I worked at Loaded in 90s: here's every crazy thing BBC's Lads, Mags and Mayhem left out

There's a BBC documentary about loaded magazine on TV tonight. It’s called, imaginatively enough, Loaded: Lads, Mags and Mayhem. It’s supposed to be about loaded magazine.

Not the loaded magazine you might have seen on newsagents’ shelves from the early 2000s onwards – airbrushed picture of a half-dressed woman you’ve never heard of, unfunny coverlines and no soul. Not that one.

No, this is about the original Loaded magazine that launched in May 1994, the one that had Harry Hill riding a badger, Kathy Burke smoking a fag, and Vic and Bob wearing hats made of meat on the covers.

The one with lines like ‘Go Straight To Ale – drinking around the Monopoly board’, ‘Room Servicing – why hotel sex is best’ and this endorsement taken from an interview inside with Sir Michael Caine: “I’ve just been reading Loaded. I was laughing my bollocks off”.

The one that used to send writers to impersonate Magnum P.I. in Hawaii, search for Jesus in Jerusalem and get in a ring with Prince Naz whilst also giving the world Platinum Rogues – the league table of celebrity bad behaviour– and the Crisps World Cup.

You remember. The Loaded magazine that shut down the London Stock Exchange as traders downed tools to read the December 1994 Kathy Lloyd issue and would soon go on to sell over half a million copies a month and define the last truly great decade.

The Loaded magazine that should have been humanely destroyed at the turn of the millennium. That one.

Not because, as this missed opportunity of a documentary seems keen to suggest, it promoted some kind of generalised mass misogyny that eventually produced creatures like social media scumbag Andrew Tate – it didn’t – but so that its legacy would not be tainted by the lowest common denominator lads mag flotsam that subsequently appeared in its name and beneath the same iconic logo.

The makers of Loaded: Lads, Mags and Mayhem talk to several key members of the original team who patiently try to explain what the magazine was all about. Not easy three decades hence, after years of hedonistic excess and when you never had a clue in the first place. “You can look back now and try and reverse engineer a genius publishing masterplan but there wasn’t one,” says loaded co-founder Tim Southwell. “We just knew that was a market because we were the market and we knew there were millions like us out there.

“Up to that point all men had were these faux American po-faced advertising vehicles busy selling a contrived version of alpha male bullshit to desperate wannabes in London and the South-East of England. If you want to talk about toxic masculinity you might start there. “We were just a gang of working-class berks from all over the country who ended up in this insane office producing something for ourselves and our mates that we wanted to read. We’d all had our own fanzines and this was just a bigger version – a national fanzine.”

Southwell appears in the documentary and has just updated and republished his book, Getting Away With It to coincide with the 30th anniversary of the launch of the magazine. “This is the inside story,” he continues. “When I was updating it I was even more amazed that we got the thing in the shops every month than I was at the time and I found it hard to believe then.”

He’s right. I was there. First as a writer (that was me being embarrassed in the ring by Naseem Hamed) and then as Editor-at-Large where one brief was “Go to America and don’t come back until you’ve got into trouble.”

Seeking out the godfather of gonzo journalism and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas author Hunter S. Thompson in Colorado, becoming involved in a bar brawl and being chased across the state line by angry gun-toting cowboys and police before taking refuge at his attorney’s place probably qualified.

And this was for a magazine that very nearly didn’t happen at all. A chance phone call in early April 1994 alerted the team to the fact that Kurt Cobain had died. Obviously a tragedy in its own right but of more immediate concern was the fact that issue 1 was at the printers and contained an article pointing out that the Nirvana lead singer wasn’t a proper rock star because, after a recent suicide attempt had failed, he couldn’t even kill himself. Hmmm.

A frantic call just in time prevented the debut issue from being pulped. Five years later, a print run of 800,000 copies was about to be destroyed after someone pointed out that the actress Cameron Diaz’s right nipple was clearly visible on the cover of the February 1999 issue. A big legal no-no only averted when someone came up with the idea of placing a sticker over the “offending” body part with the words, “Free Sticker” on it.

This kind of thing happened all the time in a work environment before health and safety even existed but space and certain legal considerations prevent me from describing it in full.

Kept away from main building in the kind of low-slung bunker with a shed built on an adjoining roof (planning permission? Er no), panics concerning imminent police busts were frequent while it was not uncommon to find annoying staff members sellotaped to chairs and, having been spun round until their faces turned purple, on the brink of passing out.

They would be in good company. There were often unconscious people lying around, some of them even worked there. Perhaps this charming tableau from Southwell’s book best captures the essence of the Loaded office: [A heated exchange has just taken place between a writer and a designer] “When Phil went to the toilet Jon sat down at Phil’s computer and set fire to it.

There were flames and black smoke everywhere, fumes and everything. Phil put the fire out with his T-shirt and then carried on working at the computer.” Thefts from the fashion dept became so out of control a secure room had to be constructed (subsequently used to store more exotic contraband) and as the magazine’s success and notoriety spread it became a de facto drop-in centre for a lot of the people associated with the 1990s in Britain or just passing through.

Trainspotting author Irvine Welsh was a columnist as was convicted drug dealer/ author Howard ‘Mr Nice’ Marks. Robbie Williams, then in his post Take That wilderness period, would occasionally walk-in off the street looking for someone to go for a drink with.

Loaded did not report on the swinging 1990s, it was the swinging 1990s - the in-house bible for that glorious moment in time like Rolling Stone in 60s America. Everybody wanted to be in it – although Noel Gallagher was proving hard to get.

We did get him eventually (cover had a roll with it because well... you know) but we should have had him earlier.

Southwell had left his dictaphone in a hotel room commandeered by Loaded at a festival. Gallagher was one of many who passed through, found the recording device, interviewed himself and sent someone to deliver it to Southwell... who, to his absolute horror, discovered that in something resembling professionalism had made him switch the batteries round in order to prevent recording over an interview with Mr C from the Shamen.

“I only did that once,” he remembers now. “Behave like a professional that is.” By the time of the inaugural Loaded awards in 1999, Gallagher had been interviewed again by Irvine Welsh and they were both in attendance at West End night club Talk of the Town. It was the hottest ticket in London.

As Southwell and I watched from the balcony we could see Noel pouring wine into the glass of Richard Whiteley from Countdown while Welsh was playing I-Spy with Charlatans front man Tim Burgess and page 3 model/ loaded cover girl Jo Guest.

Across the way TV presenter Johnny Vaughan and girl band All Saints were deep in conversation with Wolf from Gladiators.

Next to them, the actor Robert Carlyle, Paul Weller and George Best were laughing their heads off about something while Southwell’s dad was busy flirting with Kathy Burke. Vic and Bob (“enjoy your lunch and watch out for that lunchtime semi”), Prince Naz, Ali G, The Dice Man novelist Luke Rhinehart, Beastie Boys and Paul Whitehouse all recorded cheeky video messages.

As had Jean Reno, star of Leon, with the “Best Assassin” award. I presented it to him in Chicago having been thankfully diverted there (and saving my job, probably) after turning up in LA to interview Bridget Fonda for the cover, failing to do so after falling into the right/ wrong company and disappearing for three days.

If this all reads like a rollercoaster of misbehaviour, mayhem and joyous escapism, it should do. It all came to a shuddering halt a few months later on a winter evening in Milan in January 2000. Beth Summers, our “big sister” and brilliant Fashion Editor suffered a major brain injury in a horrific motorbike accident during fashion week. She now receives 24/7 care.

As Southwell puts it, “My book is called Getting Away With it... that’s when we stopped getting away with it. The original team were gone in a matter of months. Out of there.”

You won’t know this if you watch BBC documentary Loaded: Lads, Mags and Mayhem tonight because it’s not mentioned. In fact, despite being a visionary who did more than anyone else that decade to democratise the business of dressing young British men across every demographic, Beth Summers isn’t mentioned at all.

At just about 5ft2in tall, she was The Don nonpareil in the wildest, most dysfunctional, creative and dangerous office in magazine history. One look was all it took to get things done her way.

As she said before her accident: “The type of men I was working with at Loaded were so different to those I’d worked with [elsewhere]. I can just remember everyone jumping around all the time, just so over-excited. That was so brilliant. The portrayal of women didn’t bother me. Everyone in the office had a certain respect for me. Also I’ve been there, seen it and done it so you couldn’t actually say anything to me that I was going to be shocked by. Apart from that, I was worse [behaved] than they were.”

Despite being concerned enough about Loaded’s legacy and how women felt at about it at the time to talk to several people who had nothing to do with the magazine or appeared in it once or twice, here were the filmmakers with the most positive female and defiantly feminist role model and her incredible story staring them right in the face and they bottled it.

They knew the facts. They even filmed Beth’s beautiful 32-year-old daughter Eden, now a successful music PR, and spoke to Southwell and others about what happened in Milan but it’s sadly not in the final cut.

Perhaps it didn’t serve a narrative they appeared to have – that Loaded was some kind of touchpaper to an explosion of anti-female sentiment and could be bagged up with all the lads mags that came subsequently. That’s not real Loaded, not the one we worked on that was adored by millions of young men and women who subsequently deserted the title as it morphed into something else.

If you want a rush of 90s nostalgia you could watch the documentary tonight – there are still some laugh aloud moments provided by the original team members – but if you manage to get to the end you will find yourself profoundly depressed. Without hope. The very opposite of what it felt like to read the magazine in the 1990s.

‘Loaded: Lads, Mags and Mayhem’ airs on BBC Two on Friday November 22 at 9pm and will also be available on iPlayer. ‘Getting Away With It: The Real Inside Story of Loaded’ is available here