Been reading some fascinating blog posts about content farms and SEO and all that. I had no idea.
If you have any interest why and how you come to read the things you do on the internet, please do click on the above links.
Thanks to @briancathcart for the latter and some other nice person on twitter (sorry - forgotten who) who linked to the former. Both blog posts are excellent, if lengthy, reads.
Journalist, broadcaster and author of The Great Post Office Trial and Depp v Heard: the unreal story
Saturday, 18 June 2011
Monday, 18 April 2011
Danny Baker is alive and kicking
Before Christmas Danny Baker announced he had got "a pretty mouldy diagnosis", and henceforth would be an intermittent visitor to the airwaves whilst undergoing chemotherapy and radiotherapy (Danny: "Yes radiotherapy; can you beat it?").
A world without Danny Baker would be infinitely poorer - he has inspired so many people to attempt to become radio presenters, and continues to do so. We as an industry should be grateful that Danny is a one-man recruiting service for our medium.
I'm listening to Danny's first show back on BBC London right now. So is David Hepworth, James Wickham, Jon Moonie and many tens of thousands of other people who love the man dearly. It is effortlessly, shambolically, wonderful.
Danny started his show with Stanley Holloway's My Word You Do Look Queer - a paean to other peoples' perceptions of your own illness. At the end of this he opened the mic to say "And that, is the story so far", before launching the Beatles' Get Back on us (refrain: "Get back to where you once belonged").
If ever there's an elephant in the room, Danny will mount it, and then within five minutes have it performing tricks, nuzzling up to you or charging you down, usually within the same sentence. This means the rather difficult subject of his own illness became a source of fascination and joy.
One of the first anecdotes described the gifts he'd received from many thousands of well-wishers (to get an idea of how loved he is, read Danny Kelly's piece about the effect of being associated with the great man). Danny thanked everyone for the books and films and pictures and records and made a point of saying he had read every card and every letter and was immensely buoyed up by them. He couldn't help singling out a curious gift from a chap who worked in the City. Said chap had sent him a cheque for £2000 pounds with a letter saying how he appreciated that illness or no, there were still bills to be paid and hoped the money would help in some way.
Everyone in the studio was suitably impressed by this rather touching gesture. Danny quickly repeated that it meant no more to him than all the other gifts he had received, the books, the films, the records, the pictures, before suggesting, on reflection, it obviously meant more than the £500 cheques he'd been sent.
Later discussions revolved around his guaranteed Sympathy Sony. The Sony Radio Academy Awards are radio's Oscars equivalent. They take place in May and Danny is nominated for two this year (neither in the non-existent Sympathy category). Danny was speculating that they must be gearing up to give him a Lifetime Achievement Award as part of the Sympathy Sony package and eventually ended up deciding he should have delayed his comeback until the night of the Sonys, stayed behind the scenes all evening, and when they announce he's won an award, come charging out of the kitchens in a bath chair.
One genuinely good thing has come out of Danny's cancer. Well, genuinely good for me, anyway. Danny said on his show that he was so bored by his enforced absence that he's finally succumbed to twitter, where you can find him writing as @prodnose.
Unlike George Michael's slow and rather painful journey to understanding what twitter is about, Danny is instantly one of the funniest people on there, and if there is any sports writer able to top his 4 tweet analysis of yesterday's incredible 1-1 draw at the Emirates, then please tell me.
For those who weren't listening/watching, Arsenal (managed by Arsene Wenger) scored in the 8th minute of injury time to go 1-0 up through a penalty. It should have been all over, but Liverpool (managed by Kenny Dalglish), won a penalty in the 12th minute of extra time and got the equaliser and the draw. How did Danny write it up?
Call from Arsene Wenger. He feels he's not taken seriously because of his heavy accent. In France apparently, he sounds "Just like Harry".
http://twitter.com/prodnose/status/59688294929276928
Keep thinking Arsene has hung up but its just he leaves long depressed pauses. I keep saying "Anyway..." but he doesn't take the hint.
http://twitter.com/prodnose/status/59690652648222720
Apparently AW waited outside ref's room for an hour then found it was broom cupboard and ref had gone. Try to disguise my laugh as coughing.
http://twitter.com/prodnose/status/59691232510742528
Finally get rid of AW when Kenny D. calls. He's giggling hard. Had I heard about AW and the broom closet? I say yes but he tells me anyway.
http://twitter.com/prodnose/status/59692334798995456
Now I wouldn't wish cancer on my worst enemy, let alone one of my all time heroes, but if it has the effect of making Mr Baker's genius a touch more accessible, then it is true that every dark cloud does indeed have a silver lining.
God bless you Danny, I'm very glad you're back.
.
A world without Danny Baker would be infinitely poorer - he has inspired so many people to attempt to become radio presenters, and continues to do so. We as an industry should be grateful that Danny is a one-man recruiting service for our medium.
I'm listening to Danny's first show back on BBC London right now. So is David Hepworth, James Wickham, Jon Moonie and many tens of thousands of other people who love the man dearly. It is effortlessly, shambolically, wonderful.
Danny started his show with Stanley Holloway's My Word You Do Look Queer - a paean to other peoples' perceptions of your own illness. At the end of this he opened the mic to say "And that, is the story so far", before launching the Beatles' Get Back on us (refrain: "Get back to where you once belonged").
If ever there's an elephant in the room, Danny will mount it, and then within five minutes have it performing tricks, nuzzling up to you or charging you down, usually within the same sentence. This means the rather difficult subject of his own illness became a source of fascination and joy.
One of the first anecdotes described the gifts he'd received from many thousands of well-wishers (to get an idea of how loved he is, read Danny Kelly's piece about the effect of being associated with the great man). Danny thanked everyone for the books and films and pictures and records and made a point of saying he had read every card and every letter and was immensely buoyed up by them. He couldn't help singling out a curious gift from a chap who worked in the City. Said chap had sent him a cheque for £2000 pounds with a letter saying how he appreciated that illness or no, there were still bills to be paid and hoped the money would help in some way.
Everyone in the studio was suitably impressed by this rather touching gesture. Danny quickly repeated that it meant no more to him than all the other gifts he had received, the books, the films, the records, the pictures, before suggesting, on reflection, it obviously meant more than the £500 cheques he'd been sent.
Later discussions revolved around his guaranteed Sympathy Sony. The Sony Radio Academy Awards are radio's Oscars equivalent. They take place in May and Danny is nominated for two this year (neither in the non-existent Sympathy category). Danny was speculating that they must be gearing up to give him a Lifetime Achievement Award as part of the Sympathy Sony package and eventually ended up deciding he should have delayed his comeback until the night of the Sonys, stayed behind the scenes all evening, and when they announce he's won an award, come charging out of the kitchens in a bath chair.
One genuinely good thing has come out of Danny's cancer. Well, genuinely good for me, anyway. Danny said on his show that he was so bored by his enforced absence that he's finally succumbed to twitter, where you can find him writing as @prodnose.
Unlike George Michael's slow and rather painful journey to understanding what twitter is about, Danny is instantly one of the funniest people on there, and if there is any sports writer able to top his 4 tweet analysis of yesterday's incredible 1-1 draw at the Emirates, then please tell me.
For those who weren't listening/watching, Arsenal (managed by Arsene Wenger) scored in the 8th minute of injury time to go 1-0 up through a penalty. It should have been all over, but Liverpool (managed by Kenny Dalglish), won a penalty in the 12th minute of extra time and got the equaliser and the draw. How did Danny write it up?
Call from Arsene Wenger. He feels he's not taken seriously because of his heavy accent. In France apparently, he sounds "Just like Harry".
http://twitter.com/prodnose/status/59688294929276928
Keep thinking Arsene has hung up but its just he leaves long depressed pauses. I keep saying "Anyway..." but he doesn't take the hint.
http://twitter.com/prodnose/status/59690652648222720
Apparently AW waited outside ref's room for an hour then found it was broom cupboard and ref had gone. Try to disguise my laugh as coughing.
http://twitter.com/prodnose/status/59691232510742528
Finally get rid of AW when Kenny D. calls. He's giggling hard. Had I heard about AW and the broom closet? I say yes but he tells me anyway.
http://twitter.com/prodnose/status/59692334798995456
Now I wouldn't wish cancer on my worst enemy, let alone one of my all time heroes, but if it has the effect of making Mr Baker's genius a touch more accessible, then it is true that every dark cloud does indeed have a silver lining.
God bless you Danny, I'm very glad you're back.
.
Saturday, 12 February 2011
The Making of What's Up at the Post Office
For the last three months I've been working on an investigation into the Post Office. Regular readers of my tweets will be aware of, and possibly fed up with, the number of times I have mentioned this since the investigation was broadcast on Monday.
It was only after all the stress of getting it to air (last minute re-writes and edits, interventions from the BBC's internal Editorial Policy dept, our lawyers, the Post Office's lawyers etc) that I realised there was no point just hoping the story would have an effect - I needed to set up a permanent easily-accessible resource which collated all the information about the investigation, and the response to it.
You can find all that in my blog post What's Up at the Post Office? It includes the TV piece, the radio discussion, a full transcript of the TV piece, relevant quotes, how the story came my way, and the extraordinary response the broadcasts provoked.
I am deeply indebted to a whole bunch of people for getting the investigation so far. Thanks to:
Davinder, who brought me the story, has been having a very tough time. His mental health has suffered as a result of what he and his wife have been through. Yet his commitment to getting me the information I needed has been incredible.
Issy Hogg, lawyer for Seema Misra and Jo Hamilton, has been a mine of information.
My superiors at BBC Surrey and BBC Inside Out South, who immediately recognised this was a massive story and channelled serious resources at getting it to air.
Jenny Craddock and Jon Valters at Inside Out for cheerfully attacking the tedious investigative work whilst I got the fun part of interviewing people and fannying around on camera.
Nicci Holliday and Mark Carter at BBC Surrey who pulled together and got the radio scripts legal led.
Tim Ross, the BBC lawyer who went over everything with a fine toothcomb, and then went over it again after a late statement from the Post Office arrived on his day off, shortly before broadcast.
Alan Bates at the Justice For Subpostmasters Alliance.
Ben Goldacre and Richard Wilson for their wise words post transmission. Melissa Wilde for the Manchester Evening News story link.
Matt Deegan, whose knowledge of the Dark Arts and continued sponsorship of important bits of my online presence is something I hope to pay him back for one day.
Chris Cooke and every friend, colleague, ex-colleague and contact who has taken the time to watch/read the story and spread the word...
....and finally, every single subpostmaster and subpostmistress who helped us with the research for the programme, appeared in it or contacted us subsequently. I urge to you to read some of the stories I've been sent in the last week. Some of them are heart-rending.
In order try and have a few hours with my family this weekend I'm going to have to leave this story alone for a bit. But by all means get in touch if you want to.
.
It was only after all the stress of getting it to air (last minute re-writes and edits, interventions from the BBC's internal Editorial Policy dept, our lawyers, the Post Office's lawyers etc) that I realised there was no point just hoping the story would have an effect - I needed to set up a permanent easily-accessible resource which collated all the information about the investigation, and the response to it.
You can find all that in my blog post What's Up at the Post Office? It includes the TV piece, the radio discussion, a full transcript of the TV piece, relevant quotes, how the story came my way, and the extraordinary response the broadcasts provoked.
I am deeply indebted to a whole bunch of people for getting the investigation so far. Thanks to:
Davinder, who brought me the story, has been having a very tough time. His mental health has suffered as a result of what he and his wife have been through. Yet his commitment to getting me the information I needed has been incredible.
Issy Hogg, lawyer for Seema Misra and Jo Hamilton, has been a mine of information.
My superiors at BBC Surrey and BBC Inside Out South, who immediately recognised this was a massive story and channelled serious resources at getting it to air.
Jenny Craddock and Jon Valters at Inside Out for cheerfully attacking the tedious investigative work whilst I got the fun part of interviewing people and fannying around on camera.
Nicci Holliday and Mark Carter at BBC Surrey who pulled together and got the radio scripts legal led.
Tim Ross, the BBC lawyer who went over everything with a fine toothcomb, and then went over it again after a late statement from the Post Office arrived on his day off, shortly before broadcast.
Alan Bates at the Justice For Subpostmasters Alliance.
Ben Goldacre and Richard Wilson for their wise words post transmission. Melissa Wilde for the Manchester Evening News story link.
Matt Deegan, whose knowledge of the Dark Arts and continued sponsorship of important bits of my online presence is something I hope to pay him back for one day.
Chris Cooke and every friend, colleague, ex-colleague and contact who has taken the time to watch/read the story and spread the word...
....and finally, every single subpostmaster and subpostmistress who helped us with the research for the programme, appeared in it or contacted us subsequently. I urge to you to read some of the stories I've been sent in the last week. Some of them are heart-rending.
In order try and have a few hours with my family this weekend I'm going to have to leave this story alone for a bit. But by all means get in touch if you want to.
.
Wednesday, 9 February 2011
What's up at the Post Office?
This story has been updated: 14 Aug 2013
In November last year, whilst on air, I got a random tweet from a man called Davinder Misra who wanted to know if I might use his West Byfleet-based taxi service.
I replied, possibly a bit flippantly, that it depended on whether he had any good stories to tell.
Davinder said something like "oh I've got a story to tell alright".
I took his number, we spoke on the phone and I went to see him.
I also spoke to Alan Bates, the man who runs the Justice for Subpostmasters Alliance, then I took the story to my boss at BBC Surrey and my colleagues at Inside Out South. Nearly three months later on Mon 7 Feb 2011, we broadcast the above piece on BBC 1 South.
If you can't view it, a transcript of the film can be found here.
On the same day the television piece went out we broadcast a radio programme focussing on the story on the BBC Surrey Breakfast Show. Have a listen...
In November last year, whilst on air, I got a random tweet from a man called Davinder Misra who wanted to know if I might use his West Byfleet-based taxi service.
I replied, possibly a bit flippantly, that it depended on whether he had any good stories to tell.
Davinder said something like "oh I've got a story to tell alright".
I took his number, we spoke on the phone and I went to see him.
I also spoke to Alan Bates, the man who runs the Justice for Subpostmasters Alliance, then I took the story to my boss at BBC Surrey and my colleagues at Inside Out South. Nearly three months later on Mon 7 Feb 2011, we broadcast the above piece on BBC 1 South.
If you can't view it, a transcript of the film can be found here.
On the same day the television piece went out we broadcast a radio programme focussing on the story on the BBC Surrey Breakfast Show. Have a listen...
Friday, 21 January 2011
Amy and Abi's diaries
In 2009 I started watching Strictly Come Dancing with my then 4 year old daughter Amy.
Then as now, on a Monday, we had a feature called "The Shots in 60 seconds". Here the relevant commentary highlights of Aldershot Town's Saturday match, plus the comments of the manager, would be condensed into 60 seconds and set to music.
It didn't take me long to realise I could do something like that with Strictly Come Dancing, and so was born "Strictly in 60".
Every Sunday in the Autumn of 2009 I would record my daughter's thoughts about the show - who left and why, who did well etc - cut them down to 60s and play them out straight after The Shots in 60.
I liked it because it was a piece of audio, in quality, which broke up the tone of the show - you don't often get to hear a 4 year old speak for a minute on any subject, let alone on the radio, so it provided us with something very different to the usual ebb and flow of the morning.
When Strictly was over I thought about what I could do next, and the idea of Amy's diary presented itself to me. A once a week insight into Surrey life from a 4 year old's perspective.
So in January 2010 we started broadcasting Amy's journal, 60s to 90s worth of audio, every Monday morning. The need to keep it short was essential - there is nothing more boring than other people's children. But if you keep it tight, and the narrative bumps along, you do get that momentary jolt of seeing into a young person's world via the subjects they choose to talk about and the sometimes wonderful turn of phrase they have when articulating it.
Every Sunday evening I would sit down with Amy and we'd record the raw audio. Before recording we'd discuss two or three big moments that happened for her in the week and what we were going to say about them. The diary always starts with "Hello my name is Amy, I'm xxxx years old and this is my diary" and it would always end with "Thank you for listening to Amy's diary". In between we'd record Amy's narrative, using the days as chapter markers. "On TUESday...." or "On SATURday...."
If she lost track of things or used names or words that needed explaining, she went too far off topic, or needed a sentence to signify the end of a section, I'd prompt her. If she rambled on on topic I'd let her go, because that's when you get something that was purely her, and I could isolate it and chop out the stumbles and irrelevant stuff in the edit.
Then I'd upload the raw audio into my PC and cut it at home on Audacity, the free editing software, before emailing it to my producer for him to pick up and chuck into the BBC playout system on Monday morning.
I didn't quite realise how it would take off. There are a lot of people listening to the show who have grown up children themselves. They just love hearing a child's voice, and being reminded of the obssessions that children that age have.
When, after a year in the job on 1 Sep 2010, I asked, on air, for an end of year report from the listeners, I was taken aback by the universal praise we got for Amy's diary.
I went to a New Year's Day drinks party at my in-laws this year and that was the conversation starter for many guests (most of whom were in their sixties). "Oh I do love Amy's diary" they would say, "is it coming back in the New Year?"
My brother-in-law told me he was talking about radio with a friend of his and mentioned I worked in radio. The friend didn't know my name, didn't know the correct name for the station, but once he'd worked out Dave was talking about the local BBC radio station for Surrey he said "Oh yes of course! Amy's diary!"
That's when I realised we had a brand on our hands. Well, that and the number of Christmas cards Amy got from listeners.
This year we have formalised the time slot to 8.50am on a Monday (in the early days it would move around the running order) and introduced our secret weapon - Abi.
Abi is Amy's sister, she's just turned three and through watching Amy do her thing every Sunday, has picked up a very good understanding of what's required. Now when Amy finishes her diary, she adds "Now it's Abi's turn" and the listeners get 20s of Abi. "Hello my name is Abi, I am three and this is my diary..."
Abi is very talkative and quite headstrong, but also something of a performer. Yet she still has that ridiculously raw, unformed little voice that small toddlers have. In terms of pure sound it's just not something you hear every day in that environment.
I'm aware talking about my daughters is much more interesting to me than anyone else, by a factor of, ooh, a million, so I always play it straight when trailing the item.
My feeling is making a big deal about it is twee and dull - if you don't like it, it's around 75 seconds long, it'll be all over before you know it and hopefully there is nothing too irritating, and enough in there to stop you turning off.
Amy and Abi love it, of course. It would be interesting to see how long we can keep this going. Amy has grown over the past year, and I can hear the changes in her voice from her early diaries. I also get the sense that a lot of listeners are enjoying sharing in these tiny glimpses of her childhood. Now Abi is on board, it'll be fun to see if they develop an on air dynamic together.
For me it justifies itself as a bit of audio contrast, in the way that Thought For The Day is a deliberate pause to the rhythm of the Today programme. The moment Amy, Abi, the listeners or my bosses get bored with it, it will go.
If you want to have a listen to the latest diaries, scroll forward 1hr 50m in the most recent Saturday breakfast show on the BBC Surrey page of the iplayer.
.
Then as now, on a Monday, we had a feature called "The Shots in 60 seconds". Here the relevant commentary highlights of Aldershot Town's Saturday match, plus the comments of the manager, would be condensed into 60 seconds and set to music.
It didn't take me long to realise I could do something like that with Strictly Come Dancing, and so was born "Strictly in 60".
Every Sunday in the Autumn of 2009 I would record my daughter's thoughts about the show - who left and why, who did well etc - cut them down to 60s and play them out straight after The Shots in 60.
I liked it because it was a piece of audio, in quality, which broke up the tone of the show - you don't often get to hear a 4 year old speak for a minute on any subject, let alone on the radio, so it provided us with something very different to the usual ebb and flow of the morning.
When Strictly was over I thought about what I could do next, and the idea of Amy's diary presented itself to me. A once a week insight into Surrey life from a 4 year old's perspective.
So in January 2010 we started broadcasting Amy's journal, 60s to 90s worth of audio, every Monday morning. The need to keep it short was essential - there is nothing more boring than other people's children. But if you keep it tight, and the narrative bumps along, you do get that momentary jolt of seeing into a young person's world via the subjects they choose to talk about and the sometimes wonderful turn of phrase they have when articulating it.
Every Sunday evening I would sit down with Amy and we'd record the raw audio. Before recording we'd discuss two or three big moments that happened for her in the week and what we were going to say about them. The diary always starts with "Hello my name is Amy, I'm xxxx years old and this is my diary" and it would always end with "Thank you for listening to Amy's diary". In between we'd record Amy's narrative, using the days as chapter markers. "On TUESday...." or "On SATURday...."
If she lost track of things or used names or words that needed explaining, she went too far off topic, or needed a sentence to signify the end of a section, I'd prompt her. If she rambled on on topic I'd let her go, because that's when you get something that was purely her, and I could isolate it and chop out the stumbles and irrelevant stuff in the edit.
Then I'd upload the raw audio into my PC and cut it at home on Audacity, the free editing software, before emailing it to my producer for him to pick up and chuck into the BBC playout system on Monday morning.
I didn't quite realise how it would take off. There are a lot of people listening to the show who have grown up children themselves. They just love hearing a child's voice, and being reminded of the obssessions that children that age have.
When, after a year in the job on 1 Sep 2010, I asked, on air, for an end of year report from the listeners, I was taken aback by the universal praise we got for Amy's diary.
I went to a New Year's Day drinks party at my in-laws this year and that was the conversation starter for many guests (most of whom were in their sixties). "Oh I do love Amy's diary" they would say, "is it coming back in the New Year?"
My brother-in-law told me he was talking about radio with a friend of his and mentioned I worked in radio. The friend didn't know my name, didn't know the correct name for the station, but once he'd worked out Dave was talking about the local BBC radio station for Surrey he said "Oh yes of course! Amy's diary!"
That's when I realised we had a brand on our hands. Well, that and the number of Christmas cards Amy got from listeners.
This year we have formalised the time slot to 8.50am on a Monday (in the early days it would move around the running order) and introduced our secret weapon - Abi.
Abi is Amy's sister, she's just turned three and through watching Amy do her thing every Sunday, has picked up a very good understanding of what's required. Now when Amy finishes her diary, she adds "Now it's Abi's turn" and the listeners get 20s of Abi. "Hello my name is Abi, I am three and this is my diary..."
Abi is very talkative and quite headstrong, but also something of a performer. Yet she still has that ridiculously raw, unformed little voice that small toddlers have. In terms of pure sound it's just not something you hear every day in that environment.
I'm aware talking about my daughters is much more interesting to me than anyone else, by a factor of, ooh, a million, so I always play it straight when trailing the item.
My feeling is making a big deal about it is twee and dull - if you don't like it, it's around 75 seconds long, it'll be all over before you know it and hopefully there is nothing too irritating, and enough in there to stop you turning off.
Amy and Abi love it, of course. It would be interesting to see how long we can keep this going. Amy has grown over the past year, and I can hear the changes in her voice from her early diaries. I also get the sense that a lot of listeners are enjoying sharing in these tiny glimpses of her childhood. Now Abi is on board, it'll be fun to see if they develop an on air dynamic together.
For me it justifies itself as a bit of audio contrast, in the way that Thought For The Day is a deliberate pause to the rhythm of the Today programme. The moment Amy, Abi, the listeners or my bosses get bored with it, it will go.
If you want to have a listen to the latest diaries, scroll forward 1hr 50m in the most recent Saturday breakfast show on the BBC Surrey page of the iplayer.
.
Sunday, 7 November 2010
Ricky Gervais, Jarvis Cocker, Ed Byrne and Peter Kay
The 2010 Student Radio Awards take place this week. I am usually involved as a judge, and this year I had the privilege of arguing over who should win the non-news speech category. I was also asked to contribute my memories of the first two* awards ceremonies.
Although some of the key moments of the first (in 1996) spring readily to mind, I had to ask where the 1997 awards were held. At this point they probably should have taken me off the project.
They didn't, so I made an appeal on Facebook and Twitter to see if anyone else could remember anything about either awards.
Despite several people coming forward, which at least established the 1997 awards' location (Oxford), it seems there is a general air of folk amnesia surrounding what happened. This, I think, suggests both were a spectacular success.
If you were at either event (or the third in '98 at Brick Lane), please add your comments below. This is a slightly re-written version of what I submitted to the 2010 awards organisers:
"Details of the first two Sudent Radio Awards are largely lost in the mists of time, with most of the participants now dead, or having faded into insignificance.
This was in the days before your social medias, your so-called Facebooks and fancy Twitterspaces. Hard though it may be to imagine, mobile phones were the size and weight of gold ingots, with about the same functionality.
There were no digital cameras (thankfully), and because the water in the last century wasn't safe to drink, most students survived on a form of methanol suspended in food colouring, known as Mad Dog 20/20.
As a result almost no records of these events taking place actually exist, and the ones that do are a little hazy. But ULU 96 and Oxford Brookes 97 did definitely happen, much to the surprise of almost everyone involved.
This much I know. In November 1995 I was elected Chair of the SRA. In December 1995 I wrote (when people conducted business by sending letters in the post to each other) to Matthew Bannister, the then Controller of Radio 1, suggesting the SRA and Radio 1 set up a student radio awards.
He wrote back, on a letter (I know!), two weeks later, saying it was a jolly good idea and that we ought to come down to Radio 1 to discuss it.
For a student with far-off dreams of working in the radio industry this was like receiving an invitation to the Emerald City.
Armed with the Secretary of the SRA and a nice man called Dan McEvoy (now a high up at 5live) who independently had the same idea as me, we converged on an office somewhere in Yalding House (or was it Egton? It was probably the now-demolished Egton).
There we were welcomed by the poshest woman I have ever met. In a faintly disinterested manner, she told us Matthew Bannister was sorry he couldn't come to our meeting, but he really wanted the awards to happen and so they would.
We went away and did everything we could to make sure student stations entered the competition and came to the event. Radio 1 put a genuinely fantastic team (not including the posh lady, who I never saw again) on the case, who provided patient, friendly and expert guidance whilst making sure the very first Radio 1 Student Radio Awards was worthy of the name.
The first ceremony took place at the University of London Union in November 1996. The Evening Session's Jo Whiley and Steve Lamacq hosted. The gig afterwards featured the bands Shoot, The Longpigs and Space.
The compere at the gig was a chubby, cheerful northern fella called Peter Kay, who had recorded childrens' TV theme tunes onto a dictaphone, and spent most of his act playing them out through the PA and saying "Remember that?".
Jarvis Cocker, one of the most famous people in the country, was on the guest list that night. I remember seeing his name and asking the Radio 1 press person "Why is Jarvis Cocker on the guest list?".
She said "Dunno, we thought he might like to come, we invited him, and he said yes..."
Never going to happen, I thought. A few hours later I was standing at the bar and Jarvis Cocker walked past. "Jarvis Cocker!" I blurted, in amazement.
"Hello." he said politely, and walked on. The man who wrote Common People and who, the previous year, had headlined Glastonbury with Pulp, had just popped his head round the door at an event I helped set up.
Mind you the Ents Manager at ULU...
Me: "Is the ents manager alright with us coming here and taking over most of his union for a private function on a Friday night?"
Radio 1 person: "yeah he's fine. He's a really nice bloke actually..."
.... was Ricky Gervais, who was 8 years away from being in the same room as Clint Eastwood and Jack Nicholson, clutching a Golden Globe for The Office.
It was a good night.
The second Radio 1 Student Radio awards was the centrepiece of the 1997 Student Radio Association autumn conference, held at Oxford Brookes University. Word had spread through the student radio community (using some sort of rudimentary semaphore) about the success of the inaugural event and loads of students from all over the country piled into Oxford.
All the talk was of Oxygen 107.9, the student radio station which had broken out of closed-loop AM broadcasting and FM RSLs to win a permanent FM licence. We all know how that turned out. Oh well.
The star turn at the awards was Ed Byrne, a hilarious young comedian who went on to become the voice of Mowbli in the Carphone Warehouse adverts, and despite never having to work again, is a now an older, but still hilarious, award-winning comedian.
Ed was effectively hired to give us all a laugh before the awards started, but when Dave Pearce dropped out of presenting duties due to illness, Ed was forced to announce himself as the host, a job he did with considerable aplomb, given it had been sprung on him at the last moment.
There are rumours that Oxford Brookes marked the first sit-down dinner at a student radio awards, but I don't remember it like that. At ULU the refreshments were basically crisps, nuts and beer. I seem to remember us being seated theatre-style for Oxford Brookes.
Having trawled around for peoples' memories, that recollection appears to be in dispute.
As I say, it's all a little hazy now."
I'd like to wish all the students who have been nominated for awards this year the very best of luck. The standard in the category I judged was particularly high, and there is some genuine talent there, which I hope the industry will be in good enough shape to pick up before long.
--------------------------------------------------
*The Radio 1/student radio awards relationship had actually existed well before the "first" ones in 1996. I didn't know this when I first approached Radio 1, and neither did the people at Radio 1. At that time there was something of a scorched earth policy towards Radio 1's previous regime and everything it represented.
The previous existence of an older awards scheme became apparent when we were working on the new ones. The discovery that Radio 1, in its incredibly naff phase, had held a relationship with the Student Radio Association's predecessor NASB (National Association of Student Broadcasters) filled me with terror. If Radio 1 discovered the previous regime had also thought holding a student radio awards was a good idea, they might feel it was tainted by association and drop the new one like a shot.
Nonetheless I felt I had to bring it to Radio 1's attention. After all, knowing the awards had existed previously hardly meant we could launch the new awards as the first.
The conversation went something like this:
Me: "Er... I've discovered that Radio 1 used to have a student radio awards scheme which it ran with our predecessor organisation."
Radio 1 person: "And...?"
Me: "Well that means this isn't the first Radio 1 student radio awards, like we've been calling them."
Radio 1: "Oh, I don't think we need to worry about it now."
Me: "Er... okay."
And so the new awards were born. The first between Radio 1 and the SRA, and the ones that have grown into the extraordinary talent-sourcing behemoth they are today.
Although some of the key moments of the first (in 1996) spring readily to mind, I had to ask where the 1997 awards were held. At this point they probably should have taken me off the project.
They didn't, so I made an appeal on Facebook and Twitter to see if anyone else could remember anything about either awards.
Despite several people coming forward, which at least established the 1997 awards' location (Oxford), it seems there is a general air of folk amnesia surrounding what happened. This, I think, suggests both were a spectacular success.
If you were at either event (or the third in '98 at Brick Lane), please add your comments below. This is a slightly re-written version of what I submitted to the 2010 awards organisers:
"Details of the first two Sudent Radio Awards are largely lost in the mists of time, with most of the participants now dead, or having faded into insignificance.
This was in the days before your social medias, your so-called Facebooks and fancy Twitterspaces. Hard though it may be to imagine, mobile phones were the size and weight of gold ingots, with about the same functionality.
There were no digital cameras (thankfully), and because the water in the last century wasn't safe to drink, most students survived on a form of methanol suspended in food colouring, known as Mad Dog 20/20.
As a result almost no records of these events taking place actually exist, and the ones that do are a little hazy. But ULU 96 and Oxford Brookes 97 did definitely happen, much to the surprise of almost everyone involved.
This much I know. In November 1995 I was elected Chair of the SRA. In December 1995 I wrote (when people conducted business by sending letters in the post to each other) to Matthew Bannister, the then Controller of Radio 1, suggesting the SRA and Radio 1 set up a student radio awards.
He wrote back, on a letter (I know!), two weeks later, saying it was a jolly good idea and that we ought to come down to Radio 1 to discuss it.
For a student with far-off dreams of working in the radio industry this was like receiving an invitation to the Emerald City.
Armed with the Secretary of the SRA and a nice man called Dan McEvoy (now a high up at 5live) who independently had the same idea as me, we converged on an office somewhere in Yalding House (or was it Egton? It was probably the now-demolished Egton).
There we were welcomed by the poshest woman I have ever met. In a faintly disinterested manner, she told us Matthew Bannister was sorry he couldn't come to our meeting, but he really wanted the awards to happen and so they would.
We went away and did everything we could to make sure student stations entered the competition and came to the event. Radio 1 put a genuinely fantastic team (not including the posh lady, who I never saw again) on the case, who provided patient, friendly and expert guidance whilst making sure the very first Radio 1 Student Radio Awards was worthy of the name.
The first ceremony took place at the University of London Union in November 1996. The Evening Session's Jo Whiley and Steve Lamacq hosted. The gig afterwards featured the bands Shoot, The Longpigs and Space.
The compere at the gig was a chubby, cheerful northern fella called Peter Kay, who had recorded childrens' TV theme tunes onto a dictaphone, and spent most of his act playing them out through the PA and saying "Remember that?".
Jarvis Cocker, one of the most famous people in the country, was on the guest list that night. I remember seeing his name and asking the Radio 1 press person "Why is Jarvis Cocker on the guest list?".
She said "Dunno, we thought he might like to come, we invited him, and he said yes..."
Never going to happen, I thought. A few hours later I was standing at the bar and Jarvis Cocker walked past. "Jarvis Cocker!" I blurted, in amazement.
"Hello." he said politely, and walked on. The man who wrote Common People and who, the previous year, had headlined Glastonbury with Pulp, had just popped his head round the door at an event I helped set up.
Mind you the Ents Manager at ULU...
Me: "Is the ents manager alright with us coming here and taking over most of his union for a private function on a Friday night?"
Radio 1 person: "yeah he's fine. He's a really nice bloke actually..."
.... was Ricky Gervais, who was 8 years away from being in the same room as Clint Eastwood and Jack Nicholson, clutching a Golden Globe for The Office.
It was a good night.
The second Radio 1 Student Radio awards was the centrepiece of the 1997 Student Radio Association autumn conference, held at Oxford Brookes University. Word had spread through the student radio community (using some sort of rudimentary semaphore) about the success of the inaugural event and loads of students from all over the country piled into Oxford.
All the talk was of Oxygen 107.9, the student radio station which had broken out of closed-loop AM broadcasting and FM RSLs to win a permanent FM licence. We all know how that turned out. Oh well.
The star turn at the awards was Ed Byrne, a hilarious young comedian who went on to become the voice of Mowbli in the Carphone Warehouse adverts, and despite never having to work again, is a now an older, but still hilarious, award-winning comedian.
Ed was effectively hired to give us all a laugh before the awards started, but when Dave Pearce dropped out of presenting duties due to illness, Ed was forced to announce himself as the host, a job he did with considerable aplomb, given it had been sprung on him at the last moment.
There are rumours that Oxford Brookes marked the first sit-down dinner at a student radio awards, but I don't remember it like that. At ULU the refreshments were basically crisps, nuts and beer. I seem to remember us being seated theatre-style for Oxford Brookes.
Having trawled around for peoples' memories, that recollection appears to be in dispute.
As I say, it's all a little hazy now."
I'd like to wish all the students who have been nominated for awards this year the very best of luck. The standard in the category I judged was particularly high, and there is some genuine talent there, which I hope the industry will be in good enough shape to pick up before long.
--------------------------------------------------
*The Radio 1/student radio awards relationship had actually existed well before the "first" ones in 1996. I didn't know this when I first approached Radio 1, and neither did the people at Radio 1. At that time there was something of a scorched earth policy towards Radio 1's previous regime and everything it represented.
The previous existence of an older awards scheme became apparent when we were working on the new ones. The discovery that Radio 1, in its incredibly naff phase, had held a relationship with the Student Radio Association's predecessor NASB (National Association of Student Broadcasters) filled me with terror. If Radio 1 discovered the previous regime had also thought holding a student radio awards was a good idea, they might feel it was tainted by association and drop the new one like a shot.
Nonetheless I felt I had to bring it to Radio 1's attention. After all, knowing the awards had existed previously hardly meant we could launch the new awards as the first.
The conversation went something like this:
Me: "Er... I've discovered that Radio 1 used to have a student radio awards scheme which it ran with our predecessor organisation."
Radio 1 person: "And...?"
Me: "Well that means this isn't the first Radio 1 student radio awards, like we've been calling them."
Radio 1: "Oh, I don't think we need to worry about it now."
Me: "Er... okay."
And so the new awards were born. The first between Radio 1 and the SRA, and the ones that have grown into the extraordinary talent-sourcing behemoth they are today.
Friday, 5 November 2010
Have a Lovely Day
I'm not a very good shopper. The only "retail experience" I enjoy is at the supermarket. It's a once-weekly opportunity to indulge in some anticipative bonding with my digestive tract. The rest is just stress.
Today I was sent to Walton town centre with instructions to retrieve a pair of Mrs Wallis' boots, which were being re-heeled at Timpsons. On the way I was distracted by an ancient Top of The Pops trivia quiz game, sitting in the window of our local Sam Beare charity shop.
Everyone has their weakness. Mine is a limitless capacity for consuming pop trivia. Who doesn't want to know which member of Duran Duran was made ill by drinking water infected with elephant wee, why Trevor Horn never got to produce U2, what The Smiths' manager said as he watched Morissey record the lyric to How Soon Is Now and how the drum sound was created by accident on Phil Collins' In The Air Tonight?*
So I was in the Sam Beare shop like a shot. I grabbed the box and took it to the till, with the exact money counted into my immaculately moisturised palm.
At the till, the nice foreign (South American? Mediterranean?) lady set me on my way by saying "have a lovely day".
Have a lovely day?
A lovely day?
I am on my own, in a charity shop, in Walton on Thames. How lovely can it get?
Deploying the sharpness of mind for which I am justly revered, I replied "and you" as I left.
I think I did so mainly out of cultural embarrassment. After all, "have a lovely day" might be a perfectly normal thing to say in a shop in her country (wherever it is). And, to be fair, she was really nice, so if she was prepared to wish me a lovely day, I was happy to wish the same for her.
I did make several other instant assumptions, mainly that as a volunteer in a charity shop she was doing something she actually wanted to do, and therefore was well on her way to having a lovely day anyway. I would never wish someone a lovely day when there was a good chance they were nowhere near getting one.
Now, Timpsons pride themselves on customer service. Everytime I go into Timpsons I am struck by how ebullient and knowledgeable they are about heels and batteries and keys. It takes a lot to care about that sort of thing. It also takes a lot to care about how your customer feels about their interaction with that sort of thing. I generally think heels and batteries and keys are mainly annoying, so gearing myself up to deal with someone who straddles the world of heels, batteries and keys like a knowledgeable Colussus takes some effort.
Having retrieved Mrs Wallis' boots and paid for them, I still wasn't prepared for the Timpsons man to suggest, as I left his shop, that I might like to "have a lovely day", exactly echoing the phrase I had just heard in the Sam Beare shop.
The Timpsons man was not foreign. He was an honest-to-goodnes, salt-of-the-earth heel-repairer, key-etcher and battery retailer. And now he was staking an interest in the rest of my day. It threw me a bit.
It didn't feel right to suggest to a man I just met that he too should have a lovely day, so deploying the sharpness of mind for which I am justly revered, I replied "Cheers" as I left.
Was this churlish? Was I wrong not to wish him a lovely day too? Maybe he was having a lovely day at work, surrounded by keys and batteries and heels.
Or maybe, once he had taken off his maroon apron at 5.30pm that evening, he would be off to a wedding in the grounds of Hampton Court Palace, where he would enjoy the company and bonhomie of old friends, on a special occasion, in a magical setting. That would be lovely.
By saying "Cheers" was I reinforcing the inherent client/supplier relationship in every retail transaction? The idea that because I have money and you want to take it from me, you have to be obsequieous and I can act like an arse? You state, on the record, that you want me to have a lovely day and I am so self-obssessed, so uninterested in your poxy little life that the most I can bring myself to utter is an expression of thanks for a superfluous entreaty?
Well, really....
Also (and I have no idea why) I felt uncomfortable about wishing another man a lovely day. It just felt wrong.
"Have a lovely day."
"You too, boss."
"A day filled with love."
"For both of us."
"Kiss me, Timpson."
I wandered into The Works, attracted by the usual collection of books reduced from RRPs of £18 or £19 to £1.99. My kind of bookstore.
I picked up a book on grammar which I had once flicked through in a different shop, thought was brilliant, then refused to buy because of the cover price. Now it was going for a fiver, so I had it. I took it to the till. I paid my money. I took the receipt. The store assistant, as we parted, said "enjoy the rest of your day".
Oh, ffs.
Enjoy the rest of your day?
There is an unwitting hint of the directive in that sentence, which isn't entirely welcome. And once more I am left speculating as to why someone selling me a bargain-bin book in a discount store would choose to chuck coins in the fountain of my immediate future.
Once is fine. Twice is odd. Three times is unnerving. Did I miss the memo which introduced a new paradigm of retailer/consumer interaction expectation? Is this unique to Walton? Why would three complete strangers gun for me and my prospects in such gushing terms for no apparent reason? Do they know something?
I tweeted about this experience earlier today, and a dear friend suggested the people I encountered in Walton High Street were merely being friendly and polite. This is fair enough.
However, I like to consider myself friendly and polite (esp when dealing with strangers), but I have never briefly met someone and then speculated that they might have a lovely day.
Especially without any inkling as to what the rest of the day might hold in store for them. Why would you?
*Answers on a postcard.
Today I was sent to Walton town centre with instructions to retrieve a pair of Mrs Wallis' boots, which were being re-heeled at Timpsons. On the way I was distracted by an ancient Top of The Pops trivia quiz game, sitting in the window of our local Sam Beare charity shop.
Everyone has their weakness. Mine is a limitless capacity for consuming pop trivia. Who doesn't want to know which member of Duran Duran was made ill by drinking water infected with elephant wee, why Trevor Horn never got to produce U2, what The Smiths' manager said as he watched Morissey record the lyric to How Soon Is Now and how the drum sound was created by accident on Phil Collins' In The Air Tonight?*
So I was in the Sam Beare shop like a shot. I grabbed the box and took it to the till, with the exact money counted into my immaculately moisturised palm.
At the till, the nice foreign (South American? Mediterranean?) lady set me on my way by saying "have a lovely day".
Have a lovely day?
A lovely day?
I am on my own, in a charity shop, in Walton on Thames. How lovely can it get?
Deploying the sharpness of mind for which I am justly revered, I replied "and you" as I left.
I think I did so mainly out of cultural embarrassment. After all, "have a lovely day" might be a perfectly normal thing to say in a shop in her country (wherever it is). And, to be fair, she was really nice, so if she was prepared to wish me a lovely day, I was happy to wish the same for her.
I did make several other instant assumptions, mainly that as a volunteer in a charity shop she was doing something she actually wanted to do, and therefore was well on her way to having a lovely day anyway. I would never wish someone a lovely day when there was a good chance they were nowhere near getting one.
Now, Timpsons pride themselves on customer service. Everytime I go into Timpsons I am struck by how ebullient and knowledgeable they are about heels and batteries and keys. It takes a lot to care about that sort of thing. It also takes a lot to care about how your customer feels about their interaction with that sort of thing. I generally think heels and batteries and keys are mainly annoying, so gearing myself up to deal with someone who straddles the world of heels, batteries and keys like a knowledgeable Colussus takes some effort.
Having retrieved Mrs Wallis' boots and paid for them, I still wasn't prepared for the Timpsons man to suggest, as I left his shop, that I might like to "have a lovely day", exactly echoing the phrase I had just heard in the Sam Beare shop.
The Timpsons man was not foreign. He was an honest-to-goodnes, salt-of-the-earth heel-repairer, key-etcher and battery retailer. And now he was staking an interest in the rest of my day. It threw me a bit.
It didn't feel right to suggest to a man I just met that he too should have a lovely day, so deploying the sharpness of mind for which I am justly revered, I replied "Cheers" as I left.
Was this churlish? Was I wrong not to wish him a lovely day too? Maybe he was having a lovely day at work, surrounded by keys and batteries and heels.
Or maybe, once he had taken off his maroon apron at 5.30pm that evening, he would be off to a wedding in the grounds of Hampton Court Palace, where he would enjoy the company and bonhomie of old friends, on a special occasion, in a magical setting. That would be lovely.
By saying "Cheers" was I reinforcing the inherent client/supplier relationship in every retail transaction? The idea that because I have money and you want to take it from me, you have to be obsequieous and I can act like an arse? You state, on the record, that you want me to have a lovely day and I am so self-obssessed, so uninterested in your poxy little life that the most I can bring myself to utter is an expression of thanks for a superfluous entreaty?
Well, really....
Also (and I have no idea why) I felt uncomfortable about wishing another man a lovely day. It just felt wrong.
"Have a lovely day."
"You too, boss."
"A day filled with love."
"For both of us."
"Kiss me, Timpson."
I wandered into The Works, attracted by the usual collection of books reduced from RRPs of £18 or £19 to £1.99. My kind of bookstore.
I picked up a book on grammar which I had once flicked through in a different shop, thought was brilliant, then refused to buy because of the cover price. Now it was going for a fiver, so I had it. I took it to the till. I paid my money. I took the receipt. The store assistant, as we parted, said "enjoy the rest of your day".
Oh, ffs.
Enjoy the rest of your day?
There is an unwitting hint of the directive in that sentence, which isn't entirely welcome. And once more I am left speculating as to why someone selling me a bargain-bin book in a discount store would choose to chuck coins in the fountain of my immediate future.
Once is fine. Twice is odd. Three times is unnerving. Did I miss the memo which introduced a new paradigm of retailer/consumer interaction expectation? Is this unique to Walton? Why would three complete strangers gun for me and my prospects in such gushing terms for no apparent reason? Do they know something?
I tweeted about this experience earlier today, and a dear friend suggested the people I encountered in Walton High Street were merely being friendly and polite. This is fair enough.
However, I like to consider myself friendly and polite (esp when dealing with strangers), but I have never briefly met someone and then speculated that they might have a lovely day.
Especially without any inkling as to what the rest of the day might hold in store for them. Why would you?
*Answers on a postcard.
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