Subscribe Is that it?Interrogation over Bristow slipped off his sweatshirt to reveal his newly
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Is that it?"Interrogation over, Bristow slipped off his sweatshirt to reveal his newly slimline physique before donning a red shirt with his trademark on the back: a London bobby superimposed on a Union Jack. You do an exhibition some place and get through at 11 and what's open? Chinese. It's hard."A bow-tied bouncer brought in a couple of young fans seeking autographs Bristow was delighted "Bring as many up as you like, Dan," he said. "You know the rules: pounds 2.50 a time."More brown ale, more cigarettes, more practice.
Barry Hearn appeared and swapped Christmas gambling tales with Bristow, a kindred spirit. Dennis Priestley, Bristow's opponent that afternoon, was having a miniature camera affixed to his belt by some Sky television technicians. "If you go for a piss, Dennis," one of them warned, "don't waggle it too hard."A tabloid reporter approached Bristow, who had snappy answers to some not terribly probing questions Finances? "Fine, mate Santa's been." Flash motor? "Volvo mate. Safest car on the road." Still pulling the birds? "I'm a married man, mate Two kids. He's a banter machine, a josher fuelled on brown ale and frequent fags Looking trim, Eric "Golf Nothing strenuous And easy on the junk It's hard that, though. Done." He ambled over to the practice boards.He was smart: black loafers, black slacks, scarlet sweatshirt, black leather jacket and improbably brown hair in a loose quiff.
"Me and Bobby George, me and Jocky Wilson, me and John Lowe. so I gave a couple of interviews to them, then I had a nice little natter with Bobby, who's a mate of mine." Then it was back to the room for a bath and change, and a splash of the smelly stuff, plenty of it too Nice niff, Eric "Antaeus mate Then I come down here and put me new flights in. Up with the lark at the Palms Hotel, Hornchurch, brekker, half an hour's practice, then a wallow in the past. "Sky Gold are showing some of the great finals from the Embassy days," he explained in the players' bar before his match. Eric's day was about to take a turn for the worse.He'd had a lovely morning. Nick the first leg, you'll be all right." The mini-skirted young lady assigned to Eric raised the flag of St George and the recorded chimes of Big Ben rang out.
The announcer started his spiel: "Ladies and gentlemen, the five times world champion, the five times Masters champion, the current world pairs champion, the Crafty Cockney himself ." And he shuffled forward into the mist and noise. But that gets better once you're up there, in the lights and that After the first leg you're fine. It was just that the man on the dry-ice machine had left his finger on the button for a little too long. Eric? Are you still there? "Yeah mate." What does all this nonsense do to your nerves, Eric? "That's not the problem mate." A hand loomed out of the fog and touched my cheek "Feel? Cold fingers Murder innit. MOMENTS before he was due on stage at the Circus Tavern for his first match in the World Darts Championship, Eric Bristow disappeared. There was no question of a temperamental outburst, no suggestion of a backstage row or catastrophic confidence crisis.