into that now,’ she says.
‘No, no!’ interrupts John. ‘I think she probably did a bit, but she’s learned the lesson — she’s grateful now’.
He and Jenny met at a party.
‘The Booby had a yellow labrador called Simon — I’d always wanted a yellow lab, so when The Booby came along at the end of the piece of string, I had to have her, too,’ he says.
And were her previous boyfriends anything like John?
‘The trouble was, they were a bit boring,’ she says with a rueful smile. ‘And then I ended up with him.’
‘She had loads of lovers,’ barks John. ‘Very sexually experienced the Booby was. They said she was easy.’
‘John!’ This time she properly raises her voice. ‘Don’t make up such stupid stories. It isn’t funny. It alienates people.’
It does seem a bit ripe for someone like him — a deeply sexist, uber Right-wing monster who bangs on (and on) about Kate Winslet’s boobs, to be quite so outraged at a bit of alleged ageism.
Maybe, just maybe — dare I say it — the powers that be had simply had enough of working with him?
‘They had it in for me! They wanted me gone. They sacked four or five of us, all over 50. It’s clearly illegal.’
If it had been left up to him, how long would he have carried on working for Channel 4?
‘As long as I was capable of doing it with no hint of senility.’ So is he experiencing any signs of ageing? ‘Of course! Maybe I can’t imbibe as much Dom Perignon pink champagne as I did.’
And is it harder getting up in the morning? ‘No! That’s what’s hurting now. I want to work and there’s no job to do. Work comes first — always has, always will. I can’t stand lazy people. I’ve never missed a day’s work in my life and I don’t think I’ve ever once been late. And now this — it really is mental anguish.’
While John and Channel 4 Racing have parted company irrevocably, he and The Booby are in it for the long haul. So what on earth keeps her there, fetching and carrying and putting up with all that lewd chat?
She’s a lovely lady — sharp, warm and twinkly and with a lovely figure, if not the biggest bosoms (‘but they’re very nice, though’). What goes on behind the showy-off sexist bluster and what, if anything, does she find to love about him?
‘His honesty, I suppose. He’s genuine, even though he’s being stupid now. He antagonises people on purpose — he’s impossible. It’s as if there’s something in his head that can’t allow people to like him.
‘But he can be very kind. And he does a lot for charity called Greatwood which helps disabled kids and retired racehorses.’
But he hates children!
‘No, that’s disabled kids — that’s different,’ he barks from his throne. ‘Don’t make me out to be some great philanthropist — I’m certainly not that! Or some great warm-hearted old softie.’
No danger of that, John. But what about Booby, she’s the one who’s signed up for life. Doesn’t she ever just want to just strangle him?
‘If you find him murdered one day, you’ll know,’ she mutters darkly.
And with that, we’re done. As I leave he’s already shouting and barking orders and blustering about.
And I can hear The Booby’s reply, not for the first time today: ‘Oh John, for goodness sake — why did you have to go and say all that?’
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