Radio Crimes: 18th Birthday, March 1989

Finally, an eight-page Radio Crimes special to celebrate URE's coming-of-age, from March 1989.

More URE archive

And yet more. This time, it's lots of officious letters I wrote when I was Programme Controller. I was a precocious git, wasn't I? And nothing changes...

Radio Crimes: Freshers Week 1988

Well, that seemed to work. So here's more from the Hall of Fame. Or rather, shame.

URE History

Here's a bit of radio history - this is the first edition of URE's programme schedule, Radio Crimes, that I appeared in, in 19yadayadayada.
If this works as I hope, you should be able to click on them to make them full size so you can read them. More will follow...

Working the night shift

It is not unknown for people round here, when the work in hand is done, and things have gone a bit quiet, to toddle off into a quiet corner and grab a few zees.

Prime locations include the sofas that can be found in the glass cube management offices which are dotted about the place.

Recently a snotty email went round from a manager complaining that someone had been sleeping on her office sofa, and could the perpertrator(s) desist.

Within twelve hours a response came round from one of the oldest lags on the nightshift to the effect that some woman had been working in his bedroom during the day. He'd been putting up with it so far, but was starting to find it a bit intrusive.

I await further developments with interest.

A pint of your finest Puppy

Next time you're in York and fancy a pint of Yorkshire Terrier, bear in mind you may be taken literally.

I suspect this beer's from Canada, as this glass appears to contain a Labrador.

There's plenty more of this rubbish on www.cuteoverload.com

Now does this mean...

... that IPods are truly great, or that students really aren't what they used to be? (Or does typing that last sentence make me really old?!)

Survey: iPods More Popular Than Beer
SAN JOSE, Calif. -- Move over Bud.
College life isn't just about drinking beer. In a rare instance, Apple Computer Inc.'s iconic iPod music player surpassed beer drinking as the most "in" thing among undergraduate college students, according to the latest biannual market research study by Ridgewood, N.J.-based Student Monitor.
More from The Washington Post/AP.

Now that's what I call...

...a bonus.

Soca Warriors on the World Cup's Most Unusual Win Bonus
A win against England in Thursday's Group B encounter will see the 23 Trinidad & Tobago players, and their coach, celebrate in style when they return to their homeland. Angostura Rum, the national drink of the islanders, has promised to give the most historic barrels of rum it owns to the players if they can score three points in the crucial World Cup game.

As always, the devil is in the detail...
the 24 Angostura Rum casks, which each hold 247 litres of undiluted spirit...
247 litres - each! Crikey.

Just as we're leaving...

Sandi Thom only flippin' goes and puts Tooting on the map for the first time since 1976, in this fine article from Popjustice: Welcome to Tooting.
Well, OK, that and the murders...

Next Thinking

In the spirit of what I believe is termed "the blogosphere", we should probably say that other blogs by radio people are also available.
Here's a good one from the former MD of Capital Radio, Keith Pringle.
There's a lot of good advice on there, although you can't comment on the postings. And how about some links - including one back to the Pub Guide?!

If the pub won't go to me, I'll go to the pub

We've put an offer in on a house in Walton.

It has a Wetherspoons within 100 yards in one direction (not great) and two pubs on the banks of the River Thames in the other! Fab!

We've been there twice in two days, but I didn't take any photos. If the offer is accepted, then I will put them up and invite you to a night of drinking and near drowning on the river. Hurrah!

And in related news...

Will's Dad sent this:
Last orders for the lunchtime pint
"Is the lunchtime pint facing extinction? Only a minority of companies now allow staff to drink during the working day..."

Although I'd make the argument that it was never a matter of whether it was ALLOWED or not... most places probably don't allow it (so you can be disciplined if you over-do it), but will turn a blind eye to a swifty on a Friday lunchtime. Well at least I HOPE that's the case...

And this may help you to recognise your colleagues when they return:
Drunk Monkeys Mirror People
"It was not unusual to see some of the monkeys stumble and fall, sway, and vomit," Chen added. "In a few of our heavy drinkers, they would drink until they fell asleep."

Movin' Out - the Billy Joel musical

L'il Garders shows the way to go

It all seemed so simple. It's Daniel's birthday. He likes Billy Joel. There's a new Billy Joel musical in town, featuring 24 (count 'em!) of his biggest hits. Let's book the tickets right here! Surely it'll be just like Mamma Mia or We Will Rock You - a romp through all your favourite classic hits, with some "plot" loosely linking them together, right?

Wrong. A few days later, Beccy, who knows about these things, says "you do know who Twyla Tharp is, don't you? This will be Billy Joel expressed through the medium of contemporary dance." And with that, our faces fell, and we saw the price of a dozen lagers wandering off into the pockets of Ticketmaster.


The birthday boy looks forward excitedly to the show in The Cardinal, Victoria

And so, last Thursday, we were at the Apollo Victoria for Movin' Out. And it's difficult to know where to start. The last time I saw anything like this, it was at the University of Essex theatre. And for every moment where it felt like a pretentious piece of student angst, there was one where it felt like we were on a cruise ship watching the Ents team putting together a "Seaside Special" review. Add in some U-S-A, U-S-A flag-waving, and you get the picture.

I'll confess to owning a Billy Joel Greatest Hits compilation (though it does have a "not for re-sale" sticker still on it) but the even the piano man's best work can't save this, as any subtlety gets lost in the bombastic arrangements. And this is before I've even got on to the bizarre S&M bondage scene somewhere in the middle where a Mother and young son walked out...

The audience - if not our group - were divided. The people behind us whooped and hollared for more - and probably hated the row of cynical meejah hacks in front of them who made sarcastic comments throughout and burst out laughing at several points. Some walked out at the interval; we went back for more - perhaps just to check we had actually seen in the first half what we thought we had.

For Joel fans, just getting drunk and dancing around the front room to Greatest Hits will provide a better experience. Maybe this was all just too American for the English palate: the campaign for a UK singer-songwriter show "Up The Junction - The Squeeze Musical" starts today...


TCMJ and Beccy recreate some of the moves from the show

For goodness' sakes

(Which I believe is the correct grammar. But I may be wrong.)

do I have to do it all myself?

Here is a story about a man at work - which I'm now wary of mentioning thanks to the email below. Let's just say it could be any man at any work. But it wasn't it was a man at my work.

He is around 55-ish, and the putative boss. not my boss, but the boss of a few people in the "deskspace" area close to me.

The other day he rather loudly asked anyone listening if they'd read the lyrics to Fitter, Happier off Radiohead's OK Computer album. No one answered, so he said "They go like this..."

and proceeded to read them off his computer screen. Most people know this as a short track. Not when its being read in its entirety to an otherwise silent room, who don't want to hear it. Shall we remind ourselves...?

"Fitter, happier, more productive,
comfortable,
not drinking too much,
regular exercise at the gym
(3 days a week),
getting on better with your associate employee contemporaries ,
at ease,
eating well
(no more microwave dinners and saturated fats),
a patient better driver,
a safer car
(baby smiling in back seat),
sleeping well
(no bad dreams),
no paranoia,
careful to all animals
(never washing spiders down the plughole),
keep in contact with old friends
(enjoy a drink now and then),
will frequently check credit at
(moral) bank (hole in the wall),
favors for favors,
fond but not in love,
charity standing orders,
on Sundays ring road supermarket
(no killing moths or putting boiling water on the ants),
car wash
(also on Sundays),
no longer afraid of the dark or midday shadows
nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate,
nothing so childish - at a better pace,
slower and more calculated,
no chance of escape,
now self-employed,
concerned (but powerless),
an empowered and informed member of society
(pragmatism not idealism),
will not cry in public,
less chance of illness,
tires that grip in the wet
(shot of baby strapped in back seat),
a good memory,
still cries at a good film,
still kisses with saliva,
no longer empty and frantic
like a cat
tied to a stick,
that's driven into
frozen winter shit
(the ability to laugh at needless harm),
calm,
fitter,
healthier and more productive
A Pig
In a cage
On antibiotics."

At first people started to laugh, then say, uncomfortably, "Er, not familiar with that one." and towards the end, very pissed off... "Oh shut up, will you"

He read it through, loudly, to the end, before continuing... "It's the first track on the second side of the album. I usually skip through it when I listen to it, but it's brilliant for decorating."

After a brief pause he said: "Wordsworth. If Wordsworth were alive today he'd be writing stuff like that. It's genius."

Very weird.

I don't actually have anything interesting to post

but given no one's contributed for two weeks now, I feel I ought to put something up to stop the blog dying of apathy.

By the way, I'm very proud of that headline. It could be the default headline for every blog post ever generated, and in most cases, wouldn't need to be changed.

We got a very strange email the other day from someone at work. A boss. This is what it said:

"Hello there…

Do you blog or talk about your life on 'my space' ?

Here is some important information for you, please read, and if in any doubt ask myself or xxxx.

When a blogger clearly identifies themselves as a xxxxxx person and/or discusses their work, xxxxxx expects them to behave well when blogging, and in ways that are consistent with xxxxxx's xxxxxx policies.

If your blog makes it clear that you work for the xxxxxx, it should include a simple and visible disclaimer such as 'these are my personal views and not those of xxxxxx'.

Many bloggers, particularly in xxxxxx areas, use their personal blogs to discuss their xxxxxx work in ways that benefit xxxxxx , and add to the 'industry conversation'. These guidelines are not intended to restrict this, as long as confidential information is not revealed.

If you already have a personal blog or website which indicates in any way that you work at xxxxxx you should tell your manager.

If you want to start blogging, and your blog/website will say that you work for xxxxxx you should tell your manager.

Unless there are specific concerns about the nature of your job, you are free to talk about xxxxxx on your blog. Consult your manager if in any doubt.

Don't reveal confidential information. This might include aspects of xxxxxx policy or details of internal xxxxxx discussions. Again, consult your manager if you are unclear about what might be confidential.

You should not use your blogs to attack or abuse colleagues. You should respect the privacy and the feelings of others. Remember that if you break the law on your blog (for example by posting something defamatory), you will be personally responsible.

If you think something on your blog or website gives rise to concerns about a conflict of interest and in particular concerns about impartiality or confidentiality this must be discussed with your manager.

If someone from the media or press contacts you about posts on your blog that relate to xxxxxx you should talk to your manager before responding. The relevant xxxxxx press office must be consulted.

You are allowed to update your personal blog from a xxxxxx computer at work, under xxxxxx's Acceptable Use Policy."

Bearing in mind the paragraph I have highlighted, I thought I need to cover myself here as I may have insinuated once or twice that I work at xxxxxx. So I told my boss I contribute to this blog and the world famous Will's Pub Guide.

He pronounced himself "not too worried". Not too worried!? I suppose it's bettwe than "not remotely worried", but, really...

For the record, I, too, am "not too worried". Paranoid, nuts, drunk, scabrous and vaguely ticklish, but not too worried.

I really can't be bothered any more.

And Matt saw this...

marginally more intellectual link (but don't let that put you off!), and thought of us:

Beer as in journalism

Ian Gardner goes to Bangkok...

...could be the opening line of well over 1000 jokes. But instead, it's the opportunity to post two pictures that Ian's sent me. The first is claimed to be a big pint, but cheats (see the rules, Garders) by using a very big pint rather than perspective. Although admittedly, that is the biggest pint I've seen. Actually, I'm feeling rather thirsty...



The second is clearly inviting a caption competition... look what Garders has pulled in a bar this time! Well, those elephants always love a sleight of hand magic trick. And how come the one with the tusks has got better taste in shirts?



Use the comments form to suggest your own captions or mail me!

I Am Scooterman

Not the fellow who advertises to drunk businessmen in upmarket toilets, but I have bought me a scooter to effect the commute between my new temporary home of Weybridge and town.

It looks like this:



Except, mine is silver. Oh yes.

And I have bought a silver helmet and some black protective clothing with silver trim. I am the Silver Flash.

Now, this has terrible implications for my drinking, in that it's unlikely to happen in central London any more without complex planning.

Thankfully, however, Weybridge's pubs are several cuts above Willesden's.

I will publish the results of my investigations on our sister site in due course.

In the meantime, wish me luck with the move. I am certainly going to need it.

Cartoon life

A couple of days ago, I saw a man slip on a banana skin.
This has made my entire week, and could only have been bettered by an anvil falling on him.
The event in more detail: on Dowgate Hill, next to Cannon Street station, the man stepped off the pavement, slipped on something in the road, then regained his balance in that "nothing to see here" sort of way that you do. When I looked down, it was a very old (brown) banana skin! Fried Gold.
Has anyone else witnessed any cartoon-related hilarity?


A cheap excuse for a monkey picture, Cannon Street, yesterday

Inter-class war!

Not sure I agree with the conclusion, but the content should be painfully familiar to all of us.

PS This is copyright the Sunday Times which is a great paper and very much worth reading largely because of items like this and if I've broken any laws by re-posting this then I apologise unreservedly, will take it down immediately and suggest you sue Will, who runs this thing.

The great divide
From The Sunday Times - 05/02/2006 (1266 words)
Features

The middle class is now divided into the haves and have-nots -which is fine for those who get to go skiing and drive flash cars, but infuriating for the rest of us, says James Delingpole.

City bonuses are expected to reach near-record levels this year; the waiting list for the new Aston Martin has increased from one year to three; the luxury-goods market is on the up and up, even as the high street plummets; and the market for old vicarages and Pounds 4m-plus town houses is booming. And as I shiver in my hovel in the middle of a south London crack zone, struggling to digest these noisome statistics, I'm reminded of Uncle Monty's great speech from Withnail & I on the subject of failed ambition: "It is the most shattering speech of a young man's life, when one morning he awakes, and quite reasonably says to himself, 'I will never play the Dane.'"

Not, you understand, that I've ever nurtured a burning desire to play Hamlet. I'm talking figuratively here: about the country pad, the swimming pool, the annual skiing holiday, the private education for my kids, the pension plan, the reasonably comfortable retirement and all those other expectations that seemed so perfectly realistic in my youth, but which I'm now slowly being forced to recognise were no more than the hopeless pipe dreams of a crazed romantic.

Where did it all go wrong? And, more to the point, who are all these rich people with money to burn on second homes and third holidays when I have scarcely enough dosh to service my mortgage? Are they really so much cleverer, nicer, funnier, more charming, better read and generally more deserving than me? Or is it just, perhaps, further proof that we live in a terrible, evil, godless world where there is no justice?

Until I started talking to my fellow non-rich friends about this, I thought it was just a me problem, possibly brought on by innate peevishness and a ludicrously inflated sense of entitlement. But, no.

It turns out that this despair and disappointment are almost universal.

Of course, there has always been a bit of an income gap between those involved in the "interesting" professions (teaching, journalism, marine biology) and those involved in boring, no-life ones such as law, banking, IT and accountancy. What has changed out of all proportion, though, is the sheer disparity between the two groups' earning powers. There was a time, I remember, when it didn't matter so much that my banking friends got big bonuses because, hey, I got to hang out with movie stars and go to gigs for free. But I'm afraid to say that job satisfaction consolation just doesn't wash any more. Not when Goldman Sachs's 22,000 employees got their greedy hands on earnings worth a total of $9 billion last year and will be renting estates in Umbria with four live-in staff and a cellar full of Super Tuscan wines for the whole of August, while I might just scrape a wet fortnight in Newquay.

Perhaps it wouldn't matter so much, this ghastly yawning gulf between the middle-class haves and have-nots, if the haves were a little more gracious about their good fortune. I'm sure I wouldn't resent my loaded friends nearly so much if they made free with their chalets or their yachts or their grouse moors or their strings of hunters. But in my experience -I make exception here for those delightful chums who are inviting me to play on their 30-square-mile estate in Scotland this August -the rich only feel comfortable extending generosity to their fellow rich. As another Withnail adage so aptly has it, "free to those who can afford it, very expensive to those that can't".

More galling still is the infuriating habit that rich people have of making out they are subject to the same pecuniary cares as you and me. You'll hear them grumbling about what a struggle it is to pay the school fees, and writhing over how much it costs to heat the swimming pool, or whether it's really not a little extravagant this extension they're having built, or even worrying about the cost of dinner or a cab fare. And you just know that these financial difficulties exist purely in their imagination. Never yet have I heard the rich person who admits, "You know, I'm so totally stacked, I never have to worry about money."

Always, there's this, "I'm just as poor as you really" game they have to play; perhaps out of the misguided notion that you'll feel less jealous, perhaps because, in their warped, rich person's head, it's what they really believe.

At least in the days when the country's wealth and power lay mostly in the hands of the aristocracy, you knew where you stood: money was an accident of birth. Then came a more egalitarian age, which reached its zenith in the heyday of the grammar school, when anyone bright and hard-working enough, no matter what their background, could secure the education that would lead to the trappings and comforts of the middle-class dream. But now, we seem to have returned to a more brutally divided age, only this time, the starkest division lies not between the upper and lower classes but between the rich middle class and the ordinary middle class.

What we're seeing, in other words, is the fragmentation of the middle class into two mutually antipathetic splinter groups. Where once the middle class was a unified bloc of shared values (good manners, a proper education) and lifestyle signifiers (the skiing holiday, the pension plan), it is now riven with bitterness and jealousy on the one side, incomprehension or arrogant disdain on the other.

It is still possible for the rich middle class and the ordinary middle class to be friends with one another. But maintaining those friendships becomes increasingly difficult. Where once I could talk freely with my friends about all aspects of our lives, there are now whole swathes I can't discuss with the richer ones because it's just too damned painful. We can't do education (their kids are at private school, mine aren't); we can't talk work (lest the richies let slip how much they made this week); and we definitely, definitely can't talk about where they're planning to go next on holiday.

"Why?" we poories ask ourselves. "Why them and not us?" And it's more than just chippy resentment that makes us ask, it's because we know deep down that not only are we so much better, funnier, cleverer and more interesting than these ungrateful rich people, but also that we'd spend their money so much more tastefully and wisely. Just think back to your university days, and remember how much brighter and more rounded were the types studying purely intellectual subjects such as English literature, history or classics than those doing more vocational ones such as law.

Then think of all the bores and timeservers, straights and money-grubbing creeps who went into the City, law, management consultancy and Insead, and compare them with the sparky individualists who went into publishing or journalism or television. As one of my rich lawyer friends would no doubt say: I rest my case.

(C) Times Newspapers Ltd, 2006