Read Online Disgusting Bliss by Lucian Randall - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lucian Randall
Ads: Link
deciding to follow his friend. Clive Myrie went on to be a foreign correspondent. The gang also included Steve Yabsley and bringing up the average age was John Armstrong. Tall and slightly untidy, Armstrong had come up through newspapers and a variety of local, national and London-based radio and was one of the newsreaders at the station who shared Morris’s irreverence for their working environment.
Maitland remembers that Morris’s attention was slightly distracted by another of their friends, Julie Sedgewick: ‘She was well fit and everyone fancied her,’ he says. ‘You’d have to have been gay or asexual not to have felt a bit of a twinge. She looked like I imagined Cathy from Wuthering Heights to have looked. In the end, Clive went out with her.’
Other friends came from his university days, and Jane Solomons remembers a time characterized by a busy social circle, as much drawn from outside the media as from the BBC, and lots of good conversation. Morris was a great host with a skill in cooking beyond the range of the average twenty-five-year-old. ‘My impression of Chris at the time was as a sort of bon viveur,’ says Steve Yabsley, inspired to develop his own fare by Morris’s versatility with herbs, garlic and flavourings. It was nurturing stuff, which he deployed to bring everyone together and not just during good times. When Jonathan Maitland had relationship problems, he ended up on Morris’s doorstep one night. ‘He opened the door and I burst out crying,’ says Maitland, ‘pretty embarrassing for a bloke.’ But Morris was sweet and caring. Having grown up to be self-reliant through Stonyhurst, he nevertheless had an instinctive understanding of people and their problems. ‘I just spilled it all out to him, and he was just very kind and knew how to deal with it,’ says Maitland. ‘He was in touch with his feminine side.’
There were also more raucous get-togethers. ‘We had a really good party at my place, really good,’ says Maitland. ‘Tasty women and loads of drink. And Chris jumped out of the window and a hedge broke his fall. So he got lots of people to do this hedge-jumping thing. Undergraduate high jinks . . . but very funny.’
Jonathan Maitland was also a natural show-off and, although a news journalist, as aware as Morris of the inherent ridiculousness of his trade. ‘He and Chris would often taunt each other on air,’ remembers Sica. ‘One would whisper abusive things down the other’s cans [headphones], or buzz them just as they were about to go on, or stand outside the door and wave frantically as if it was some sort of emergency . . . play around like that. I remember once, Maitland was reading the news and Morris had his mike on, rustling his papers, taking big deep breaths before Maitland’s sentences, to make it sound like he was nervous, or breathe deeply, or saying things under his breath.’
The domain in which Maitland worked was largely populated by a race more savagely ambitious and self-important than anyone in TV. They were fanatical about making news local. Morris later said that in December 1988, ‘When Lockerbie happened in the Radio Bristol newsroom and somebody discovered that a local woman had been involved there was a, “Yes!” So it is quite hard to take it all seriously, but I was trying very hard to be well behaved.’ 21
Newsroom editor Mark Byford was an ongoing comedic obsession for Morris and Maitland as a BBC management textbook made flesh. He paced the newsroom when anything exciting happened and indicated his approval for a story by announcing in his Yorkshire accent, ‘That’s good telly! That’s good telly!’ Byford always seemed destined for great corporation things – and indeed went on to be deputy director general.
For all its absurdities and puffed-out peacocks, Radio Bristol would remain home for some of Morris’s friends. Aside from a stint on Radio 4, John Armstrong remains at the station and Steve Yabsley is still a
Maitland remembers that Morris’s attention was slightly distracted by another of their friends, Julie Sedgewick: ‘She was well fit and everyone fancied her,’ he says. ‘You’d have to have been gay or asexual not to have felt a bit of a twinge. She looked like I imagined Cathy from Wuthering Heights to have looked. In the end, Clive went out with her.’
Other friends came from his university days, and Jane Solomons remembers a time characterized by a busy social circle, as much drawn from outside the media as from the BBC, and lots of good conversation. Morris was a great host with a skill in cooking beyond the range of the average twenty-five-year-old. ‘My impression of Chris at the time was as a sort of bon viveur,’ says Steve Yabsley, inspired to develop his own fare by Morris’s versatility with herbs, garlic and flavourings. It was nurturing stuff, which he deployed to bring everyone together and not just during good times. When Jonathan Maitland had relationship problems, he ended up on Morris’s doorstep one night. ‘He opened the door and I burst out crying,’ says Maitland, ‘pretty embarrassing for a bloke.’ But Morris was sweet and caring. Having grown up to be self-reliant through Stonyhurst, he nevertheless had an instinctive understanding of people and their problems. ‘I just spilled it all out to him, and he was just very kind and knew how to deal with it,’ says Maitland. ‘He was in touch with his feminine side.’
There were also more raucous get-togethers. ‘We had a really good party at my place, really good,’ says Maitland. ‘Tasty women and loads of drink. And Chris jumped out of the window and a hedge broke his fall. So he got lots of people to do this hedge-jumping thing. Undergraduate high jinks . . . but very funny.’
Jonathan Maitland was also a natural show-off and, although a news journalist, as aware as Morris of the inherent ridiculousness of his trade. ‘He and Chris would often taunt each other on air,’ remembers Sica. ‘One would whisper abusive things down the other’s cans [headphones], or buzz them just as they were about to go on, or stand outside the door and wave frantically as if it was some sort of emergency . . . play around like that. I remember once, Maitland was reading the news and Morris had his mike on, rustling his papers, taking big deep breaths before Maitland’s sentences, to make it sound like he was nervous, or breathe deeply, or saying things under his breath.’
The domain in which Maitland worked was largely populated by a race more savagely ambitious and self-important than anyone in TV. They were fanatical about making news local. Morris later said that in December 1988, ‘When Lockerbie happened in the Radio Bristol newsroom and somebody discovered that a local woman had been involved there was a, “Yes!” So it is quite hard to take it all seriously, but I was trying very hard to be well behaved.’ 21
Newsroom editor Mark Byford was an ongoing comedic obsession for Morris and Maitland as a BBC management textbook made flesh. He paced the newsroom when anything exciting happened and indicated his approval for a story by announcing in his Yorkshire accent, ‘That’s good telly! That’s good telly!’ Byford always seemed destined for great corporation things – and indeed went on to be deputy director general.
For all its absurdities and puffed-out peacocks, Radio Bristol would remain home for some of Morris’s friends. Aside from a stint on Radio 4, John Armstrong remains at the station and Steve Yabsley is still a
Similar Books
