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My guilty pleasure. A night to remember

Valentines, a day to celebrate love, laughter and life. Aside from my better half, I must admit to the world a love for another person. This person has it all. The looks, the talent, the accent and charisma like no other. We have bonded in ways even the universe cannot explain. I remember that night he offered me a cashew nut in his underpants, perching majestically upon a budget B&B single bed with passion in his eyes… This man is my hero, this man is Wagner.


To celebrate Wagner Fiuza-Carrilho, let me tell you about the time me and my good friend Ben Jorgensen managed to blag him down to our local pub to sing for our entire football club. Here’s how it went…

I was sitting at my desk emailing Ben on a Monday morning as per usual, no doubt orchestrating an elaborate tale of sexual success from the weekend when he decided that we should organise a ‘football party to remember’. Initially, we wrestled with the idea of hiring ‘Dean Gaffney’ from Eastenders, however it was apparent he would not be able to bring ‘Well-ard’ with him so we quickly disregarded that idea. The second idea was to rope in the ‘Chuckle Brothers’, although I believe one of the football lads has had some beef with them on Twitter in the past so we deemed it unethical to invite them down in case of a mass brawl. As Benjamin is an avid follower of ‘the stars’, he took the lead, and eventually in genius fashion announced our star man. The one and only X factor legend, Wagner.

He managed to find me Wagner’s’ contact details, and we booked him from there. To cover cost, we had to have a whip round from the teams. Now, trying to prize money from a brick layer under the pretence of a mystery guest is a mammoth task in itself, and for a while the dream of ‘Wagner-mania’ seemed impossible.

Somehow, against all odds the day of Wagner arrived, and me and Benjamin met him at a plush B&B we’d booked for him in the arse end of Oldham. As we were aware we had a star in our midst, we upgraded the room to include a continental breakfast, only to find out he’d later refused to stay there because it was so shit.

In order to discuss details and to make sure he actually came, we visited Wagner’s luxurious bed and breakfast just hours before the event. In preperation for ‘Wagnermania’, I was dressed as the resident magician and Ben was dressed as Sheikh Ali Baba, the tycoon of entertainment. Apprehensively we knocked on his door, and like little school girls, we waited for him to answer. He beckoned us in with his infectious Brazilian smile, and offered us to take a pew.

Sitting on the end of Wagner’s stained bed, wondering how the fuck I got my self into the situation I explained the itinerary and performance details, glossing over the fact that ‘The Royal Exchange’ is in fact a pub, and not a theatre. As I explained the laser machine and mulit-functional smoke screen generator, Wagner (sat comfortably in his underpants), offered us a complimentary cashew nut. This particular moment set the precedent for the whole evening, fucking weird.

We set up the 12ft by 15 ft ‘disco’ area with Brazilian flags, strobe lights and a red carpet. To ensure everything was perfect we asked the three elderly gentlemen at the bar to assist with a sound check, however they merely finished their pints and told us to piss off.

Fancy dress was recommended to all which saw a cliché’ Scotsman sporting a Kilt, the Sheikh, a magician, an orthodox Jew and a Charlie Chaplin look-alike cross the threshold. 45 wigs and Moustache’s were handed out, and the fiesta beckoned.

With the resident magician as MC & the crowd well and truly warmed up, the Sheikh chaperoned Wagner through the mass crowd heroically chanting ‘Wagner is our leader’. He looked like a returning War Hero, proud yet bewildered. We quickly ushered him to the front in fear he would run away, locked the doors, and the show began.

After an un-interpretable opening speech, Wagner sang ‘La Bamba’, ‘No satisfaction’, then one that we didn’t know so we put ‘La Bamba’ back on. A performance of ‘oops up side your head’ then followed, and the jam packed room began to get rowdier. After an intense meet and greet, and several hundred selfies, the finale beckoned. ‘You got the love’, acapella with the magician and the sheikh, with an incorporated beat box.

The crowd went wild, and the drinks flowed. Unfortunately we struggled to apprehend Wagner until the stripper arrived, which was helpful as we had no money left to pay her. He left unscathed and the army of Wagner’s proceeded to paint the local town red. Luckily no one was arrested, and it was clear to see that Wagner was a star re-born.

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