Hello and welcome to Man Lab,
where the calloused hand of the reconstructed male
tugs resolutely at the starting handle of the chainsaw of achievement.
Ripped By mstoll
Coming up - rock stars.
Is it ever too late to become one, even if you're now a 40-year-old accountant?
Scream for me, High Voltage!
(Crowd roars)
We grind a different kind of axe making our own sustainable bog roll.
Timber!
And the undead give us a hard time as we go ghostbusting.
There's something very odd going on in here, and that's not a joke.
More of that later on in the programme.
But first, one of the highlights of Man Lab Series One
was our groundbreaking bog roll alarm system.
It sounded a massive klaxon
if anyone in the khazi so much as lowered the seat when there was no paper left.
Then we could send in fresh supplies
using the Man Lab integrated railway transport solution.
(Alarm wails)
And already it's happened again.
Will, our executive producer, is on the throne and the alarm has gone off.
Unfortunately, though, this time we don't actually have any bog roll left to send him.
Obviously we could just go down to the shops and buy some more,
but where's the skill in that?
This is an 80-year-old willow tree.
The history of the willow tree is heavy with magic and mysticism.
The ancient Japanese people of the island of Hokkaido, for example,
believed that this was their ancestor tree
and that the human backbone was made of willow.
Elsewhere, the Aztecs prayed to the in-dwelling spirits of the willow tree
in the belief it would protect them from storms.
We, though, are going to wipe our backsides on it.
Not in its current form, obviously. That would be a bit scratchy.
Now, let me stress that this old willow is storm-damaged, rotten, and must be cut down.
So please, don't write in demanding an explanation with a self-addressed envelope.
That would be a waste of paper.
We're fortunate because our tree is in the middle of a field.
But you might have to do this in the garden of your small suburban semi.
So we're going to show you proper lumber jacking techniques
to ensure that the tree falls in a designated triangle of safety,
which in our case... is something like that.
To show you how confident we are of this,
we asked Will to stand right on the edge of the danger zone.
- But he was otherwise engaged. - (Alarm wails)
Hello?
A pity. He's cut out for this sort of thing.
So, first step, cut off the secondary branches on the side that the tree is going to fall on.
This will stop it bouncing off the ground and hitting you in the face.
Right, tree-felling basics.
First we go to the side of the tree facing the direction in which we want it to fall,
and we make a cut using the two-handed saw
through the trunk like that, about 20 to 30% of its thickness.
We then take the axe, and at about 45 degrees,
we chop into that to create what is known as the gob cut.
Then we go round to the other side of the tree to make the back cut
with the two-handed saw again, here, just above the line of the gob cut,
and you will recognise from the physics you did at school
that all the forces in the tree will be concentrated at the back of the gob.
So as we cut through and the tree becomes ready to fall,
it will crack and fall perpendicular to that line,
down our triangle of safety, just missing our executive producer.
So, with our heads and ears protected in case the tree suddenly explodes,
Dan and I start work on the gob cut, to silly music.
(Country banjo music)
That was a bit (Bleep), wasn't it?
Note: Antique saws are not glorious relics from a bygone age of olde worlde craftsmanship.
They're just crap.
Rhythm is very important in this, as it is in most things in life.
If I push instead of letting Dan pull, it will buckle in the middle, jam or possibly snap
or you can get a sort of sine wave travelling down the saw
which will then cause it to smack Dan in the teeth.
The problem with sticking to the traditional methods is that it takes about five hours
just to make the first cut.
But, on the other hand, it does mean you can break out
one of the first tools devised by primitive man - the axe.
I'm using it to widen up the cut we made with the saw to create our wedge-shaped gob cut.
Again, this turns out to be long and exhausting,
and after another hour, I've barely made a dent.
So more enlightened man invented the petrol chainsaw, demonstrated here by Darren,
our off-camera tree-felling expert.
I felt slightly enfeebled by my poor showing with the axe,
so Dan and I continued with ye olde methods,
making the back cut.
I then began to suspect that with our checked shirts, boots and safety hats,
we were being set up for a cheap gag.
This has no relation at all to the disco scene
of some parts of New York in the 1970s.
Better.
- (Slight creaking) - Oh, what was that?
DAN: That sounded like a big creak.
Keep going.
- (Creaking) - Oh, hang on.
DARREN: Go behind it.
Here we go! Timber!
James, go that way.
Hold on.
(Groaning and creaking)
Doesn't want to die. Here we go.
Everybody, stand back. Timber!
Whoo!
Sorry, tree.
Here we can see some of the woodlice responsible for causing all this rot, presumably.
I bet they got a bit of a shock.
Ah! What we need to do is see if our executive producer survived.
Oh, and he did. What a rotten bit of luck.
So this tree's life as a tree is now over.
It's had 80 years of being part of the scenery,
looking very beautiful as well, the loveliest of trees.
But we now have another role for it.
Here we have everything we need to rescue Will from the khazi,
or at least once it's passed through this convenient paper mill.
The sawdust from our rotten willow logs there in this bag.
I also have a few other things whose usefulness would appear to be exhausted,
but which yet may rise again as part of our bog roll.
For example, I have this pair of old jeans which I've worn out.
I have a pair of the director's jeans, which he's stopped wearing
now that he's given up rollerblading.
I have some flax wool that we found lying around the Man Lab.
Very useful for making paper.
And finally I have my paperback copy
of my colleague Richard Hammond's rather excellent autobiography, Volume 2, As You Do.
Along with some water, everything is going into this machine, a Hollander beater,
an elaborate mashing device turning all our fibres into a fluffy, moist bog roll-specific pulp.
So, in goes the sawdust from our freshly cut willow, followed by the jeans.
Strikes me this is an extremely good way of disposing of incriminating evidence
such as bogus accounts or e-mails
that show you've been bribing the police or what have you.
Inspector Clouseau himself could be on the pan
and not realise that the evidence he seeks is right next to him.
The old jeans begin their surreal journey from my arse to Will's.
One more ingredient is needed. It's not soft or particularly strong,
but it's definitely a bit on the long side.
Rather than put Richard Hammond's oeuvre in wholesale,
I thought it would be rather more dignified to make it into a series of paper boats
containing some of the best bits.
This is the one where he rescues his neighbour.
"The scissors gleamed in my hand. The taut ribbon seemed to call me forwards.
I knew that all I had to do was cut one with the other
and I'd be driving home in a new 911."
As a famous diarist once said,
I think it may have been someone like Oscar Wilde or George Bernard Shaw,
"Dear Mr Hammond, I have your book in front of me.
Soon I will have it behind me."
Let us not forget that this is being done for those in peril on the cludgie,
in particular, Will, back at Man Lab.
This is vital bog roll production work, a reserved occupation in times of war.
We're not mucking about.
As the last scraps of Hammond's magnum opus slip into the slurry depths,
our pulp is just about ready.
There it goes.
Now it's time for stage two of Operation Bogbuster.
Here is our completed pulp mixture,
or, as it's known in the trade, the stuff.
To make the stuff into paper, we use this thing,
which is the mould and the deckle.
Now, there's a knack to this and I've never done it.
But hang on. You drop it in,
give it a slight swirl, then cover it up
and then try and bring it up as level as possible,
give it a bit of a shake...
Then you transfer it over to this rather simple device here.
Place that on there. It's a sort of evacuator.
It's linked to what is really not much more than a domestic vacuum cleaner.
As you can see, that's sucking the water out.
We press down to make sure there's a good seal around the edge.
It doesn't look very good, it's a bit lumpy. But let's not worry about that.
Obviously if you were making bog roll in a big mechanised factory,
you'd make a great big continuous roll of it and then cut it up.
But we're making it by the artisanal method.
So we're making squares of bog roll.
Later we'll worry about joining it together, perforating it,
cutting it to the right width and so on.
This is the good bit, so are you watching?
This frame around the edge is called the deckle
and when I lift that off... Ha-ha!
Look at that. And then...
(Vacuum off)
We are now going to cootch this sheet of paper.
It's an old papermaker's term. It derives from the French word "coucher",
meaning, presumably, to lie down or even sleep.
Hence the song, Voulez-Vous Coucher Avec Moi Ce Soir?
Would you like to come and make some rustic artisanal paper with me this evening?
How they got a reputation for being great lovers is beyond me.
There's a bit of a knack to this, so, roll it on,
give it a bit of a press...
and... roll it off.
Ho-ho!
I bet some of you do want to coucher avec moi ce soir having seen that. Magnificent.
As each sheet is made, it joins the pile, separated by a layer of fabric for protection.
Then it's on to more pressing matters, such as pressing with the press.
My paper sheets are bigger than the ancient press, so to distribute the pressure evenly,
a sheet of wood is added, followed by these medieval timbers.
I think I'm ready to begin winding.
Listen to that. That's all the moisture coming out of our bog roll.
Despite my legendary upper body strength, there's only so far I can go without an iron bar.
Bring out the iron bar...
...which is this, which goes in the slot
and allows you to do a bit of proper, easy-labour pressing.
Making your own bog roll is not only ethical, it's also good for you.
Mm, that feels quite nice. It's quite yogic.
There you go. This allows us even more squashing.
Even Hammond's dense prose is no match for the power of pure physics,
and soon all the moisture has been squeezed from the pulp like the juice from a rotten lemon.
Here we go, then. Man Lab's first paper product.
Not quite finished, but getting close.
Ho-ho!
Is that a piece of paper?
Somebody once said,
"I have in my hand a piece of paper."
It doesn't quite promise peace in our time,
but it does promise a certain amount of relief for Will when it eventually gets to him.
I gather up my recycled and sustainable paper product and head back to the lab.
Right.
It's a bit coarse, but it'll have to do.
Look at that.
(Banging on door)
- Will? - Please hurry!
Hang on.
In order to make the perforations on our bog roll,
Simmy has cunningly sharpened points on a pizza cutter, which makes it a simple job
to perforate along the width of the paper, cut along the length
and then stick the pieces together with slightly inelegant, but it doesn't matter, glue stick.
Let's not forget, shall we, that what we are producing here came from a tree
that might otherwise have been used for nothing more than a bonfire.
- This may be a little bit crude... - (Banging on door) Hello?
...but it is the most civilising thing we have ever produced in the Man Lab
or even in society as a whole.
- Bog roll. Where would we be without it? - Is anyone there?
You can see where we'd be without it by reference to Will,
who is, in fact, stuck in the khazi.
That's where we'd be, philosophically speaking, without this stuff.
I reckon we're almost there.
- Is that good enough? - It's pretty good.
That looks sort of like a bog roll.
He won't want an orange, will he?
WILL: I can't hold on much longer! - Coming through, Will.
WILL: Mr Brown is in Reception!
WILL: Thanks, guys. (Flushes toilet)
There you go. What could be simpler?
Right, now I think I'll put a clean shirt on and then I'll reappear...
...over there.
As teenagers, most of us blokes recognised that there were only two career options open to us.
On the one hand, you could get a job.
But on the other hand, you could be a rock star.
One of these involved wearing a tie and making a cup of tea for Bob from Accounts.
But the other involved frolicking with your bandmates in a giant swimming pool
shaped like a Fender Stratocaster,
surrounded by rock chicks
reclining on sun beds made out of piles of crisp, new tenners.
But what none of us teenage dreamers realised back then
is that it's actually really difficult to become a rock star.
This is the famous zebra crossing outside the Abbey Road Recording Studios.
Over the last 50 years, how many people have crossed here,
believing they are heading for stardom?
It must be tens of thousands, I reckon.
But how many can you name for certain?
Yep, just four.
Me too.
(Rock guitar)
That is a great many broken dreams and of course a lot of wasted music.
In fact, it's estimated that if all the amateur versions of Stairway To Heaven
were played back to back,
we would become very bored indeed.
But then, as the great Paul Weller once said,
"To be someone must be a wonderful thing."
With that in mind, we at Man Lab decided to reunite some of the ex-bands
whose musical dreams died young, to give them a second shot at glory in middle age.
Out of the hundreds of failed bands who sent us their demos,
we've selected a precious handful
and invited them here to Camden's top rock toilet for a second chance at rock'n'roll stardom.
This time it won't be at their sister's 15th birthday party,
but here, on stage at High Voltage, one of Britain's biggest rock festivals,
sharing the bill with Slash, Judas Priest and Thin Lizzy.
Our hopefuls are just motley crews of middle-aged blokes with everyday jobs.
But for these bands of brothers, the dream never died.
Helping me sort the Led Zeppelins from the Shed Zeppelins
are indie DJ Steve Lamacq and Victoria from the office.
They've both got clear ideas about what makes a great band.
You're looking for that band who will be able to stand on a festival stage
and make people watch them and feel like they're part of something.
I want to be able to look at a group and not just love their tunes
but actually quite fancy, maybe, some of the musicians and singers!
People in the band have to really share the same ideals and ideas, I think.
I want a nicely dressed man who I can... yeah, who's fanciable.
They've got to feel like they're comfortable together. That's important.
I'm really looking forward to seeing these, these men.
OK, Vic, we get it.
Anyway, first band up is The Waterbratz.
They used to look like this.
They now look...like this.
We are Waterbratz! Enjoy yourselves!
(Drums start up)
♪ What's been missing from your
♪ La-la-la-life?
♪ What's been missing from your
♪ La-la-la-life?
♪ What's been missing from your
♪ Yeah, yeah, yeah
One of you's a drama teacher. One of you's a head of PR.
Him.
Clothing store. Something in IT. One's a scientist.
Is this a bit undignified now?
Yeah, but we don't mind.
I tried to do some high kicks, but I thought, "This is going to look silly."
- And it did. - And it did!
Lose marks straight away for having a Z at the end of their name. Waterbratz.
Next up, an unemployed civil servant, an IT bloke,
two designery types and a metal worker.
From Buckinghamshire, Absolution.
This is called Problem Child.
♪ There goes a man who
♪ You don't know the difference between bad or good
♪ But it's all because you're a problem child
Yeah!
That was cock rock.
Pretty good. A lot tighter than I thought it might be.
There was a very bad "Yeah" from the lead singer
at the end of the first song, which was...
He obviously regretted it even before the word had come out of his mouth.
We've got a picture. They were really young.
Look at your man's hair!
Third up, Love Fungus, who in true Spinal Tap fashion, can't even open the door.
(Laughter)
Starts well!
We're Love Fungus. This is the first time we've played together in 20 years.
Come on, lads.
(Heavy guitars)
♪ Drive away, the clouds have gathered Drive away the night
♪ Drive away all that is bad here Drive away the spite
♪ Drive until you can't drive no more Drive into the light
♪ Darkness gathered overhead, so head into the night
Thank you.
I liked the songs actually. But you're now a national account manager in construction.
- (Laughter) - I am, yeah.
- Is that... - (Laughter)
You couldn't really get - forgive me for saying this -
but you couldn't get further from your dream of rock stardom
than looking after the accounts of building projects.
I have a Love Fungus poster that Matt drew. It's on my wall. I walk past it every time...
It's on my bedroom wall. And not a day goes by when I don't think what could have happened.
In your notes, it says it was a way of getting noticed by girls.
Well, we were 17, 18-year-olds.
So you'd still have quite a lot to offer maybe a maturer woman?
- Yeah. - Absolutely.
- What is the exact nature of your question? - (Laughter)
While we send Vic for a cold shower,
two engineers, a drama teacher and a film editor take the stage.
Hello, Camden! We are The Captain Pugwash Experience
and you're about to experience us.
♪ Mrs Mangle ♪ Mangle
♪ Lead me to your houseboat
♪ Mrs Mangle ♪ Mangle
(Plays kazoo)
Are you to some extent a parody?
Possibly. Yeah.
♪ Don't sleep tomorrow
♪ Mother's got her suitcase packed
♪ Mother's upstairs, she's crying on her own
It's a lifetime ambition, and to get a shot at it at this stage of life
when you think it's a long-gone daddy, again, is wonderful.
So your band contains three Andys and one Scott?
- Scott. - And Scott isn't here.
A couple of days ago we had one of our old tiffs at rehearsal
and he literally stormed off.
So we are actually here witnessing a reformed band
already in the process of breaking up?
Finally, climbing the stairs to potential superstardom,
our last bunch of ordinary blokes,
also known as The Scarey Men.
Go, sir.
Thank you. We're The Scarey Men from Durham and this one's called Beautiful Girl.
♪ You're still my beautiful girl
♪ Still my beautiful girl
You're not very scary, you Scarey Men, are you, really?
Thanks very much.
You're quite sort of, what my mum would call nice lads.
And so we've seen all six of our bands, but only one can make it through
to the main stage at High Voltage and play to a crowd of thousands.
After careful deliberation, we call them back in to announce our final verdict.
Right...
Thank you very much for doing this. It's been very difficult.
We think you should all reform.
You should all play together some more.
And you will, I think, inspire other bands in garages and pubs
and other bands that have split up
and are full of regret and wish they could be back together, to do that.
So that is a great service you've all done.
But... there can only be one band that goes forwards.
And that band is...
...Love Fungus.
So, Love Fungus will make the giant leap from pub to festival stage,
despite a short intervening fallow period.
First time we've been in a room together for 20 years,
so I think after that, anything can happen now.
Playing a festival is going to be awesome. I'm gonna love it.
I can't even imagine it.
We've never done a big gig in front of a lot of people, have we?
It'll just let everybody else hear our songs, which will be nice.
If we get bottled off, great. If we don't and they cheer us, even better!
We've plucked just one band from the endless boulevard of broken dreams,
and I'm beginning to wonder how Simon Cowell sleeps at night.
What we're doing here is a good thing, of course,
because we're getting people to play together again after ten or 20 years,
and that can't be bad.
But at the same time it's slightly cruel because we're poking an old ghost with a pointy stick
and then running away.
Then we leave every one these bands with the most dreadful thing in the human condition,
which is the contemplation of what might have been.
I was in a band once.
Coming up later, the band takes centre stage at High Voltage.
PA: Love Fungus are entering the arena!
Thankfully they're not feeling at all nervous about it.
More of all that later,
but first the findings of the latest Man Lab survey into your irrational fears.
From this, we learn that 23% of you are scared of spiders,
whilst only 3% are scared of dogs.
Meanwhile, 26% of you are scared of "other".
Amongst the more irrational fears detailed here are the nuclear holocaust,
vacuum cleaners, Darth Vader and bin juice.
But here is the most terrifying of all our findings.
40% of you, it seems, are scared of something that probably doesn't even exist - ghosts.
This has got to stop.
(Scary organ music, hound howls)
This is Lympne Castle in Kent, supposedly one of the most haunted places in England.
I've come here to face up to the ghosts,
and in doing so, learn how to overcome any irrational fear.
My view on ghosts is this.
I'm not prepared to dismiss them entirely.
I don't believe in the idea of tortured souls wandering the world,
wearing the chains they forged in life and all that nonsense.
But I can accept that there may be such a thing as an apparition,
a recording of some very significant or emotionally charged event
left in the fabric of the world
that can be replayed to certain people under certain conditions.
And if you look at it like that, apparitions are no more remarkable
than the television you're watching now,
which is naught but a magic picture show with no substance whatsoever.
Being scared of phantoms is a bit like being scared of Ant and Dec.
And so with that in mind, we're proposing to spend the night at the castle,
while I, along with Tom, the director, will wander the darkened corridors
testing out Britain's most popular fear-reduction techniques.
Lympne castle has a history that stretches all the way back to Roman times,
so there should be ample opportunity to come face-to-face with a ghastly spectre.
All we need is the right kit.
This is Lympne Castle's Great Hall, scene of much ribaldry
and roast boars' heads over many centuries.
In here, I'm going to install this very simple motion detector, a sort of infra-red device.
You put the transmitter here, and over here I put the receiver.
And then, if anything from this world or the next, or the one before us,
comes through this room, it will simply...
(Alarm rings)
...do that.
It's quite unearthly, actually, isn't it?
(Alarm off)
And, of course, all the time we're in here,
we are being monitored along with anybody or anything else that is in here
by these permanently fixed cameras up on the wall there.
Right, follow me.
There is one man who knows these corridors like no other,
one man who laughs in the face of terror daily,
all the while keeping the silverware at a professional polish...
...Rod the Caretaker.
So how long have you been here, Rod?
Off and on, about ten years, actually.
Really? And how many strange and inexplicable things have you experienced?
Personally, only about... three.
- Such as? - Four?
Strange feelings.
A thing catches you out the corner of your eye.
When you see things move and you think, "Is that someone just gone by there?"
And what about other people who have been here,
cos you've had quite a few ghosthunters and mediums?
- Oh, yeah, they see a lot. - What sort of thing?
They see everything from...
We've had children, housekeepers, gardeners,
Roman soldiers, Canadian soldiers, American soldiers,
monks, dead monks,
erm... women, grey ladies...
The full list went on for some time, and, if nothing else,
it convinced me that we'd come to the right place.
So, as the sun set and the full moon rose in the sky like a leering skull,
I assembled my team.
We are now ready to go ghostbusting and not be afraid.
Tom here has a handheld infra-red camera.
I have a head-mounted infra-red camera. I think we're ready.
After me? Right.
Is anybody there?
Observing our progress from the safety of the sitting room
is Rebecca from the Man Lab and Nigel, our medical expert.
Nigel will be measuring our fear levels,
while Rebecca is standing by with a list of popular fear-busting techniques.
We're wearing heart-monitoring watches that will go off
every time our heart rate exceeds 75% of the maximum,
meaning we're in the fear zone and must test out a calming technique.
Right, this way?
If you take a right down the corridor. Down here. This is a kitchen.
There is something slightly spooky about a kitchen,
especially an old one like this.
These tiles have witnessed a lot of presumably quite terrible cooking over the centuries.
Spam fritters.
Poor quality sausages.
Bits of children. That sort of thing.
(Drawn-out creak)
I don't think he's going to cope very well.
JAMES: (Whispers) What's up there? TOM: Stairs.
- Is that the library? - Yes.
I keep thinking, if we're really quiet, we can sneak up on the ghosts.
Right. That's a good plan.
(Thud)
Sorry, that was me.
(Suppressed laughter)
James is a bit more scared than Tom.
Here we go. 74...
- 74%. - The alarm is just about to...
So, five minutes in, he's already almost there.
(Monitor beeps)
My heart rate's just gone up.
- James? - (Beeping)
- Hello. - You're over your maximum heart rate.
Please do some breathing exercises.
JAMES: For example?
Place one hand on the abdomen and one on the chest.
Then focus on trying to raise the lower hand and not the one on the chest when breathing.
I've absolutely no idea what she's on about.
- That's good. It's working. - It's working.
(Whispers) Isn't it just because I've stood still and not run up the stairs?
Probably.
For another two hours,
we blunder about the castle encountering not so much as a supernaturally bent spoon.
But when we head to the Great Hall, a terrible surprise awaits.
So Tom's quite high. Tom's at 60%.
- (Whispering) That's the Great Hall. - Yes.
TOM: What was that? JAMES: What?
- What's that noise, way ahead there? - Where?
- Imagination is the worst thing. - I know.
- That's just a doorway. - I heard something further through.
TOM: Off you go.
There!
What the bloody hell is that?
That was a bit horrible.
TOM: What was that? JAMES: Did you hear that?
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
That was in there. What is in there?
- (Alarm rings abruptly) - Urgh! Flippin' Nora!
Urgh! (Laughs)
TOM: Stop it! JAMES: Be reasonable. That's just our alarm.
(Alarm continues to ring)
(Alarm off)
- I want a heart-rate check, please. - (Bleeps)
Oh, bloody hell.
What was happening in there?
Don't know, but I heard or saw something.
107, Tom. 122, James.
There's something very odd going on in here, and that's not a joke.
I don't like it! (Laughs)
REBECCA: I want you to stay in the Great Hall, please.
(Beep)
What's it... What's beeped?
- I've gone above my limit. - You'll have to tell.
REBECCA: We want you to go back to the Great Hall and try to...
(Gasps) What the (Bleep) was that?
TOM: Something behind you! JAMES: Yeah, I did. I saw it.
(Bleep!)
REBECCA: OK, I want you to do a relaxation technique.
You're kidding! There's weird stuff going on!
Could you see that?
Here we go. Breathe.
Breathe, OK? What I want you to do is calm down. I want you to do some yoga.
Yoga? The restless dead are on our heels, woman.
- Did you see that thing? - Yeah, what was it?
I've no idea. I might have caught it on tape, but it went straight behind you.
In fact, the identity of our mystery assailant...
(Bleep)
...was revealed after close inspection of the CC TV footage to be a startled bat.
Still, at least we retained our scientific detachment.
(Bleep!) What was that?
- I saw it! - (Bleep!)
God above!
Simply sit on the floor with your knees spread
and bottoms of your feet pressed together or wrapped round your legs.
Your knees are slightly lifted off the ground. And breathe.
Tom's heart-rate monitor went so far off the scale
that he's actually managed to break the thing.
Five minutes of yoga reduces our fear rates by 15%.
But as this is immediately counterbalanced by a 15% increase in embarrassment,
we decide to move on to a new pre-emptive technique - flooding.
Flooding involves exposing us to so much of the thing we're scared of
that we'll be immune to anything the castle throws at us.
We've enlisted Hayward Morse,
one of the UK's most popular narrators of horror stories.
"'Take thy beak from out my heart and take thy form from off my door.'
Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore."'
The only problem is, my heart rate increases and continues to climb.
Time to counteract this with an old fear-bashing favourite - Dutch courage.
"The figure whipped round, stood for an instant at the side of the bed, raised its arms
and with a hoarse scream of "You've got it! ..."
Suitably flooded with both scary stories and Cabernet,
it's time to venture out once again into the blackness.
We decide to return to the Great Hall, having disabled the alarms,
and head for the Roman period eastern tower.
This is where we thought we heard those strange noises
'just before our encounter with the bat.
This tower is actually quite spooky.
I don't believe in anything like that, but it's actually quite atmospheric.
I don't like this picture.
What the hell's going on there?
A weird priest person and...
It's sort of like an amateur Hieronymus Bosch
with Oz Clarke in the middle of it.
TOM: It's quite spooky.
James, your heart rate's going up. I want you to start singing.
So he's going to do that. Soldiers used to sing going into battle, cos it really calms you down.
I think it releases endorphins.
(Hums in mock cheerfulness)
♪ I'm not scared
(Continues to hum)
TOM: (Whispers) I just heard a noise. JAMES: What?
I just heard something in here.
I can hear that.
(Monitor beeps)
I don't mind admitting the hairs stood up on the back of my neck when I heard a noise.
Definitely.
Tom is so convinced that he heard something
that we decide to forgo our calming exercises and sit and listen.
- (Light thud) - Can you hear that?
I can hear footsteps really clearly.
- (Light tap) - What in the hell is that?
Tom's has gone up now.
James, what the (Bleep) was that? What was that noise?
I don't know. Shall we go down?
Yeah, let's go down. Be careful down the stairs.
Tom's breathing really heavily.
James just went over.
Definitely heard footsteps.
Nothing down here. Something was going on up there.
- Rebecca to Tom. - Shut up!
I just heard footsteps again on these stairs.
On these ones? Ha!
- It's Rod the Caretaker. - Oh!
Yes, our supernatural footsteps
turned out to be a combination of a flag flapping on the tower
and Rod making a cup of tea in a mysterious way.
And so, after a long night of terror, our ordeal was finally over.
So, what have we learned? Well, firstly, that there are techniques
for dealing with that inner sense of mounting panic, such as deep breathing or singing,
like the sailors of old.
More importantly, we've learned that this thing of which 40% of us claim to be very scared,
ie, ghosts, are actually just demons of our own minds,
temporarily hosted by the darkness of a creaky old house.
So it seems that Franklin D Roosevelt was right
when he said, "We have nothing to fear but fear itself."
Although, some later research conducted in the 1970s
by Hanna and Barbera
suggested we have nothing to fear but the caretaker.
Ah, yes. Morganstar89 writes to say,
"I'm always losing screwdrivers and Allen keys.
It drives me crackers. Can you help?"
Well, as a matter of fact, er, Morganstar89,
yes, we can, because I have a similar problem at home, where I have this.
It's known as the bowl of many things,
and in it I keep all those things
that have no acknowledged or accepted home within the home.
For example, my flageolet, my Ninja death star,
a spanner that's very important for adjusting cupboard doors in the kitchen,
some keys, this spare padlock for the little shed outside
and indeed some Allen keys.
However, we have recognised that there is an area of potential storage
within every home that is greatly under-utilised, and here it is.
Welcome to the Man Lab ceiling storage solution,
a mere magnetic folly that you could attach to any ceiling anywhere
and that will keep very safe for you this spanner.
See? On the ceiling.
Up it goes. You know where it is forever.
We have this little pair of nail clippers and I can never find them.
I will be able to find them when they are up there.
So, how do you create this simple yet extraordinary storage device?
Well, a sheet of mild steel is covered with a uniform grid of 460 magnets,
each capable of holding a kilogram.
This way the whole sheet is magnetised.
We screw that to a board and then hang it from the ceiling.
Now, if you're interested, those magnets up there are the Neodymium type.
They're very strong and they never lose their magnetism.
You can get them from magnet websites on the internet.
It is worth remembering too that the magnet has been a great contributor to civilisation.
Without it, we wouldn't have the magnetic resonance imaging scanner, the MRI scanner,
nor the electric motor, and life would not be as good.
Anyway, the eagle-eyed amongst you will have noticed
that only half of our ceiling storage solution is magnetic.
The other half is a mysterious black cloth.
It is, in fact, a very sophisticated type of hook-and-eye material,
or Velcro as you would know it, and you can take, for example, this hat,
which I hardly ever wear.
Well, that's got a home.
Here's an interesting one.
My ancient and beloved faded pale-blue T-shirt
which I've had for the best part of 20 years.
Obviously the T-shirt would stick to the Velcro,
but then it would become rather crumpled and we wouldn't want to spoil its appearance.
So I've put it on a hanger. The hanger is of course made of mild steel,
so that should stick to the magnets.
And there it is. "How do you get these things down?"
I hear you cry as one from the collective sofa of the nation.
Well, what you do is you equip yourself with one of these grabbers.
So, you need a hat? There is a hat.
You need some Allen keys? Well, there they are.
Simply grab them and bring them down.
The only problem I can think of is, where do you store this?
Anyway, whilst I think about that,
let's see how Love Fungus are getting on.
Earlier, we auditioned six bands whose dreams of rock stardom expired two decades ago,
crushed under the weight of proper jobs.
We were in a position to give one of them a last stab at glory.
There can only be one band that goes forwards, and that band is...
...Love Fungus.
First time we've been in a room together for 20 years,
so I think, after that, anything can happen now.
So, Love Fungus convinced us,
but next, they would have to win over the crowd at High Voltage...
...one of the UK's biggest rock festivals.
Neil Armstrong made a giant leap on behalf of all humanity
when he set foot on the Moon,
but I think Love Fungus today are going to make a comparable one
when they stride straight from a pub in the mid '90s to that,
the main stage of the High Voltage music festival 2011,
and without embracing any of the rubbish in-between,
none of the bent managers, dodgy contracts, difficult third albums.
None of that stuff. They've just risen straight to the top like a bubble of fetid marsh gas.
We're Love Fungus.
♪ Drive away, the clouds have gathered...
After 20 years, I couldn't remember the songs and I couldn't remember the lyrics.
I think all of us harboured ambitions of being rock stars.
Everybody does when you're that age, really.
How many people are going to be there?
I don't know. What's the ticket sales?
30,000. 30,000 sold so far.
- Are you going to be sick? - No.
Sounds like you're going to be.
There was 12 people at our last gig, wasn't there? Maximum.
Since Love Fungus, the jobs that I've done have involved mainly bar work.
Bit of excitement and a little bit of nerves.
(Laughter)
I'm looking forward to seeing Brian May again.
Who's Brian May? (Laughs)
James May. Don't put that on!
Sadly, Brian May won't be at High Voltage this year, but no matter.
As performers, Love Fungus enter the festival not through the public gates,
but through the backstage entrance.
- Have a good day, guys. - Where are we going?
Just to let you know, Love Fungus is coming over.
Love Fungus! (Laughs)
Do I regret Love Fungus not making it big? Every single day of my life.
I liked the songs, actually, but you're now a national account manager in construction.
Forgive me for saying this, but you couldn't get a lot further from your dream of rock stardom
than looking after the accounts of building projects.
As a national account manager, I'm all over the country.
Would I rather be driving around on tour in a tour bus or a van? Yeah, absolutely.
To play in front of a big crowd would be just the most incredible experience.
It would be something that would be, you know, life-changing, I think.
- Morning, chaps. - Morning, James. How's it going?
- Very good. You all right? - Yes. Not too bad.
- Are you nervous about it? - No.
At the minute, no.
- I must admit I am a little bit. - It's nerves or excitement.
This is incredible. This is...
Sitting backstage at a festival is living the dream we had 20 years ago.
Being a newly-deified rock god
means smashing your way through the rider in the dressing room
before schmoozing with your rock contemporaries
in as disaffected and hip a way as possible.
- So, 20 years since your last gig? - Yes.
- 21. - 21?
And somebody stopped the gig halfway through to ask if anyone had ordered a taxi.
OK, so no tellies have gone in swimming pools yet,
but at least The Fungoids now have the chance to get some tips from the rock establishment.
No-one's really prepared for anything, so you just go in and... throw yourself to the slaughter.
Never let the audience know you've made a mistake.
Never let them know you're having a wobbler.
Just enjoy it, that's all you've got to do.
If you enjoy it and the crowd are with you, then great.
And if not, get off as quick as you can!
- (Laughter) - Leg it!
And the band aren't the only ones needing guidance.
As the first punters arrive onsite like the beginning of a patchouli-scented landslide...
(Roars)
...I'm starting to get a bit nervous too.
I have to introduce the boys onstage,
and if I can't get the crowd pumped up, I could ruin their day.
They're quite nervous, actually. They're very excitable, but nervous.
It's not much, but if I can just go out and say, "Ladies and gentlemen, Love Fungus,"
they'll think, "Oh, right!"
- They need a big intro, though, I think. - How big?
Well, as heavy metal as you can make it. Action-packed...
Action-packed, brief, loud, confident, foot on wedge.
- Yeah. - The only bit I'm worried about is foot on wedge.
I think if you're going with the foot up, it's the opposite hand up.
- See what I'm saying? - You can't do that, can you?
- That's a bit country-and-western! - Yeah.
Can I do a bit of practice foot on wedge?
I'm sure we've got something around here.
Maybe you could get a minion just to get down...
- Stick it on the... - A foot on their back.
Just then Rory, Man Lab's callow youth,
took the ill-advised decision to walk past where we were standing.
But he won't mind this. We've been walking all over him for weeks.
- So just walk out? - Yeah.
- How's that? - Yeah, nice.
Very good.
Thanks to the selfless Rory, I'm perfectly prepared for my big moment.
All good. You were great.
- Thanks, Rory. - Thank you.
Have the rest of the day off.
High Voltage!
- Go. - Let's go.
TANNOY: Love Fungus are entering the arena.
(All laugh)
Love Fungus are entering the arena.
- Right, it's that way, I believe. - OK.
To the 13 steps up to glory.
Here, then, at the foot of the stairway to rock heaven, is Love Fungus.
The ghost of their ambition has been locked in an old guitar case
under the stairs for 20 years, and now it's been opened.
Just calm. Look, it's just a gig. It's what you do.
Lads, let's enjoy this, come on.
No, you must, you must. I'm trying to think what to say to you. It doesn't...
It's only rock 'n' roll, it doesn't... Oh, thank you. (Nervous groan)
How do I turn it on?
- Are you ready, guys? - Yeah.
Come upstairs.
We've got to go up the stairs. Come on, lads, upstairs.
Later the stage will be host to Slash, Judas Priest and Thin Lizzy.
Total record sales, 150 million.
It's only a gig. You're just playing musical instruments.
But for now, and for the only time in history,
this arena belongs to a salesman, a national account manager,
a graphic designer, a teaching assistant
and a nurse. Rock on!
- (Cheering increases) - Come on. Go.
(Whistling and cheering)
Scream for me, High Voltage!
(Enthusiastic cheering)
This band split up in 1991 over musical differences
and because someone had stolen the steering wheel from their van.
(Laughter)
They reformed two days ago... and nobody noticed.
But you're gonna notice now! Give it up for Love Fungus!
(Wild cheering and whistling)
- OK. Ready, lads? - (Cymbals and heavy guitars)
♪ Well, I was wondering, what shall we do?
♪ And I was contemplating, what's two and two?
♪ And I was mesmerised and then I was you
♪ And I was sitting here Simply blue, that's true
♪ But drive away those clouds that gather
♪ Drive away the night
♪ Drive away all that is bad Hey, drive away the spite
♪ Drive until you can't drive on Drive into the night
♪ Dark clouds will gather overhead So head into the light
This is an inspiration to anyone, anywhere.
In the words of AC/DC, let there be light,
let there be sound, let there be drums,
let there be guitars.
Oh, let there be rock!
- The singer's quite punky, like, quite lairy. - Yeah, he is.
Pretty good.
♪ I can feel you and I need you
♪ But I wanna be you because I love you
♪ Oh, yeah!
The glorious resprouting of The Fungus
is a message to all men stuck in daily drudgery across the nation.
Take up thy guitar. You're never too old to dream.
♪ Ha ha ha ha
♪ Ha ha haa-aaa
(Whistling and cheering)
(Final drums and chord)
Thanks very much!
Cheers, that was absolutely amazing. You guys are great. Enjoy the rest of your day.
Experience some fantastic bands that are here for you, OK?
We're Love Fungus. Cheers.
Cheers, James.
Brilliant work. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.
- Come on! - Bit sweaty, sorry, James.
- Cheers, ta. - I'm very proud of them.
Bloody hell, man.
Good? Did you enjoy that?
That was terrific.
My heart swelled with pride when I saw you out there. I was... I was moved. I was.
(Cheering and clamour)
We had Hendrix at Monterey.
We had The Who on the Isle of Wight, The Beatles at the Hollywood Bowl.
But now we've had Love Fungus at the High Voltage festival.
And in 30 years' time, people who weren't here
will claim that they were.
Let us not forget that Love Fungus are not merely some reunited, happy band of brothers.
They, and thousands of bands before them, actually changed the course of musical history.
Because if it hadn't been for the invention of the electric guitar,
the ukulele craze that swept America in the 1940s
would have continued unabated to this day.
And now your MP3 player would be filled not with rock music,
but with the happy sounds of Hawaiian ukulele bands.
Imagine that.
Goodbye.
Ripped By mstoll