Lights, Camera, 'Pro-action'

I have always adopted a somewhat low-key, stealth-like approach in my promotion of low-carb; Monty, on the other hand, was always incredibly dogmatic when it came to publicly voicing his forthright views about caloric ratios. While I was content making 'pro-active' speeches during my celebrity appearances to open yet more supermarkets in Haslemere, Monty craved the kind of low-carb limelight that only television could provide.

During the spring of 1996, Monty began a full-frontal media blitzkrieg by hijacking a BBC News bulletin and delivering an impromptu rant about the hidden dangers of fructose, immediately followed by a lighthearted sexual assault on Moira Stewart. Then came Monty's brazen snatching of Patrick Moore's monocle during a recording of 'The Sky at Night', which not only provided some much needed publicity for the 'pro-active' low-carb cause, but also served as a direct protest against Patrick's overt fondness for Mr Cadbury's 'Wispa'.

However, Monty's love affair with the small screen finally came to an abrupt end in November 1998, when he was punched unconscious, live on air, by an enraged Noel Edmonds, who was riled at having witnessed Monty gate-crash his 'House Party' and assault Tony Blackburn with an aubergine.

A Jolly Roger

Monty first began to dabble in the black art of low-carb during his brave and splendid navy days, which were chiefly spent stalking the Norfolk coastline aboard HMS Bumrush. Having witnessed widespread deviant depravities amid the seamen, and deeply concerned about his own growing love of amatuer dramatics, Monty became suspicious about the effects that the high-carb navy rations were having on the crew.

The final straw came when a late night session of "poop deck conga" turned particularly nasty, compelling Monty to seek refuge in carbohydrate restriction. With his inclination towards voting Liberal Democrat swiftly cured by ketosis, Monty promptly left the navy and was eventually washed up on the beach at Lowestoft. From that day forward, Monty's voting habits were staunchly Conservative. The kinky devil.

I Know That You Know What I Did Last Summer

Our American 'tour' was to be the setting for one of mine and Monty's biggest ever falling-outs. Prior to this, we'd had only one minor squabble; a fracas concerning Monty's repeated misuse of the semicolon. On this occasion, however, it was an apparently innocuous nut-based snack product, which proved to be the trigger for a frenzied melee of truly biblical proportions.

When hunger struck me, just north of Shattuck, Oklahoma, I purchased a small bag of what I had assumed to be lightly salted cashews. Unbeknownst to me, however, their embellishment had gone far beyond a conservative dusting of salt; those cashews had been dealt a roasting - in honey! Whilst still unaware of the aforementioned besmirchment, I partook of said nibbles.

Suddenly, as if by low-carb magic, Monty appeared. After catching a glimpse of my offending nuts, he immediately dropped to his knees and began to holler loudly and beat his chest in violent lamentation. None of my perfectly feasible excuses were able to pacify Monty's turbulent angst, so I slipped some Rohypnol in his coffee and he slept like a baby 'til Utah.

I Know What You Did Last Summer

Sometime in August 2008, Monty did what we all do when the going gets tough; he faked his own death and fled the country. Usually, this kind of behavior might simply have been attributed to Monty's well-documented phobia of bank holidays. On this occasion, however, there was a clandestine method in Monty's madness; he was under the radar and headed stateside.

Known only to our tightly-knit band of 'pro-active' low-carb brothers, a plan had been hatched to ensure a "favorable" outcome in the forthcoming U.S presidential election. Barack Obama appeared far more sympathetic towards the global low-carb cause; whereas, John McCain was clearly more excepting of folks who "enjoy the company of livestock". It was immediately clear to me that we needed to back Obama; Monty, however, wished to "sample the delights" of the deep south before making up his mind.

Special Interest

Monty was an avid subscriber to both of the above monthly publications. In public, he'd rarely be seen without the latest edition of K.O:CHO magazine. In private, he'd happily spend hours pouring over a copy of Pony Rider.

Exceedingly Burnt Cakes

"When soldiers have been baptized in the fire of a Battenberg, they have all one rank in my eyes." ~Napoleon Bonaparte

Monty finally proved his 'pro-active' mettle in August 1997, with his participation in our daring broad daylight assault on the Mr Kipling's Cakes factory, near Smethwick. To the rest of the world, Mr Kipling was a loveable old man, spending his twilight years selflessly baking cakes for the good of humanity. To us militant low-carbers, however, he was the evil mastermind behind a thousand glycemic excursions.

Armed with only a makeshift flamethrower, some industrial-strength fireworks and an awful lot of furious anger, we successfully halted cake production for several hours. I Then, perhaps somewhat inevitably, set my own beard alight. Monty, spooked by my new 'flame-grilled' look, ran away; leaving me to suffer the agony of having a van load of policemen extinguish my burning beard using only truncheons and pepper spray.

No Pain, No Gain

The first actual meeting between myself and Monty happened in 1993, shortly before a book signing which I was due to attend in Rotherham, being held to mark the launch of my now infamous bestseller 'Starch - My Part in Its Downfall'. Making what I subsequently discovered to be an overenthusiastic request for me to sign his copy first, Monty ran me over in his Vauxhall Senator.

Whilst pinned under his car, I made a conscious decision that, although clearly not an entirely risk free option, it would be a far safer bet to have a man like Monty as a friend, rather than an enemy. I then made a conscious decision to pass out.