The only time I met Eric Morecambe he gave me something very precious: a joke.

No doubt he gave almost everyone he met their very own private Morecambe joke. From what I know of him, he had a compulsion, an almost psychotic urge to make quips, to hear laughter. But what made this joke unusual was that he never even heard my laughter.

I should say that the first time I had seen Eric Morecambe in the flesh was in 1976, when I was fourteen, at the Alexandra Theatre, Birmingham. I am rather proud of the fact that the first time I ever went to the theatre by myself it was to see Eric and Ernie doing one of their live appearances in the 1970s. We got Ray Alan and Lord Charles, music from an ageing, silver-haired male pianist, a juggler of some sort and The Beverley Sisters.

The second half of the show belonged to Eric and Ernie. In the mid-1970s, Morecambe & Wise were of course at the top-most peak of their career. The show they performed that night contained material they must have performed thousands of times over the years and yet, magically, it all seemed fresh-minted, almost improvised. Eric in particular had the great gift for making everything he said seem like a spontaneous quip off the top of his head.

I shall never forget him flapping his hands in his trouser pockets with that far-away, ‘I’m not all there’ look in his eyes, Ernie just watching him, the audience howling with laughter. It was a moment when time stood still: it could have gone on for ten seconds or ten minutes, that simple bit of business. Even now I cannot tell you why it was so funny. You just had to be there, I suppose.

In 2011, I played the Alexandra Theatre in Birmingham, and went and sat in the actual seat (more or less) where I sat back in 1976 and relived it all in my mind. I feel so lucky to have seen them perform at their best.

A few years later, I saw an advert in the Birmingham Evening Mail which informed the readers that Eric Morecambe would be signing copies of his first novel at Hudson’s bookshop. I skipped A-level history that afternoon and headed into town. It was only when I got to the shop that I realised I was in trouble: the book cost £7.99 and I only had five pounds on me!

Moving to the Humour shelves, I found an alternative selection, a mass-market book of jokes and pictures called The Morecambe & Wise Scrapbook, price £1.75. Perfect.

I joined the long queue of fans, all clutching copies of Eric’s new book, some even pretending to read it. A sour-faced sales assistant made her way up and down the line asking, ‘Have you got a copy of the book? Very good. Excuse me; do you have a copy of the book?’ ‘No, madam.’ ‘I’m sorry, he won’t sign bus tickets. You must have a copy of the book. Do you have a copy of the book, young man?’ she asked me. I pointed to my carrier bag. ‘Yes, I’ve got the book,’ I said, not strictly speaking the truth. It was ‘the book’ just not the correct book.

Let’s just say, it had all the right words but not necessarily in the right order! 

Somewhere at the head of the line I heard laughter so I knew he must have arrived. After a long wait, with my heart thumping wildly, the queue rounded a bookshelf and there, just a few feet away, sat at a table was the real, actual Eric Morecambe, bald head, glasses, the lot. I noticed that he thanked every person whose book he signed, with an almost plaintive ‘Thank you very much for coming!’ as if they were old friends who had been to visit him in hospital.

When it was finally my turn, I cleared my throat and made the short speech that I had been rehearsing in my head for the last fifteen minutes. ‘Mr Morecambe, I’m very sorry but I can’t afford your book…’ Everyone laughed, including Eric Morecambe – but not the bookshop employee. If looks could kill!

‘Would you mind signing this for me instead?’ I pulled the cheap paperback out of my bag. ‘Not at all, I’d be delighted,’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’ He signed it and handed it back to me. ‘Thank you very much. Thank you for coming,’ he said.

When I got out onto the pavement I opened the book. He’d written: ‘To David – Save up! Eric Morecambe’.