A bloke I used to work with was a student in Cambridge and, late for a lecture once, he was hooning through crowded streets on his bike. Suddenly the seas parted and he ploughed straight into Hawking in his chariot.
No lasting damage done apparently; I’ve always just been amused by the idea of him sat there, twenty minutes later, spelling out ‘YOU UTTER FUCKING CUNT’ in that robot voice.
bullseye was a really superb programme. as a child i occasionally half hankered after being a contestant one day, as a general knowledge buff rather than arrow slinger, in the time honoured tradition of the show i very definitely did not possess any kind of 'double play' threat.
one of these days i'd like to calculate the frequency with which the most valuable top prize [a car] was given to winners [who generally seemed to get something less valuable such as a holiday, dinner set, or similar] as opposed to filed under 'look at what you could've won'.