She’s a Griggle Princess! Twitter is a funny old thing. Who’d have ever imagined that one day there would be a medium by which you could trace a celebrities every move without the need of a good old fashioned pair of sun glasses and binoculars. Course, there are certain celebrities that are more interesting than others, the Twitter spewings of whom, I peruse every now and then to break up the monotony of refreshing Teri Hatchers feed every 2 seconds waiting for her to comment on the latest Grig Orig article/propose to me.
Let’s see if these Twittering gaming personalities from the days of yesteryear ring any bells.
Former Games Master presenter, Dominik Diamond put in a decent shift as a gaming spokesperson when consoles began hitting the big time, managing to successfully hold his vomit down when Dave Perry was in the studio, joshing with Natalie Imbruglia when she was still Beth in Neighbours, and also got to meet Jet from Gladiators, no doubt comparing Sonic speed-run times. Now residing in Canada following a stint driving buses in Brighton, Diamond now hosts a radio breakfast show while not home on his farm tending to his veg-based sproutings. Yikes. If that’s a phase we all hit at a certain age, I’m not looking forward to it. Unless my plantation of Megadrive games kicks in some time soon.
Diamond from back in his Games Master days. The toxic green hue to his side suggests a Future Publishing employee is likely to be present.
Anyhoo, his twitter feed is full of pictures of radio stuff, band stuff, and his beard. Mentions Pearl Jam at one point which is commendable. Although there is this pic of something to do with games.
‘Found this in garage. In 1981 I devoured every page. Not knowing 10 years later these things would launch my career!’ he says. Funny what stuff you chance upon from the days of yesteryear that you realise has shaped your life. Oh look, here’s my copy of Falling Down.
Early gaming-girl and accomplice to the great gaming fraudster that was Andy Crane, the former Bad Influence presenter has taken to Twitter with glee!
One of the few pics of the B.I duo where Berlin doesn’t have a look of disappointment on her face. Though the head tilt’s a give away. Urgh… Crane. Just look at him. Somewhere there’s an episode of Fraggle Rock missing a cast member.
With a colossal 856 followers under her belt, Violets feed is at least chock-full of gaming goodness, featuring pics of an all manner of goodies from both past and present. Sort of. I mean, there are a couple of shots of some Gameboys and stuff apparently belonging to her Dad. Probably would have been a better copresenter by the sound of it than you know who.
Wait… are those real? Or are they reproduction arcade cab decals?
We here at Grig have no beef with her, and though she did spouteth the odd misdemeanour on occasion – Guiles stage is NOT Kens backdrop – she was mostly harmless, and would be welcome at a crack on one of Grig Towers Sega urinals should she so desire a punt.
Having cast off the Dolph Lundgram barnet and replaced it with what I can only describe as about three different haircuts in one, she is looking a lot more dignified post-Bad Influence, even if she is wearing one of Hulk Hogans T-shirts backwards. And especially now she’s rid of…
Shudder. Now we don’t want to get too down on this guy. But what we will say is that he was once replaced and bettered by Andi Peters. Let that register for a minute. Good grief…
Crane: Suffering indignity again as he plays second fiddle to Ed the duck.
Andy Crane was that classic presenter in over his head, a bit like Gail Porter when she was on that cack-fest of a show, Dot Comedy, where it was painfully apparent that she wasn’t funny. In a similar manner, Andy Crane was painfully awkward to watch, clearly having no idea about the shows subject matter. I mean, I would have no problem had he humbly have gotten on with his job – I mean I doubt Rachel Riley gives a rats rectum about Countdowns conundrums either – but then she didn’t feign that she did.
Rachel Riley. For the purposes of identification, clearly. Giddy aunt…
Andy Crane, however, made out he was some kind of gaming pro, often picking up a pad and turning into some kind of twitching madman, his body jarring awkwardly from side to side as he leered at the screen while his fingers hammered any and all buttons without rhyme or reason. At the time I was still on the fence about how realistic I believed WWF to be, but this? I had no doubt. This guy was no gamer. He didn’t have a clue at all. The accompanying cries of ‘Yes!’ that he would utter after a brief five second interaction in said manner I used to find particularly enraging, and my thoughts lay with whatever poor game it was that they were keeping the camera away from. The confusion on the gathered kids faces as they probably endured watching Sonic writhe and contort in a burst of Cranes madness was apparent to see. This is who we had fighting our corner? Talk about friendly fire. And after watching D.J Crane-O on Bad Influence, I doubt there’s a man in land who would turn down being put out of his misery anyway.
Another accomplice in the heinous televisual crime. Nam Rood, or ‘door man’ spelled backwards, was some kind of crap variant of the Games Master handing out cheats to the young whippersnappers of the day. The scrawled cheats he would stick on his head may have had use to some, but at the end of the day, this in-house code cracker is unlikely to be troubling the Zodiac killers cryptograms anytime soon. Unless they were printed in the magazines of the era where Bad Influence clearly were pinching them. Is he on twitter? Is it even worth looking?
Anyway, back to Crane. In his years since Bad Influence, he’s had numerous TV and Radio slots, keeping his Partridge-like dream alive. But it’s his alleged rebirth on the relaunched Good Morning Britain that has me worried. Suddenly the endless episodes of Peppa Pig on Chanel 5’s hyperactively presented Milkshake seem all the more appealing.
Dance for me Olivia! Dance until you can’t dance no more! Anything to keep me from switching over out of sick curiosity for the travesty Crane is no doubt unleashing upon the nation on ITV!
And yes, his Twitter feed makes for a painful read. Imagine this article, but worse.
Jet from Gladiators
Now I know I’ve already covered this before… but it is Jet from Gladiators, which basically means that no amount of coverage is too much. The former face of the Gladiators, and more relevantly, the Games Mistress, has landed on Twitter like a graceful flamingo.
Still waiting to hear back after Grig Orig put our proposal to her regarding taking up her role of tips japester once again, at least we now have another means of communication with her other than mere phone calls, emails, and turning up unannounced at her house. But what’s this ‘User has blocked you’ messaging fandango that keeps cropping up whenever we try and message her? Twitter must be playing up or something.
All this Jet talk is inspiring me to dig out my briefcase which still boasts a breathtaking Jet montage stuck in the bottom of it from 1993 for the delectation of the Grig. Some people bury time capsules, I have my briefcase with a Jet collage. And if there’s a more accurate depiction of relevant matters of the time, I’d be hard pressed to believe it until I saw it.
One more for good measure. You know, I always thought she’d make a good Blaze if they’d ever made a Streets of Rage movie. Think I’ll send her that suggestion just incase Twitter’s been fixed.
And on a completely unrelated note, before we go, let’s briefly delve into a quick ‘best of’-style highlight reel from Teri Hatchers Twitter account for no reason at all.
‘ I hate being a silly tourist!’ Hatcher declares, bravely glossing over the panic call to authorities she was making after she clocked the boys from Grig Orig pulling up across the road in the Grig Mobile during last years UK visit. All charges were dropped, despite the coincidental Hatcher circa ’94-’96 shrine that was mounted in the boot and unearthed after the car was searched.
‘Found this old DH photo. Plastercasting my body.Hope fans like to see the artistic process.’
I love art. I grigging love it. In fact, I’m a collector, and I would like nothing more than owning a piece of this ‘work’ myself. Am yet to hear back after I Tweeted Teri about preorders, but at least my DNA extraction kit and swabs have already arrived.
‘This is how good #TrueDetective is Even my dog Jack can’t stop watching’ Teri spouts. Good point, well made. Course dogs also lick their own undercarriages, nose other dogs ring pieces and often eat their own faeces, but we’ll ignore that in light of more pressing matters. For example, note under the TV the abundance of blackness. Using the Grig Orig bat-computer we have managed to transcend the darkness, enhancing and enlarging the image and can report that there’s a full compliment of Sega consoles under there, ranging from Master System to Saturn. And just in case you were about to tweet her over the lack of 128-bit Sega love, yes, there is a special edition black Dreamcast. And no, you can’t see the evidence of this claim.
It’s funny how life turns out. One day you’re Lois Lane, independent career woman of the 1990’s, the next, you’re living in a slum, rifling through your own filth trying to shift enough crap to afford a can of Cross and Blackwells meatballs for your weeks supper.
‘I feel like a Xmas elf. Wrapping all the auction items for the JAA Celeb yard sale’.
Nice coverup. Course, this is far from a desirable yard sale batch, as after examining every pixel of this shot for the best part of two days, I can confirm there’s not one excess copy of Megadrive Sonic, box devoid Game Gear with atrociously scratched screen, nor any item of Sega paraphernalia from her personal collection at all. In fact, I’d hasten to say, if this was a boot fair lot, Hatcher would struggle to make back her pitch fee. A signed picture of Lois and Clark? Grig off. Throw your CIB Alien Soldier in the mix for 50p and then we’ll talk.
‘Till next time. Pip pip!
Highest quality journalism – and also good evidence: from a trial for harassment perspective… We’re so generous to the gentlemen of her majesty’s constabulary – dishing them up a whole website of recriminations and filthy guilt. But sniff away officers! You’ll never find out our real identities!