by For that matter, the day didn’t seem to live up to its potential: a mid-morning book signing, on a cloudy mid-week day, in a Costco car park in the middle of England. As a book publicist with a few years of experience, I was pretty good at managing expectations. There would be 40 or 50 people, I told the authors in question. A few hungry students, some old-age pensioners, a few bargain-hunting shoppers – who else would stand in the way? An hour should be plenty.
What I didn’t consider was that these were just any old authors. It was Dave Myers and Si King, or the Hairy Bikers. People – no, everyone – loved them; and they loved the people back. In the end, more than 600 fans came out for a book signing and a chat or a selfie. The hour I would set aside is not enough, especially since Dave and Si, both Costco gold card members, would like some time to shop as well. “Costco is the only place you can pop in for a pint of milk and come out with a canoe,” Dave would say, approvingly.
This week, we are all mourning the profound loss of Dave, who died of cancer, aged 66, on Wednesday night. Along with his family and close friend, Si was by his side. “My best friend is on a journey that I can’t follow right now,” Si wrote, announcing the news Thursday on Instagram. It was a delightful choice of words. They have been on so many journeys, both figurative and literal, big and small. And they did them all together.
I worked with them for five years, between 2013 and 2018, and I hear from time to time that they were spending the break between writing their next book or filming their next BBC series going on holiday with together. “You’re even throwing bigger time together? Aren’t you sick of the sight of each other?” I want to ask jokingly. They would just laugh. They were not like some partnerships to present in food television, where the suitability for the cameras. They were really each other’s closest friend, and more like brothers.
Dave was one of the good guys. He had a difficult childhood in Cumbria, where he was an only child who was a full-time carer for his sick parents by the time he was 17. He later became an art student at Goldsmiths, studying the pre-Raphaelites and reading at the British Library. Si, a passionate and knowledgeable fan of poetry, are similarly intellectual, although they treat that side of them lightly, often surprising people.
Perhaps because they both found fame late, after behind-the-scenes careers in TV and film (Dave was a make-up and prosthetics artist; Si was an assistant director when they met each other), they never took anything for granted, and were always so kind and respectful to everyone they met.
Part of my job occasionally involved eating in expensive Soho restaurants such as Quo Vadis, Kiln or Noble Rot. Some celebrities see that dynamic as an opportunity to let go of the publisher’s company credit card. Not Dave and Si. They were more than happy to visit those places (their love of food certainly wasn’t harmless), but they would usually opt for the set lunch menu, or the cheaper stuff, and be truly grateful. I took this as an indication of their humble youth and basic suitability: the publisher had taken a chance on them early in their careers, so they didn’t want to be seen taking the mic.
They would always bring their driver, Kevin with them too. “Oh, can Kev come for lunch?” the request would be. In retrospect, I think it was probably another reason they went for the cheaper items on the menu. They hate the idea of Kev, the colleague and friend who drove them around to TV appearances and on the road (when they weren’t on the bikes, that is) sitting outside eating a meal in the car while they enjoy it. good life
It wasn’t “us and them” – everyone involved in the shows and tours, and everyone who attended them or even opened doors for them, were equal. I lost count of the number of hours I would have lost due to a tight tour schedule due to not counting that Dave would stop and chat with every taxi driver, doorman and waiter for half an hour before going anywhere. So Kev would come in for lunch, and before everyone left, the staff would usually ask if Dave and Si could visit the kitchens to meet the chefs. For many gourmets, the Hairy Bikers were a guilty pleasure, with their simple comfort food and infectious love of eating.
Dave was nine years older than Si, but you wouldn’t really know it. They would take turns being the joker or the straight man and, with complete confidence, instinctively knew who was in charge at a given moment. They were also very fun company. I remember one car ride when they decided to replicate the whole thing bohemian rhapsody view from Wayne’s World, all head-banging and falsetto. The audience was just me and Kev. They enjoyed nothing more than making people laugh.
On another occasion in Ely Cathedral I forgot to order them any dinner. The only place open was a tea shop offering some limp cucumber sandwiches. I bought them and casually took them to the garden, where Dave and Si were waiting. Unbeknownst to me, it seems they had just recorded an episode where they were both saying how much they hate soggy cucumber sandwiches. In the garden, they turned me around with mock anger, Benny Hill style, before tickling me. Even when they were disappointed they would be funny. People would ask me if they were ever really funny. They had very high standards – you don’t stay at the top that long without them – but they were always sweet about it.
“People” is a terrible cliché by now, but that’s what Dave was, and what Si still is. Together, they have touched so many people – from high-end kitchen dwellers to struggling single parents, everyone has warmed to them, found their cookbooks instructive and travel is a joy.
We would sometimes meet showbiz people who remembered Dave as a make-up artist. We met the actress Anne Reid at the BBC once, who said: “Oh my god, haven’t you done well! I remember you doing my nose…” Martin Clunes said the same thing when they were on Radio 2 together. Dave and Si were always destined to be in front of the camera, but they were as surprised as anyone that they would do so well, and that they were so loved.
Respect went both ways, and that authenticity was their secret. People believed their relationship because it was true: when Si had a brain aneurysm in 2014, Dave took care of him. Likewise, when Dave broke his shoulder and wrist in a motorcycle accident, Si cooked for him, ironed his clothes, and helped him get into the shower. Recently, as Dave’s health deteriorated, Si was there for his friend as much as ever.
By the time I stopped working with them, they made sure to take me on restaurant and bar crawls around Central London, their outfit, as a thank you. They didn’t need to do that, and most famous people don’t bother with it, but their style was to make sure everyone was thanked, and everyone was included. Years later I sent them a message saying how much I missed working with them; an invitation to the VIP area at her new live show came in response.
Along with Dave’s family, Si will now be heartbroken. He might go on – he could certainly work alone, so gifted and talented – but they were like the Two Ronnies, in a way: true friends so when he sees one alone he’ll be in always a reminder of the loss. I feel lucky to have those memories. Dave spent most of his life spreading laughter, kindness, love and warmth to everyone he met and everyone who saw him. What legacy is greater than that?
As told to Guy Kelly
