unattractive lady lolly, I must say. One that I’m sure every man here would dearly like to lick.
‘But that’s not to in any way trivialise what is clearly a distressing situation.
‘Er … St John’s ambulance are nearby. Not doing anything, of course, but I’m not sure they’re trained to administer medical care. They’re to a real paramedic what the Salvation Army is to a special forces soldier. Still, they look smart enough.
‘And the arrow’s out! The arrow is out! It’s been plucked from the woman like a pointy Excalibur. Well done that man …
‘Right. Next to shoot is Mark Allen …’
When I played the tape back to Carol the next morning, she agreed (in an uncharacteristically effusive show of support) that it had been ‘a powerful and moving broadcasting tour de force ’. 57
And she wasn’t the only one impressed. With my commentary played out on BBC radio news bulletins up and down the land, I was thrust into the national limelight. Suddenly, I was hot property.
And so it was that, six months later, I was included on a round-robin circular memo to BBC reporters, asking for applications to join the team of a new Radio 4 current affairs show. I was a wanted man!
Chapter 7
Joining the Bbc
I’M STANDING IN FRONT of a building that is literally steeped in history. Behind me is London’s swanky Regent Street, home to the Café Royal, Hamley’s toy store and a genuinely impressive two-storey McDonald’s.
Ahead of me, as I say, is a formidable structure, headquarters to broadcasting magnificence. Inside its browny-coloured walls are rooms, studios and cupboards that have played host to some of the greatest moments in broadcasting: Just a Minute , Gardener’s Question Time , John Birt’s 55th birthday party.
I’m about to start work for an organisation that needs absolutely no introduction, qualification or explanation. Reader, I’m about to work for Radio 4, the BBC1 of UK radio. 58
Before this big break, I’d been to London before: once for Carol’s birthday when she was going through an ‘unfulfilled’ phase and had ideas above her/Norwich station, and another time when I had to pick up a cagoule that had found its way on to the Charlton Athletic team bus after a fractious post-match interview.
But working in the capital? This was quite unexpected. I’d received the good news during an intervention – Carol’s brother Tim was drinking too much, so we’d effectively ambushed him in our lounge – and I was pleased that my own success could in some small way deflect attention from his enormous failings. To provide a bit of levity, I left the room for a moment and came back in wearing a bowler hat and umbrella, saying ‘I’m going to work in London!’ while marching up and down. I thought that was absolutely hilarious. After a stern word from Carol, the intervention continued in earnest and I’m delighted to say it was a success. Tim’s barely touched a drop since then, apart from wine.
Although it was a Sunday, I thought it best that I telephoned every one of my Radio Norwich colleagues to tell them I’d been plucked for national stardom and I’d be leaving Norwich. It was best they found out from me, as I knew that the loss of the station’s Mr Sport would hit them hard. Most of them took it well and showed tremendous stoicism, displaying almost no emotion.
I began to make arrangements for my new life. But it was only after I’d completely cleared my desk weeks later that I found out that On the Hour was to be a weekly show, which meant that we were only required in London on a Friday.
I spoke to the station controller of Radio Norwich, quickly unresigned and set about returning the items to my desk. There were a few snide remarks from colleagues but I was unperturbed, glad even, that I’d made the error, as the process of clearing and then restocking my workspace was an absolute pleasure. It allowed me to conduct a full stationery audit, think seriously about
‘But that’s not to in any way trivialise what is clearly a distressing situation.
‘Er … St John’s ambulance are nearby. Not doing anything, of course, but I’m not sure they’re trained to administer medical care. They’re to a real paramedic what the Salvation Army is to a special forces soldier. Still, they look smart enough.
‘And the arrow’s out! The arrow is out! It’s been plucked from the woman like a pointy Excalibur. Well done that man …
‘Right. Next to shoot is Mark Allen …’
When I played the tape back to Carol the next morning, she agreed (in an uncharacteristically effusive show of support) that it had been ‘a powerful and moving broadcasting tour de force ’. 57
And she wasn’t the only one impressed. With my commentary played out on BBC radio news bulletins up and down the land, I was thrust into the national limelight. Suddenly, I was hot property.
And so it was that, six months later, I was included on a round-robin circular memo to BBC reporters, asking for applications to join the team of a new Radio 4 current affairs show. I was a wanted man!
Chapter 7
Joining the Bbc
I’M STANDING IN FRONT of a building that is literally steeped in history. Behind me is London’s swanky Regent Street, home to the Café Royal, Hamley’s toy store and a genuinely impressive two-storey McDonald’s.
Ahead of me, as I say, is a formidable structure, headquarters to broadcasting magnificence. Inside its browny-coloured walls are rooms, studios and cupboards that have played host to some of the greatest moments in broadcasting: Just a Minute , Gardener’s Question Time , John Birt’s 55th birthday party.
I’m about to start work for an organisation that needs absolutely no introduction, qualification or explanation. Reader, I’m about to work for Radio 4, the BBC1 of UK radio. 58
Before this big break, I’d been to London before: once for Carol’s birthday when she was going through an ‘unfulfilled’ phase and had ideas above her/Norwich station, and another time when I had to pick up a cagoule that had found its way on to the Charlton Athletic team bus after a fractious post-match interview.
But working in the capital? This was quite unexpected. I’d received the good news during an intervention – Carol’s brother Tim was drinking too much, so we’d effectively ambushed him in our lounge – and I was pleased that my own success could in some small way deflect attention from his enormous failings. To provide a bit of levity, I left the room for a moment and came back in wearing a bowler hat and umbrella, saying ‘I’m going to work in London!’ while marching up and down. I thought that was absolutely hilarious. After a stern word from Carol, the intervention continued in earnest and I’m delighted to say it was a success. Tim’s barely touched a drop since then, apart from wine.
Although it was a Sunday, I thought it best that I telephoned every one of my Radio Norwich colleagues to tell them I’d been plucked for national stardom and I’d be leaving Norwich. It was best they found out from me, as I knew that the loss of the station’s Mr Sport would hit them hard. Most of them took it well and showed tremendous stoicism, displaying almost no emotion.
I began to make arrangements for my new life. But it was only after I’d completely cleared my desk weeks later that I found out that On the Hour was to be a weekly show, which meant that we were only required in London on a Friday.
I spoke to the station controller of Radio Norwich, quickly unresigned and set about returning the items to my desk. There were a few snide remarks from colleagues but I was unperturbed, glad even, that I’d made the error, as the process of clearing and then restocking my workspace was an absolute pleasure. It allowed me to conduct a full stationery audit, think seriously about
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