At first glance, the day didn’t exactly seem packed with potential: a mid-morning signing session, on an overcast weekday, in a Costco car park in the middle of England. As a book publicist with several decades of experience, I was pretty good at managing expectations. There would be forty to fifty people present at best, I told the authors in question. A few hungry students, a few retirees, a few shoppers looking for the carts – who else would bother? One hour should be enough.
What I hadn’t taken into account was that these weren’t just any old authors. They were Dave Myers and Si King, also known as the Hairy Bikers. People – no, everyone – loved them; and they immediately loved the people too. Ultimately, more than 600 fans came for a signed book and a chat or selfie. The hour I had set aside was far from enough, not least because Dave and Si, both Costco Gold Card members, would also have liked some time to shop. “Costco is the only place where you can come in for a pint of milk and come out with a canoe,” Dave said approvingly.
This week we all mourn the profound loss of Dave, who died of cancer on Wednesday evening at the age of 66. Together with his family and a good friend, Si was at his side. “My best friend is on a journey that I can’t follow for a while,” wrote Si, who announced the news on Instagram on Thursday. It was a poignant choice of words. They had been on so many journeys, both figuratively and literally, big and small. And they had made them all together.
I worked with them for five years, between 2013 and 2018, and occasionally heard that they were spending the break between writing their next book or filming their next BBC series by going on holiday together. ‘You even spend money more time together? Aren’t you getting tired of seeing each other?’ I would ask jokingly. They would just laugh. They weren’t like some presenting partnerships on food television, where the camaraderie is played out for the cameras. They were truly each other’s best friends, and more like brothers.
Dave was one of the good guys. He had a difficult childhood in Cumbria, where he was an only child caring full-time for both his ailing parents by the time he was 17. He later became an art student at Goldsmiths, where he studied the Pre-Raphaelites and Pre-Raphaelites. read in the British Library. A passionate and knowledgeable fan of poetry, Si is also intellectual, although she wore that side of them slightly, which often surprised people.
Perhaps because they both came to fame late, after behind-the-scenes careers in television and film (Dave was a makeup artist and prosthetics artist; Si was an assistant director when they met), they never took anything for granted, and were always so gracious and respectful to everyone they met.
Part of my job involved occasionally eating and drinking 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 issuer’s corporate credit card. Not Dave and Si. They were more than happy to visit those places (their love for food was definitely not confection), but they invariably opted for the set lunch menu, or the cheapest items, and were very grateful for that. I saw this as a reflection of both their humble upbringing and their basic decency: the publisher had taken a chance on them early in their careers, so they didn’t want to be seen as calling the shots.
They also always took their driver, Kevin, with them. “Oh, can Kev come over for lunch?” would be the request. Looking back, I think this is probably another reason why they opted for the cheaper items on the menu. They hated the idea that Kev, the colleague and friend who drove them around to television appearances and on the road (at least when they weren’t on their bikes), would eat a meal deal outside in the car while they enjoyed the good life.
It wasn’t “them and us” – everyone involved in the shows and tours, and everyone who served them or even opened doors for them, was an equal. I lost count of the number of hours I would lose due to a tight touring schedule because I didn’t take into account that Dave would stop and talk to every taxi driver, doorman and waiter for half an hour. talking before he went somewhere. So Kev went to lunch, and before everyone left, the staff usually asked if Dave and Si could visit the kitchens to meet the chefs. For many foodies, the Hairy Bikers, with their uncomplicated comfort food and infectious love of food, were something of a guilty pleasure.
Dave was nine years older than Si, but you wouldn’t really know that. They took turns being the clown or the straight man, instinctively knowing with complete confidence who would take charge of any given moment. They were also just great company. I remember a car ride where they decided to replicate the whole thing Bohemian Rhapsody scene Wayne’s world, all headbanging and falsetto. Their audience was literally just me and Kev. They loved nothing more than making people laugh.
At another event in Ely Cathedral I forgot to order dinner for them. The only place open was a tea shop that sold limp cucumber sandwiches. I bought them and sheepishly took them out to the garden where Dave and Si were waiting. Unbeknownst to me, they had apparently just recorded an episode where they both ranted about how much they hated soggy cucumber sandwiches. In the garden they chased me in mock fury, Benny Hill style, before tickling me. Even when they were disappointed, they were funny. People asked me if they ever got really grumpy. They had very high standards – without them you wouldn’t stay at the top for very long – but they were always kind about it.
“People person” is now a terrible cliché, but that is what Dave was, and what Si remains. Together they interacted with so many people – from upper-class kitchen dwellers to poor single parents. Everyone raved about them and found their cookbooks educational and travel shows a delight.
We sometimes met showbiz people who remembered Dave as a make-up artist. We once came across actress Anne Reid at the BBC who said, “Oh god, didn’t you do it right! I remember when you did 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 had become so successful and so loved.
The appreciation went both ways, and that authenticity was the secret of their charm. People believed their relationship because it was real: When Si suffered a brain aneurysm in 2014, Dave took care of him. Similarly, when Dave broke his shoulder and wrist in a motorcycle accident, Si cooked for him, ironed his clothes and helped him into the shower. Lately, as Dave’s health waned, Si has been there for his friend as much as ever.
By the time I stopped working with them, they arranged for me to go on a restaurant and pub crawl through central London as a thank you, their treat. They didn’t have to do that, and most famous people don’t worry about that, but their style was to make sure everyone was thanked and included. Years later I messaged them to say how much I missed working with them; in response came an invitation to the VIP area of their new live show.
Si, along with Dave’s family, will now be heartbroken. Maybe he’ll move on – he could certainly work alone, that’s how gifted and talented he is – but they were, in a way, like the Two Ronnies: such true friends that seeing one alone will always serve as a reminder of the loss. I just 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’s a greater legacy than that?
As told to Guy Kelly