Picture Special Edition

Afternoon, folks.

Busy afternoon of sport, and holding a show together and not touching Justin's face on air. After completing my mega radio hero post the other day, I forgot to add on my photo experience with Chris Evans:

Ta-daa!

Heroes (Ed. 3)

Triple bill hero recognition time, twinned with a confession.

I am in love with radio. It's all I ever wanted to do since I was bitten by the bug as a toddler. Radio Two as a boy, several songs can take me right back. Sadly, they are too cheesy to repeat here.

The first time I can recall ever hearing 'in the dark' radio was possibly Radio One in the mid to late eighties. The presenter had been to New York and claimed to have been in a room with radios tuned to every station in the city. There was one tune that some stations were playing at the same time, and this seemed to be by a 'Rapping Reverend' of some sort. I was transfixed at the noises of life coming out of my clock radio, and I was transported to my under ten idea of what New York would be like.

If you have any ideas about this Rapping Reverend, or, you heard the same broadcast, please get in touch.

One night in 1990 I stayed up late - possibly due to the excitement of the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait. On Beacon, was a voice - a Liverpudlian voice, who took calls and let the listeners speak, and he listened. This man is Ian Perry, responsible for me wanting to become a talk radio DJ. I even got my name read out on his show later that year.

It sounded so natural and real, that I was disappointed to hear later on other exponents deliberately rile their callers into arguments in order to create "great radio". Ian Perry created a community of callers, regular themes, topical debate, and edgy topics at times. Characters, The Head of Cock Ups, how to fill for four hours at a time, I learned a lot.

As secondary school got tougher, the all night listening sessions tended to drop away.

On Sunday afternoon, at about the same time, Dad drove back from the pub (yes, I know) and I heard Chris Evans questioning Claire Rayner, at that time infamous for commercials for "ladies' stationery" that featured wings. Every question had the answer 'wings'. Simple but effective. Fun and funny.

This Evans fellow then exploded onto televison, but quickly returned to Radio with Virgin and the Big Red Mug Show - I still have the final one on tape. (First volume of the excellent autobiography for further reading.) To cut the next ten years out, he then became the biggest thing *ever*, thought he was invincible and then, in once sense or another, lost everything. (Would recommend the unpublished second volume of the autobiography for this bit.)

Then someone had the bright idea of asking him to host a radio-a-thon, linking together every commercial radio station in the country in support of the Indian Ocean tsunami appeal. Everyone who listened enjoyed the professionalism and enthusiasm again. Radio Two gave him a job. He's now taking over the biggest job in daily broadcasting, the Radio Two Breakfast Show.

Legend.

Final broadcasting hero? It's a bizzare split, and I have to split it. Not warranting a full hero status each, for reasons that will hopefully become apparent.

John Peel and Danny Baker (at the same time). John Peel is an inspiration because he loved the music. The music was real and he encouraged it. He was there when Jack Ruby shot Lee Harvey Oswald (true!). He was a wilfully grumpy, aincient, teenager. Nothing gave him more pleasure than discovering new music and sharing it with people. I only heard very few of his shows, and learned more about him following his unfortunate early death.

Danny Baker is spontaneous, witty, and knows how to work an audience. Only been a fan since listening to the Euro 2008 606's last summer, where his total opposition to actually talking about the real events on the pitch was legendary. Now gifted a great slot on Radio Five Live Saturday mornings, still accompanied by the blossoming Issy Clarke. Great to listen to as I prepare to get to my own Sports show on Saturdays!

So there you have it.

Radio Heroes:

1) Ian Perry

2) Chris Evans

3) John Peel and Danny Baker at the same time

From Private Eye:

Surely, one of my teams if there is a Fantasy Football League next season, this quote from Page 8 of a recent Private Eye:

"Quangoland magnificos"

News

Hello,

It's been impossibly busy in the last month or so, dividing my time between being on air, doing research for the programme, keying in singles, recording my old tapes onto the computer, doing gym work and, oh yeah, actual paid work. So free time (meaning bloggery time) has sort of run dry. I needed to do an update today, simply to explain my position on a few things:

Radio 2 vs. The World

Although it wasn't exactly Radio 2 versus the World, however it felt like that for a while. I don't want to add an unnecessary layer onto something that should now be forgotten about - yet I need to write that the only person to come out of this well is Andrew Sachs, who has been dignified, blameless and gracious throughout.

U.S. Presidential Election Result

A few years back, I was pointed by someone I knew towards Barack Obama to be the next President of the USA. I nodded, and listened patiently to the excited tones explaining how the junior Senator for Illinois was making waves. I was largely indifferent to his spectacular rise until my interest was rekindled after reading an interview in the September 1st issue of NewsWeek (the line is originally from The Audacity of Hope):

"A man's either trying to live up to his father's expectations or make up for his father's mistakes."

That is wisdom, and applies to it all. Which one are you doing?

So that's why I was awake at 4am this morning, watching history occur right in front if my eyes.

Anyhow, must dash, soup to cook, sleep to do, that kind of thing.

Insane Bolt

(The start bit of this post really should have been published about three weeks ago.)

This afternoon, I saw a sporting feat that left me speechless. Usain Bolt from Jamaica became the first person to run the 100 metres in a time under 9.7 seconds *. And wasn’t even trying for the last 25. 

9.69.

That time is as long as it takes to read that first paragraph.

I thought that the TV had broken at first. That victory margin was so immense, it couldn’t be real.

Watching that started me thinking about my days as a champion sprinter, running the same distance in 11.07 seconds, ooh, more than a decade ago. After thirteen years away from the track, and numerous bacon sandwiches later, what would my time be now?

The other thing in my mind was Michael Johnson doing something similar at about 4am in Atlanta, in 1996 in the 200m. In some ways, the Michael Johnson race is more outstanding; Bolt shaved 0.03 seconds from the world record in his victory, in 1996 Johnson took 0.4 seconds off a record that had stood for twenty years, destroying a world class field. The pace even dragged the surprised Frankie Fredericks under the then world record mark.

(Fast forward a few days…)

Usain Bolt took Michael Johnson’s 200m world record away from him with another blistering performance to take gold in Beijing, reducing the mark from 19.32 to 19.30. 

(Further days pass…)

So, I stepped on the track, and after some practice and re-acquaintance with blocks and on track psychology, ambled to a decade’s best of…15.44s.

Can this be bettered? With I ever get close to 11 seconds again? Is there a better way to time these things than with an iPod and shouting?

All these questions and more will be answered over the coming month, in a quest to shave a second or so off this fastest time in thirteen years.

*With a ‘legal’ wind speed of less than +2.0m/s, accuracy fans.

Ooh!

Introducing you to my current desktop at work, stretched full (if you want the full vision). Best viewed in 4:3 square-o-vision, then you get the magnificence of the spherical cloud. Originally only meant to be up for one day, this replaced the vandalised "Windows NT" with NT crossed out and XP written over the top after 11 months.

Of course, this was to commemorate the Trinity test of July 16, 1945; the moment science theoretically could have destroyed the world. The results were less devastating than that, but still deadly enough for its cousins to virtually end World War Two.

From scientists theoretically having the power to destroy the world, the governments of the world now have enough to destroy the world five times over.

Enough doom though - what an astonishing image. Captured (according to the always correct Wikipedia) 0.016 seconds after detonation. Props to the legendary Berlyn Brixner who took the photograph. He's still very much alive, and he's the only 97 year old I want to meet. He is famously also the inventor of the Ultra High Speed shutter.

Heroes (Ed. 2)

Welcome back to the second in a sporadic series, giving brief outlines on the select few; the ones I call my heroes.

Today, we celebrate another one of the departed - Terence Alan Milligan. Also known as Spike to the millions that he touched.

I can just about claim that I grew up with his influence, my earliest Spike memory is the opening to one of his programmes and him sawing half of the "2" logo for BBC2. The only book I have ever saw my Dad read (and probably will ever see read) was a 1972 edition of The Goon Show Scripts, which I then read. The lunacy and sheer level of imagination required to make the adventures come alive seemed to be beyond that of most adults - thought like this should be left to the children.

As I got into my teenage years, I got a copy of 'Rommel: Gunner Who?' and read it from cover to cover, one hot summer's day. I wept with tears of laugher as the nearly deadly miscalculation that nearly killed Harry Secombe ended up uniting two of the Goon triumvate. 

Shortly after was the Comedy Awards ceremony.

As Spike chugged past seventy, appearances on television decreased in direct inverse proportion to the volume of praise he was afforded by a new group of surreal comedians who I related to, like Eddie Izzard, and mostly Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer.

In 1998, I had the opportunity to meet Spike and Norma Farnes at a book signing at Waterstones in New Street, Birmingham (co-incidentally, next door to the head office of the Multimedia Toastie Company). He was late for the signing, but my astonishment, he ran up the steps past me in the queue. Amazing sprightliness for a man of advanced age (in my humble opinion). I asked him very nicely to sign my book, and I produced the 1972 scripts, which he kindly signed and dedicated to my Dad. To which he said, "Not this! This is years old!" He then made a fuss of Eileen's Elmo rucksack, giving it a voice.

Truly, the very best reason not to turn up to an Electonics lecture.

Whenever anyone asks me what my life's ambition is, I tell them I have already achieved it - to meet Spike.

Under four years later, he had been taken from us - when I found out he had died, it was within a stone's throw of Waterstone's, and I was with Eileen at the time.

Without putting myself in the same league as him, I can appreciate the wild mood-swings, addictive personality, devotion to the surreal, fascination with children's thought and need to make people laugh.

I am still astonished by his capacity to bring struggle upon himself, with tales of huge alcoholic binges, self admission to 'mental institutions', the constant womanising and workload that he chose to undertake.

All this, and to remain funny at the same time.

A true hero.

Top Gear

Anyone who knows me (and this includes you!) will know that I'm a fan of BBC2's Top Gear. I like that it democratizes celebrity by making its guests take the same test around the same track in the same car.


Whilst trawling the internet for, er, essential research material over Christmas, I discovered the true extent to which people love Top Gear.


Linked below are the friuts of an as-yet unnamed New Zealander, who has faithfully recreated the Suzuki Liana and the test track at the Top Gear airfield. If I was wearing my hat, it would be permanently removed in salute. Unnkown New Zealander, you are a hero.

http://www.muddleglum.orconhosting.net.nz/darktopgear.htm

Enjoy.

Heroes (Ed. 1)

You might be getting the impression that I'm angry and never satisfied with anything, unless it's to do with the German Market. This just simply isn't true. John Gaunt got a bash. That's it, so far. 

It's time to introduce another strand onto these pages, and it's about my heroes. Let's start with Anthony H. Wilson.

Tony Wilson was an enigma, the kind of person that would at some point (I imagine) annoy everyone he had met to the point of physical violence. The anarchic outlook on life combined with an education that took in Jesus College (Cambridge, to you and me), and a passion for the dramatic arts combined to make the man I most look up to in the world of music. He was a journalist with Granada Television, capable of the light-hearted and the high powered. He was utterly irresposible with other peoples money. He was also directly responsible for Factory Records, the incomparable Haçienda and 'modern' nightclub DJ culture infiltating the UK. He encouraged, alongside Martin Hannett, the whole Factory roster to explore the boundaries of their sound.  As well as this, he was one of the few, the audience at the pivotal Sex Pistols gig in Manchester in June 1976.

I was deeply saddened to hear of his passing earlier this year. He was on my list of people I wanted to meet before I/they died. I just wanted to thank him.

I never went to the Haçienda. I never saw the bands. I'd not heard of Factory until after they went bust. I never met the man. But, unknowingly, Tony Wilson virtually shaped my late adolescence.

In some sort of tribute, I visited what became of FAC 51 in October 2005. The former cathedral had become apartments.

Tony Wilson died on August 10th, 2007, aged 57.

"Some people make money and some make history."