[Tommy Steele sits opposite the presenter in the studios at Woking FM, overflowing with chirpy cheeky cockneyness. One arm is in plaster and his headphones have been extended to cover a large blood-stained bandage, after an interview the previous day, at Prestwick Airport]

TOMMY: Wot a mouf that Bill Kenwright, eh! …Swore on oaf never to reveal my secret day out in London wiv Elvis…. It’s so painful, I can’t bring misself to talk about it.

PRESENTER: In that case, how much of a thrill is it to be playing Doctor Dolittle here in Woking?

TOMMY: Anyway, I gets this long-distance, reverse-charge phone call, an’ next minute, there ee’ was, standin’ on mi landin’, doin’ requests for the missus. Polished an’ entire banisters wiv one pelvic thrust. [the presenter remains expressionless, failing to recognise the true value of stereotyped 1950s Cockney wit]. Then all of a sudden, sez ‘ee wants to fulfil a lifelong ambition, an’ work in a chip shop.

PRESENTER: Are you still very popular with children?

TOMMY: So next thing, there ‘ee was, standin’ at the counter, servin’ deep-fried battered cod, and singing “When Your Heartaches Begin”. Coincidentally, same night, in comes the muvver of Kirsty MacColl.

PRESENTER: Do you have any genuine proof of this? Apart from the fact that it’s in the Daily Mail.

TOMMY [waving document]: ‘Ere, look. Still got the phone bill. Only one person rang me that quarter. Cuz I was between agents, y’understand. ‘Arf  a sixpence for the call, and 148 quid for the service charge. You can’t get more authentic than that.

PRESENTER: Something more believable, perhaps, Like a photograph of the King, sharing a whelk with a beefeater on the roof of St. Paul’s Cathedral.

TOMMY: It became a nice little earner. Turns out there was this huge gap in the market for stage and screen idols wiv an urgent longing to be working clarse Londoners for a day.

PRESENTER: Like who?

TOMMY: We ‘ad Dean Martin runnin’ an off-licence, Rock Hudson as a hair stylist… and Stevie Wonder was a postman in Barking. Invented this random new delivery system, which they still use today.

PRESENTER: You’re not worried about the press fabricating ridiculous stories then?

TOMMY: Marlyn Monroe was a station announcer on the Underground, when she could remember the lines. She used to cover the microphone with ‘er hot, rhythmic, pantin’ breath, and say “the next pwiddy liddle twain appwoaching, boys, is not in service”. At which point the entire Northern Line went into meltdown and an Italian men's gymnastics team tossed themselves off the main escalator.

PRESENTER: Did these people require a lot of training?

TOMMY: Some actors were naturals, surprisingly. ‘Arpo Marx made 25 appearances as a professional goalkeeper, before people realised ‘e wasn’t Scottish.

PRESENTER: Are you still running this operation?

TOMMY: Nah, they just started takin’ the piss - like when Dick Van Dyke become a chimney-sweep. Some people just don’t know their limits. Did I tell you I was playin’ the part of Edith Piaf at the Palladium in Minehead?