At the time, I was 37 and this was my biggest streak. I’ve done 541 so far, and keep thinking I’m done. But then something will pop up. I tried to do the Eurovision song contest last month. I had my rip-off clothing on and “nul points” written on my back, but there was so much security I couldn’t get anywhere near the front.
The Wimbledon final, between Lleyton Hewitt and David Nalbandian, worked really well. I was sitting at the back on the top tier, wondering how I was going to get down to the court during the breaks in play.
I never go on during play, it’s against my ethics: it would alter the course of a game. At football matches, the best time to go on is just before kick-off, but you’ve got to be quick.
But then rain stopped play, so things got a bit disorganised. When the cover came off and the players came back on, I noticed the two army guys who had been guarding a set of steps by the press pit weren’t there. So I ran down the steps, jumped over the wall, took my clothes off, and ran on to the pitch. The whole thing took about 20 seconds.
Everyone cheered, even the royal box. I did a few somersaults and a moonwalk. Officials came at me with red blankets, so I feigned being led off, and then made a run for it and dived over the net. I’d been practising somersaults in the park beforehand. It was only when a female guard collared me properly that I gave up. I never struggle when I’m caught.
I streak to entertain people. I was the class joker at school, and am always the one in the pub doing daft things. Streaking is an extension of that. But I also love the adventure of seeing how to pull them off. It’s a performance, and I usually plan my streaks as you would a dance routine.
Those few seconds when you’re disrobing are pure elation: it means I’ve got to the main event – taking off my clothes. But the chase is even better. It’s euphoric, the biggest sense of freedom you can imagine. It’s naughty, in a Benny Hill kind of way, but it’s not a crime. What’s wrong with making people laugh?
My first streak was in Hong Kong in 1993, at a rugby sevens tournament. It was the result of a drunken dare, and I was cacking myself. I wasn’t going to carry on when I got back home to Liverpool, but everyday life picked up again and I started to wonder how it might go down in the UK.
I’ve been arrested many times, but the charges are usually dropped. I don’t think I’ve ever caused any “harassment, alarm or distress” to the public – the usual charge. What I’m doing challenges the law, in a sense. The police tried to give me an asbo once, banning me from all public events. I fought it and won. Even the judge thought they were mad. He said I was a nuisance, but what I was doing wasn’t antisocial. It’s quite the opposite. I’ve got a great lawyer. He loves taking on my cases, and has begged me not to retire.
For a big event like Wimbledon, I don’t think about the millions watching me at home. It would make me too nervous. In real life, I’m actually quite modest: I put a towel round my waist on the beach.
• Interview by Hannah Booth
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