Hope you’re enjoying these stories.. a mix of fact and fiction..
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**Title: *The Pirate of the Airwaves: Nicky Knight's Last Broadcast***

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In the shadowy glow of a makeshift studio above a Kentish Town Greek restaurant, a crackling voice echoed through the night: *“This is Radio Knight’s Dawn, and the revolution starts at 120 BPM.”* The man behind the mic, known only as Nicky Knight, cued up a throbbing Stock Aitken Waterman (SAW) remix, his fingers trembling not from the bassline, but from the scrawled threat slipped under the door an hour earlier: *“Exit the game, or we bury your signal—permanently.”*

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**1981: Exit the Dragon**
Nicky Knight wasn’t always a phantom. Born Nikos Evangelidis, he’d cut his teeth as a lackey at Mickie Most’s RAK Records, fetching tea for glam-rock has-beens. But when songwriter Nicky Chinn—half of the hitmaking duo Chinnichap—jetted to LA to launch Dreamland Records under Robert Stigwood’s glittering empire, Nikos followed. Los Angeles taught him two things: how to schmooze at pool parties, and how to vanish. By ’83, Dreamland’s gloss couldn’t glue him down. He bounced from Mykonos discos to Madrid dive bars, a suitcase of promo vinyl his only constant.

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**1984: The Proto Gambit**
Returning to London, Nikos found refuge at Proto Records, a shoestring operation run by his cousin Barry Evangeli above their family’s taverna, *The Olive Grove*. The smell of souvlaki seeped through the floorboards as Nikos resurrected his alias, Nicky Knight, trading Greek island mixtapes for pirate radio favors. That spring, fate walked in wearing a trench coat: Pete Waterman, riding high off Divine’s campy smash *“You Think You’re A Man,”* needed a plugger with “flexible ethics.” SAW’s factory of frothy hits—imminent releases for Dead or Alive, Hazell Dean—required shadow soldiers. Nicky volunteered, smuggling 12-inch dub mixes to pirate DJs on Radio Invicta, Jackie, and London Underground. By dawn, he’d pivot to pitching Capital Radio’s primacy programmers, bribing them with baklava.

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**The Underworld’s Frequency**
Success drew snakes. By autumn, anonymous calls snarled through his answering machine: *“Your SAW garbage’s clogging the presses. Step back, or we’ll unplug your little radio playhouse.”* Crooked indie labels, fearing SAW’s chart domination, targeted Nicky as the weak link. Radio Knight’s Dawn—his clandestine station, broadcasting from a van shifting locations weekly—became a bullseye. Thugs smashed Proto’s windows; a demo tape arrived smeared with red paint. Waterman, ever the pragmatist, shrugged: *“Cost of doing business, mate.”* But Nicky knew the math—SAW’s star was rising, and he was expendable.

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**Final Transmission**
December 1984. A frostbitten night on Hampstead Heath. Nicky hunched in the Radio Knight’s Dawn van, airing an exclusive mix of *“Whatever I Do (Wherever I Go)”* by Hazell Dean. Static cut in. A voice, icy: *“Last warning, Knight.”* The feed died. He flicked off the transmitter, breath visible in the cold. In his pocket: a one-way ticket to Auckland. New Zealand—where no one knew SAW from SOS.

As the van’s engine sputtered to life, he glanced at the skyline. Somewhere, Waterman’s hits would reign supreme. But Nicky Knight? He’d already faded to static.

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**Epilogue**
In Christchurch, 1985, a new pirate signal hummed—*Kiwi Dawn Radio*—playing SAW tracks suspiciously ahead of UK release. Requests poured in, postmarked from a Kentish Town taverna. The DJ, now “Kiwi Nik,” chuckled into the mic, his accent a puzzle of London grit and Aegean sun. Some revolutions, it seemed, couldn’t be silenced.

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*“Pirate radio isn’t a crime—it’s a public service.” –Nicky Knight (allegedly)*