WHY, OH WHY?

As Dickens first wrote: WHY, OH WHY? I would ask the same. All you little emailers out there want to know just one thing. Are you all readers of the sub-market tabloid press? Just a question. And I'd need more than a free-to-read blog to tell you what you want to know. Anyway, if I email back with the info all you'll do is post it on your own blogs, now won't you? Naughty little minds.

THE PRINCES

At the risk of being seen as a royal groveller, I was most impressed by the relaxed performance of the two princes. They put on a superb show and really seemed like decent well-brought up young men. All this on what must have seemed to them rather a strange day. Well done, lads, if one's permitted to call a future king and his brother, lads.

THAT CONCERT

So, more people watched the end of the Concert for Diana than Live Aid. I find that hard to believe. Although I must admit that I was one of them. The atmosphere was not there. It seemed a pleasant place to spend a Sunday afternoon and that's definitely not the right mood for rock. Was it my hearing or was there something wrong with Rod Stewart's voice. I could barely hear him. Also, the drummer was encased in some see-through icelike tomb. Was that so that Rod's mike could be turned up without picking up the drums? Apart from that he looked superb and I enjoyed hearing Maggie May once again.

GOOD GRIEF, JULIET!!!

Turn my back on the telly to write about Newsround and John Craven. I know that voice. (I'm not a regular viewer of Countryfile - plus not sure she's a regular interviewer on it) JULIET MORRIS. Another excellent presenter, great fun to work with and a wonderful sense of humour.

SOME LIGHTER STUFF

A few years after I ceased working for Newsround and John Craven my mum rang me.
"Terribly sad about John Craven," she announced.
"Terribly sad about what about John Craven?"
"He's dead."
"Who told you that?"
"My neighbour."
I laughed.
"No Mum, he's not dead - just presenting a programme on the countryside. It goes out at lunchtime every Sunday."
Ah well, the difference between mainstream telly and the rest of the stuff.
Me, I'm watching Countryfile on the Oxford Canal. Beautiful pictures, great stories, and John's just as good as he was two decades ago, obviously hugely enjoying himself.

THE BUS BOMB

A word about the bus bomb outside the British Medical Association's headquarters in 7/7. It freaked me out. For many years I walked from Euston Station to Gray's Inn road through Tavistock Square. Not every day but ALWAYS on a Thursday. Occasionally I would drive. I would drive up this very same road. Unless there was a serious traffic problem - by serious I mean something unusual such as an M1 accident blockage - I would pass the BMA building at the same time as the bus did. When walking I would guarantee to pass at the same time as the bus did. I shivered that day when I realised that had the job continued I would not be here.

THOUGHTS ON THE BOMBS

A little departure from ex-working life at the Beeb. Difficult to call this run of terror. Unlike all the others it's starting to scare me. London and Glasgow within a matter of hours. Seems the only thing that saved hundreds if not thousands of passengers from the most gory of deaths appears to be the lack of research on behalf of the terrorists -- not working out the width of vehicle needed to enter the terminal. I think an Angel intervened on this occasion, in fact on all three occasions especially the drunk needing ambulance treatment and the brilliant London Ambulance Service saving the day. I admire the way they do their jobs picking up the pieces of so many shattered lives and so many lives deliberately destroyed by their owners.

OWNING A RESTAURANT

An extremely busy Control Room in a News Gallery.
Up pops the caption: xxx xxx, RESTAURATEUR.
Programme Editor: "Bloody Hell, the caption's wrong. Put the bloody N in NOW."
PA to Director says: "No, actually it's right."
Prog Ed: "Who the hell are you? It's wrong. Change it."
PA in quieter voice: "My husband's a restaurateur."
Prog Ed: "Get me a fxxxing dictionary."
Dictionary arrives. Prog Ed looks up entry.

Dramatic Pause.

"Fxxxing Hell, even the fxxxing dictionary's WRONG!"

UTTER TRAGEDY

An appalling story this week about a woman executive with the BBC World Service who died while swimming shortly before she was due to take early retirement at the age of 53. She was seen sitting on the beach with her head in her hands. I think this youth orientated culture needs seriously looking at. We're wasting so much talent and experience and ruining people's lives. Whether this is or is not connected I do not know. All I will say is that putting people out to grass long before their talents are fading is a shocking thing to do. There are many people I know who gave the best part of their lives to the BBC and now sit at home, bitter and twisted at the waste of their careers. Does it save money? I'm not so sure that it does. Rather a pity that the bosses years ago didn't send people home halfway through their 18-hour shifts to learn a sport or a hobby or take up training in an alternative career. Ah well, we live and learn. Great messages to send out to the young, aren't they? I'm so sorry for this person -- my thoughts and prayers go to your family. May you rest in peace.

HILTON AT THE TOP

A newsreader bites back. Three cheers for this presenter refusing to cow-tow to the celeb culture we're all expected to bow down to and respect. I suppose her family connections both give her the financial strength and the moral strength to act this way, but it's still most rare. Television news does not have the time to cover the major stories around the world. Paris Hilton may be a talking point but it's not NATIONAL NEWS. And no, I'm not harking back to the so-called good old days of the BBC when the radio newsreader would occasionally announce: "It's 3 o'clock and this is the news read by Harcourt Smythe. There is no news this afternoon. Our next bulletin is at 7 this evening. Good afternoon." Something like that. Bugger, maybe I do want those days back.

THE NEWS

Okay, I' ll admit it. Times like these are when I want to be back working in national news. Even in Westminster. What I really miss are the stories behind the stories. The gutsy goss that never sees the broadcasting light of day. Sadly, after so much time dealing with this material, the body and mind go into overdrive and I can't sleep, and walk around like a loony, desperate to start broadcasting. Is there something wrong with me? Will the doc be able to prescribe something to ease the adrenalin out of the system and return me to normal? (While we're on the subject when did adrenaliN become adrenaliNE?) It'll soon be over. Or will it? I have a feeling we're going to get an awful lot more political news as the economy starts to turn from boom to bust. On the bright side, you wanna hear about my new play.

Enough blogging

What am I widdling on about? The more I look back the more stories I recall. The bane of a writer's life - too good a memory. Ah, but is it selective?

AND I WORKED HOUR AFTER HOUR AFTER HOUR

The title says it all. Also, got a lot of proof on paper. So, beware.../

OKAY, YOU GOT IT

This is a trained BBC radio and television journalist talking about Broadcasting. It ain't all about the BBC. BE WARNED!!!

TURN TO THE BBC

Pity the Freeview won't give us Sky. So, can't report on how well they coped with the floods. There's an old saying that in times of crisis the viewers turn to the BBC. Their coverage yesterday of the floods was excellent, admittedly in the hurry to get the news on air and the huge reduction in staff, quite often the words - when live - didn't match the pictures. A reservoir about to burst its banks became an industrial wasteland. But great stuff, Beeb. Thanks. While we're on the subject of things in news not quite going right I recommend watching 24-hour news with sub-titles. The best came on Sky about a year or two ago when an armoured personnel carrier had been attacked and disabled by a "bucket". You see, even machines have their faults.

TEAMWORK

No names, no packdrill. At one of my many television employers we had an A team and a B team. We struggled to put together complete A teams, usually a reporter, sometimes a director, always a cameraperson and a sound person (most of the time). It was impossible to get an entire A team together. Fate always intervened, not that it mattered. As long as at least one person had a brain cell the end result was always broadcastable, although it might not have reached the higher standard of a full A team. But, just as the full A team never happened, this was also the case with the full B team. Then one morning I looked down the list of stories and the list of the people crewing them and gasped out loud. WE HAD A FULL B TEAM. For the first time in living memory. True to form, they did not disappoint. It was the first occasion that a crew had come back with nothing broadcastable. In later years I witnessed far more dramatic versions of the B team - unbroadcastable stories shot in the Far East and the United States. But the first B team was the best - it creased us up for days.

ROGER GONE MAD

Back in the days when Roger Finn was joint presenter of Newsround with Helen Rollason he arrived a little late for the morning conference. Afterwards he sat beside me and explained thus: "I'm only a little guy and I was coming in on the M40 when this bloke in a massive car starts honking his horn and flashing his lights. So, to protect myself, I pretended to be a weirdo. I waved my arms about, shook my head so furiously that it nearly fell off, made strange horrible faces whenever I caught a glimpse of the driver...." Go on, I said. "Then, about a minute later the car started swerving violently across the road. I pulled over, got out and checked the wheels. Guess all he wanted to tell me was that I had two flat tires."

MAD ROD GILCHRIST

Sorry Rod, I know you've got a sense of humour and you will forgive the nickname, actually it was meant as a compliment, at least from me. Rod was my boss at New Era TV, run by the Daily Mail out of a warehouse in Fulham. Times were manic as we were working for the short-lived British Satellite Broadcasting. One thing I can say is that, unlike other BSB firms I worked for, when the whole caboodle collapsed the Mail honoured its cheques. We had loads of resources and I ran an excellent news programme. We filmed the most expensive house in The Bishops Avenue, quite an eye-opener. The builders bought it for £3M and were trying to sell for £25M. I guess it's still the most expensive one in the street; massive amount of land, wonderful rooftop views of London. I'd live there, guv, honest I would. However, my stint with New Era severely damaged my happy clappy hippy memories. Unlike the Beeb, where there is a massive well-oiled system allowing programme makers to use whatever music they want with the greatest of ease, we had to do all our rights applications ourselves. One day that meant faxing Roger Waters to use some Floyd. Unfortunately, the reply came back that we could have UK rights but not World Rights. Mad Rod wanted World to sell the progs here, there and everywhere. And we didn't even have an audience! Faxing a hero, indeed. There are many more Rod stories but the reason I mention this is that some of my closest friends live in the middle of nowhere in Italy. This week they supped wine on the beach, or at least in the sun, and guess who should sit down at the next table. You're right. Great memories, generally, even though a minimum of a twelve-hour day six days a week.

CHEEKY ROSS

Jonathan Ross dead cheeky last night at the start of his show. Referred to Nick getting the sack, laid into Beeb management with a baseball bat and then sent joke invites to his "30th" birthday party. Guess that when you have a signed in blood £18 million pounds contract you can do this sort of thing. I rather warmed to him. Never met the man but I did work with one of his brothers, who was utterly charming.

BILL FROST

A terribly sad book about Cocaine from the sister of a reporter who died from the drug. Clare Campbell's OUT OF IT: HOW COCAINE ADDICTION KILLED MY BROTHER couldn't have a more explicit title. I knew the young BBC reporter when he was on the graduate trainee scheme. They sent the young reporters off around the regions. I think it was either Radio Nottingham or Radio Humberside where I met Bill. He was friendly, kind-hearted, clever and great fun. The saddest part of this story was hearing from his sister how coke had taken over his life. In those days we went out for a drink of a night. I remember talking to Bill the following morning. We were comparing hangovers and I offered him a paracetemol. 'No thanks, Paul. Don't touch drugs.' Anyway, something like that. I was most impressed. Reading his obituary left me deeply touched, particularly this one from Kevin Marsh which summed up his character superbly. Another sad death of one of my journalistic comrades; joining the long list of the people I have been proud to share part of my life with. Say no more, except stay off the coke.

WHO'S RIGHT?

I was driving back home listening to Radio 2 and the Chris Evans Show and heard Fenella Fudge read a news story about SIR-VYE-EE-KAL Cancer. Very impressed that the proper use of the word was on the BBC. Wondered, idly, how they would all laugh had I been reading the news -- I have the best male news reading radio voice in Britain -- and used the wrong pronunciation. How they would have laughed, I thought. A few hours later I am flipping through the tv channels on Freeview and hear Ben Brown on BBC News 24 refer to SIR-VICK-AL Cancer. Oh please, this is surely a simple one to get right. It sounds like a load of bollocks until you understand that if the pronunciation is clearly wrong then so might the facts be. GEDDIT? And how many times did that go out? O NO Fiona Bruce on the Beeb TV Ten Headlines said the same as Brown. I guess someone high up said this was the correct pronunciation. But why have one version for radio and another for television.

NOT NICK ROSS

Can't believe Nick Ross is being forced out of Crimewatch. One of the most talented and most decent of all broadcasters. Met him in the early 70s when he was a reporter on the World at One. A kind face in a tough journalistic environment. 'You'll do well, Paul, he told me - with a memorable surname like yours.' Well, we're not finished yet, Nick. I am so sorry to see that 23 years of commitment to such a worthy programme has to come to such a sad end. It's a double whammy to read this since it reminds me of my friendly BBC acquaintance Jill Dando. Last time I saw her was at a friend's birthday party in South London. Next, she was dead, brutally murdered on her doorstep. Sad news this morning. Hope that, unlike in the case of Moira Stuart, there is a rapid rethink in BBC Headquarters and Nick is encouraged to continue as long as he can broadcast.

NOT AS MUCH FUN AS FIONA

Walking through the biggest warehouse on Hull Docks with ten thousand baying dockers yelling" PARASITE" at the tops of their voices. Just me, in the obligatory suit and carrying the obligatory Uher tape recorder, and a reporter from the Hull Mail. As we progressed through the centre of this crowd we saw the dockers' leaders high up on a dais at the far end of the room. I climbed up the stairs and the top man, Walter Cunningham, smiling broadly, shook my hand. "They're a bit excited this morning. You don't mind, do you?" That was the second occasion I had seen the sharp difference between the leaders and the pack. And in case you're thinking the top guys were soft let me assure you they were anything but. They became the leaders by being the toughest guys on the block, and then some. Happy memories.

FIONA RICHMOND and MY VOICE

She was appearing in We Have No Pyjamas at Hull New Theatre. Fiona Richmond, who had a wonderful voice, also seemed to love the young vocal attributes of a local radio news producer, although what the hell he was doing with an entertainment story....

DURY AND DYLAN

Musicians are taking over the airwaves. Mind you, Humphrey Lyttelton's been doing this for longer than I care to remember. Great to hear him in action on the BBC. Has no one told the youth police how old he is?

RADIO VERSUS TELEVISION

Time for a wee rant. I was immersed in radio during my twenties, as that was the medium in which I was working. Before that I rarely watched television. It was only nearing my thirties, taking a Sunday lunchtime break from BBC Radio Humberside, in the pub across the road, that the country music presenter Tex Milne ( yes Tex was not the name his Mum and Dad gave him ) offered me a non-working GEC hundred-foot wide wooden box thing. I accepted, got it operational and then was able to see wonderful colour pictures as I listened to Pink Floyd. No, that's not the rant yet. On moving from radio to tv I kind of lost touch with radio. On a couple of occasions I returned to it while temporarily without a tv. Then, a few years ago I gave up television, seemingly for good ( okay, didn't last, not my choice ) but I discovered an incredibly intellectually satisfying world. One that had not suffered in the way that television has over the years. I find some of the thinking behind many television programmes weird in the extreme. They're obviously aimed at the youth market but I have yet to meet anyone in this age group who watches them. I would make a special mention for Big Brother. From my anecdotal experience the only people watching this programme are the 40-70 generation hoping for a glimpse of something shocking, who presumably don't have access to the net. While we're on the subject, how can viewers possibly identify more strongly with characters from Eastenders than the people they live and work with? They do, believe me, they do. I'll soon post my other Tex Milne story: Tex and the Weapons of Mass Destruction. No, it's got nothing to do with either The Middle East, as I believe Tony Blair would like us to say when referring to Iraq, or nukes.

MY NIGHT LIFE

How much of this long-term stuff filters through into my work - Where Did I Go Last Night? Could be quite a lot. Didn't do George Orwell any harm basing so much of 1984 on life at the BBC. Oh come on, you don't believe me? It's true. I'll find the references somewhere but got a 'orrible idea they're in a book. You remember books? Great stuff for reading but not as helpful as the net for instant research.

BOB FOX

More good material from Robert Fox, whom I first came across when he was a Radio 4 reporter covering the Hull Prison Riot and I was just a newcomer BBC Radio Humberside producer. I learnt a lot from this journalist, without him ever knowing it. The first lesson was not to share my information with him when I was going on air five minutes before him. Even sharing the same phone was a bad idea, despite the fact I arranged it. Back to the article, there's a major point here about the arming of groups opposing our enemies along with the sale of arms. It goes right back to the days of World War Two, when the US supported the Viet Minh in the war against the Japanese, in particular saving downed American pilots. Had America supported Ho Chi Minh a little bit later when he wanted to establish an American-style democracy Nam, would never have happened.

DAY ONE - TRAGEDY

The first story I ever wrote and broadcast concerned a man who had stopped to help the victims of a road accident. This Good Samaritan, married with children, was on the edge of the road when he was knocked down and killed. An awful story. Some ambitious student might one day do a thesis on the effect on young journalists continually coming across such dreadful material. I suppose that rather like young doctors we used sick humour to counter these daily tragedies. Young people also have an inbuilt feeling of immortality. I recall, while producing BBC Look East several years later, the difficulty of persuading a 22 year old to report on a university conference about ageing. He really did not see that as part of his universe and was most peeved at even having to bother with such material. I guess now his views have changed!

THE FLIXBOROUGH DISASTER

The Flixborough Disaster of 1974 and my non-role in it. Tony Cook was there, though, as was Don Truscott. I was about to join BBC Radio Nottingham. This was the weekend I travelled blissfully up through the wild lands of Yorkshire, Lincolnshire, Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire to meet a friend in Ripley and spend the Saturday night in Derby. Great fun meeting the Fransham Family of Belper. That night I'd taken Victoria home in my Skoda. Several years later, while a news producer at BBC Radio Humberside, Paul, her brother, invited me on board the ship in Hull that he was Chief Engineer for. My friggin' car broke down outside Bridlington, early hours, well soaked, and Dad, poor half-paralysed Dad, came out to rescue me. Thanks Dad, and also thanks to the couple who allowed me to use their home phone to call for help. P.S. Paul, when the radiator is overheating, it doesn't work unscrewing the cap of the radiator and driving slowly! Mind you, I nearly got home, but nearly was not near enough. In those days we did not have mobile telephones and you had to be earning a fortune to have a car radio. What great days... I guess this is the Fransham website. Hope to meet soon, folks.

ONE TO WATCH

Came across this blog the other day, thanks to the Guardian. It's most pointed and is clearly ruffling a few feathers. It used to be said that you ought to be careful who you treat while on the way up the greasy BBC pole because chances are you'll meet them on the way down. When you look at some of the programmes being put on television these days you want to weep.

THE WORLD COLLAPSES

*** Okay, just the Humberside part of it. ***
Early Saturday evening I am in the studio reading the news. Through the narrow glass panels on the control room double doors I spot the Paull Hunsley Electric Wireless Show DJ TIM JIBSON appear. Placing his music case down on the floor, he crosses his arms, leans back and smiles at me. Behind him is an eight foot by six foot map of Humberside. Somehow he's pushed it back a tad or two and it's wobbling. I continue reading the news with one eye on the map. It is now most certainly falling forward. No one in the control has noticed. I wave. Tim waves back. I haven't time to hit the 'cough button' and explain. I wave again. Tim's smile grows broader. He waves more emphatically. The map is now airborne, its top at least a couple of feet out from the wall, against which it had been lying since Humberside went on air. It's going to land on Tim's head. It won't do him any harm but I am having serious problems trying to control the laughter welling up inside my chest. Think David Jason falling through the bar hatch in Only Fools and Horses. There is nothing I can do but watch. The map lands. Tim's arms stretch out in defence. The look of shock on his face is about to send me into the serious giggles. I cut the weather short and thankfully hand back to the late afternoon DJ.

DON TRUSCOTT

One of the truly great characters in the old and early days of BBC Radio Nottingham. An honest, trustworthy, hardworking lovable man who sadly died all too young; at the age of 33 of cancer. I'm so glad that his old mate Alvin Lee, of Ten Years After, who also came from Nottingham and had his first amps built by Don, was able to invite him down to the rock star mansion. It made Don's year. He could also drive an adapted radio car mini faster than any Formula 1 star. That reminds me. Don played me a 12 inch reel to reel of the band recording one of their albums. Can't recall which one it was. Where is it now? Don was trained as a music tape editor for BBC Radio Three, as now is. He was also an extraordinarily gifted sound man. Miss you, mate.

RADIO TRENT AND THE HANGOVER CURE

Coming soon!!!

TOM CRUISE and the $100,000 bet.

This is about a bet on the boxer Evander Holyfield.

MEETING STANLEY KUBRICK

Stanley Kubrick was/is one of the world's finest film directors. But a very shy person who avoided the flash celeb culture that we inhabit, although he sat right at the very top of the tree. You want to know more?

HOLLYWOOD STARS IN MY EYES

Hollywood comes a callin' from St. John's Wood, London. Or was it the Red Lion in Mayfair? Bit of both, really. I had done a long GMTV shift and presumed the call was a wind-up. How wrong could I be?

DERMOT MURNAGHAN AND THE TAXI AND THE LUNCHTIME STRIP CLUB

Coming soon.

TINA BAKER - UK SOAP QUEEN - IN BASQUE AND STOCKINGS

Coming soon

VIV STANSHALL

Trevor's Friday night programme attracted a vast range of guests. Among them was Viv Stanshall, straight from some Nottingham stage. As Trevor started to introduce the radio people Stanshall interrupted saying: 'I'm too heavy. I have to sit down.' He did, and proceeded to provide amusing entertainment. It was the best show on radio. As Trevor points out in his blog, not a lot of people knew that. I was the Friday night reporter, alternating weekends with Simon Cole, now incredibly important in news management at Sky. After laughing myself stupid and waiting for the guests to depart I wandered through to the control room where a worried looking Trevor was busy doing something with that evening's tape, a legal requirement that also allowed either Tom Beesley, the manager, or John Bright, the Programme Organiser, to listen at their leisure. There had been a helluva lot of swearing on that night's programme. Although no one had rung in to complain, Trevor was worried about his job. 'The managers don't listen, do they?' I asked, confident in the knowledge that had they done so that night they would have called to complain. 'No,' he replied. 'And they're not going to get a second chance, either.' He was bending over several hours worth of tape. It was sitting on a massive magnet used to recycle tapes. Taking it over to one of the main tape players he listened carefully on headphones before commenting, with a broad smile: 'Oh dear, yet again the machine's failed to record the programme.' The presenter was right(in Trevor's blog): he did go far in broadcasting.

TREVOR DANN

Here's a link to one of the still bright sparks of British radio: TREVOR DANN. I'll put his blog on later so he can tell you about phone ins. Trevor was the one and only General Reporter on BBC Radio Nottingham. The newsroom had about fifteen members, a news editor, deputy, the rest being producers and reporters. Ok, if you are bored, here's Trevor's phone in blog story, courtesy of The Radio Academy. Now, back to Trevor. This musician comes in, Trevor got the musos, we got the rest of the stuff. "So, what's this guy got? I ask at lunchtime.' 'Don't know,' replies Trevor. 'He wouldn't give me his real name so I refused to interview him.' Nice one. We were all 22 at that time and a very exciting time it was to be in the new fangled local radio. Plus, Nottingham was something of a buzzy place - still is, so I gather. I was going to say it's now the drug capital of Britain until an undercover police officer friend of mine told me that this title now belongs to Cornwall. Why? The kids down there have bugger all to do. Enough for now, great Azimov film on: I, Robot. Wanna watch. Tera.

DEAD SERIOUS

Okay. Looks like fun so far. We all know journalists rank either just above or below estate agents, and you can't get lower than that, can you? I would ask one question. How many estate agents have died doing their job? I know one very clear, very newsworthy answer. No others, I'm afraid. How many journalists? You try and work it out. I have more than twelve friends who have been murdered, either by militias or by the state. One was even killed by an ordinary murderer. I don't mean those. The ones I am referring to are the men and women killed for reporting on the world as it is. Does it worry me today that they died? After all, that was a long time ago, ish. Yes, but why does it not worry many more people? It angers me that these people are so easily forgotten in our celebrity obsessed culture. I raise a hat and a glass to those friends who never reached the age of 30 - 40 - 50 - 60. Serious point over. You, and I, ought to remember that some of these characters were the most fun people to be around. They enjoyed life. That, only makes their early death more sad.

A GREAT DAY OUT

Only 21 and had to turn them down. They offered me the job but in those days a trainee journalist was "indentured" to a newspaper. Those indentures were damn near unbreakable. Unlike the falsies I was already wearing in my mouth thanks to rugger and soccer. They broke at a moment's notice, usually at the most embarrassing time. So it was to be another year before I made my way back ready to take a job in the exciting world of local radio. Yes, it was exciting and rather rare. A little different to the days of podcasting, MySpace and YouTube.

Before Day One

First interview at BBC Radio Nottingham. I was working for The Lincolnshire Times and had - always have had - a great broadcasting voice. My news editor pushed me off to the place his son in law was running as News Editor and we met up down the local. I had so much booze poured down me that I had to ask permission to leave the one and a half hour interview with the manager Colin Walters to go to the loo. A sign of times to come. The news editor, Tony Cook, had a famous test: new journos had to get drunk and then read the news while listening to the playback head through headphones on one of the big tape machines. That meant hearing back what you had read moments earlier. Not the easiest of things to do while sober. Oddly enough, it was one of the finest newsrooms I have ever worked in. And work we did. Great fun too. Never seemed to notice that the best years of my life were slipping by as I worked nearly every night and every other weekend.

Still Piddling About

Watched HAVE I GOT NEWS FOR YOU this evening with Nick Robinson. Well done Nick for not hiding the baldness and for wearing the specs. I trained Nick while working as a film director at Newsround. He also got us banned from using those new fangled devices - mobile phones. I'd swiped them from Main News and Nick walked through the newsroom, ear and mouth glued to the bloody thing, straight in front of Chris Cramer, my former boss and head of Home News. Sadly, the man was too sharp, knew exactly how this Newsround trainee had got a BBC phone and had Newsround banned from filching them ever again. By the way, what the hell happened to these mobile telephones? Did they ever take off and get used by the general public? Did they become smaller? If you see one of the original ones produced by Vodafone you'll recall they looked like an old-fashioned gents urinal.

First Story

I nearly started yesterday. Then had second thoughts. There is so much I want to say but the process of putting it down in order is worrying me. I have the strangest feeling that once the first story goes down I am going to witness a flood of memories. I'm not sure I want to experience that right at this moment.

Where Do I Start?

Difficult one. So, where do I begin recounting all these millions of memories. I should add that most of them are happy. I'm using this to run through a lot of great joy. But, dear blog reader, some of them are not at all happy. Some of the people that I met en route were strange characters who went on to cause great pain and distress to many people. Yes, and several of them are dead. Don't worry, quite a lot survived and became extremely wealthy. I imagine you would want to know about the famous names. Yes, there are many of them although not all were met on the BBC ladder, so I shall be sparing about them.

My Life in the BBC

This is exactly what the title would suggest. I joined the BBC at the tender age of twenty two and stayed working with it freelance/staff/freelance until three decades later. If I had had the sense to remain staff I would now be retired with a full pension, although I would probably have had to suffer many years of terminal boredom. From where I stand right now I would have happily gone through that. So much for hindsight.