BW&BK; scribe Dom Lawson (OAF) has posted the following for Guardian.co.uk's Music Blog:

Most people have a claim to fame, don't they? I've got a couple of poor but respectable ones: I once held a door open for John Cleese (he said "Thank you" rather sternly) and I once witnessed the late Kenneth Williams buying a newspaper (he looked tiny, fragile and unhappy). Not exactly jaw-dropping anecdotes, I'll admit, and I have never dined out on either. But then, I do have a fairly spectacular claim to fame that tends to triumph in any impromptu bout of one-upmanship: back in 1986, at the tender age of 14, courtesy of Jim'll Fix It, I spent a whole day at the Hammersmith Odeon in London with my favourite band, IRON MAIDEN. Yeah, so your mum once copped off with Keith Moon. Whatevs. I was on Jim'll Fix It, therefore I win.

It's not an exaggeration to say that my Jim'll Fix It experience is one of the defining moments of my life. I was already a fan of metal music by that point, obviously, so no change there. But after being contacted by a very charming BBC researcher – who came round to my parents' house to meet me, presumably to make sure I wasn't horribly deformed, deranged or suffering from Tourette's – and receiving the glorious news that my letter to Jimmy Savile had been accepted, my life was never the same again. I can remember it vividly, despite the fact that it all seemed so surreal. It was 3 November 1986 – a doubly significant date, since that's also ADAM ANT's birthday, and he was responsible for turning me into a music obsessive in the first place. I took the train to London on my own (for the first time ever), caught a cab to Hammersmith (feeling terribly grown up and a bit cool) and then stood around at the backstage entrance looking forlorn and slightly terrified.

I was greeted by a couple of members of Maiden's road crew, one of whom immediately pointed out that my T-shirt (bought from Woolworths in Hemel Hempstead) was in a fact "a bloody bootleg". I was then led to the backstage catering area and introduced to a vast number of people, most of whom I recognised from the photos in the booklet of Maiden's magnificent Live After Death live album. Being shy and self-conscious, I grinned and blushed a lot. I was terrified, yet I could hardly have been happier. Everyone in Maiden's organisation was friendly and welcoming, including the band themselves: resolutely down-to-earth, they each came and said hello at various points during the day. I remember Steve Harris clocking my West Ham scarf (which I'd worn specifically to attract his attention, natch) and asking if I was a "proper 'ammer". I was (and am), and he beamed his approval. I practically wet myself.

Read the full blog at this location. Check out some video footage below: