Two shows down, a few more to go. The Iain Lee Vs Radio tour has been a lot of fun and I’ve really started to get to grips with the show. It’s constantly being tinkered with and updated and I genuinely think it;s pretty funny. Remember, it;s not stand up comedy, it’s me chatting and trying to convey my passion for radio to the audience. That makes it sound quite dry – it’s actually pretty funny. I should also warn you, it contains some very strong indoor language. VERY strong.
Anyway, here’s a list of shows. Some of them are selling very fast and the two shows in Birmingham are completely sold out. Sorry. There is now a London date. Jacksons Lane in Highgate is a wonderful venue that I played in probably 20 years ago. Back then I was playing bass for an experimental dance performance (actually true) this time, I’m talking bollocks about the radio.
If you come to any of the shows, I stick around after for photos and also sell a few t-shirts and badges. It’s all pretty informal and I’ll answer anything you want to ask.
Brighton and Luton are very close to being sold out so…hurry!
I’ve been busy and ignoring the website. Apologies. The tour has been going well, well, well, I mean there have been 2 dates and they’ve gone very well. The podcast has been a delight…maybe I’m revealing too much about myself, I dunno? And the radio is the radio!
Oh, and I recorded an episode of Pointless with Keith Chegwin.
So, here are the remaining dates. There IS a London show on October 8th I just can’t announce where yet. It’s North London though. And then, once these are all done, that will probably be it. I haven’t got into the groove yet and don’t know if I ever will. I’, not sure this lifestyle is for me. There has certainly been no ‘buzz’ or ‘performing high’ and while I’ve enjoyed meeting everyone who came, the anxiety outweighs the joy. Maybe that will change. Doesn’t matter.
So, here are the remaining dates and the podcasts. Enjoy!
Ah man…I am weeks away from the first date of the Iain Lee Vs Radio tour. July 8th in Maidenhead is looming and I am panicking. What if no one comes? What if it isn’t funny? What if I do a wee wee on stage?
All of these things are possible. I turned 42 this week, and this is just what I need at this time of my life. Fear. And self loathing.
Anyway, to help shift a few tickets I thought I’d do an occasional podcast. This is the first one, I recorded it in bed and, well, I couldn’t be bothered to get up and do it with my good microphone. Man, if I can’t be bothered to use my good microphone to promote my show, then why would YOU be bothered to buy tickets?
Iain and I went to talk to students at the St Albans Girls school this week, and because they’re…ahm…girls, we thought it might be an idea if I let them have the inside track on what it’s like being a woman working in media.
These young women listened to our guff
I was a bit uncomfortable about that, if I’m honest. Who am I to speak for the experience of a whole gender? Sure, I’ve had a bit of a bumpy ride over the years, but I’m not sure how much of that’s related to being the proud owner of a cracking set of ovaries. Maybe I’m just a div*.
That said, it turns out I have been the recipient of a fair bit of bullshit over the years, stuff my male colleagues won’t have encountered. I’m not just talking about hiding in the stationery cupboard to avoid a particularly ‘enthusiastic’ co-worker – although I have been there, done that and sadly, there was no t-shirt for my trouble.
No, the bovine excretia to which I’m mostly referring came in the form of well-meaning ‘pearls of wisdom’ such as these…
“What you need to understand is, statistically**, women don’t like listening to other women.”
“The trouble is, Kath, clever women can sound a bit…stuck up.”
“It’s women’s voices, you see, they can so easily become shrill when pressing a point.”
And my personal favourite…
“What you need to remember is that the average listener has trouble distinguishing one woman’s voice from another.”
Of course this is all utter balls. But this was the stuff I was getting from various sources during the late 90s and well into the 00s from people (not just men) who thought they were doing a newbie a favour. And if my experience is anything like that of other women trying to make it in radio, where surely your voice and the contents of your head are more important than your genitalia, no wonder there’s been a big push to get more women on-air – they’ve been benevolently talked into support roles for years!
Actual picture sent to me by a listener who thought I needed to know my place.
Sad to say, I swallowed the guidance offered so breezily and spent far too long struggling to be acceptable despite the terribly off-putting matter of my womanhood until I got some really great advice from two broadcasters I really rate, and get this…they were (and still are) both men!***
They convinced me that the hang-up I’d been labouring under wasn’t mine, or even the listener’s. Your audience responds to authenticity, regardless of whether it comes in a package with a packet or a hoo-ha.
Which is why I now know that rather than nodding, smiling and trying to overcome a barrier that wasn’t there, I should have responded to the helpful hints offered back then with the following ten little words…
*Undeniable, I’m afraid
**I was never shown these statistics.
*** One was the fantastically free and creative Ronnie Barbour, the other was the bloke who owns this website…although I’ve totally forgotten his name. Ewan? Owen? Anyway THAT guy.
Well, it’s happening. My first speaking tour is actually going to take place. Nice, small and very friendly venues. I’m so lucky with all of the places I’ve been asked to play. Absolutely gorgeous, just right.
There aren’t too many dates at the moment (a few more coming) but I am very nervous. To be undertaking my first ever solo show, let alone an actual tour, at the age of 41, seems a bit of an exercise in self flagellation. Still, I know the show works, and I am very proud of it.
My friend Simon Roberts has helped put the thing together and will be joining me to help with the technicals. Also, schedule willing, Mackenzie Crook will be joining me via satellite link up (actually Skype. And also, he may not, so, you know, don’t hold me to it).
I’ll be hanging around after all the shows to have a chat and have pics and stuff, if you want. You may also smell me.
It’s about 85-90 minutes, plus an interval. Me chatting about radio and playing some brilliant bits of shows by other people, but really funny bits. James Whale, Anna Raeburn, Big George and others all pop up.
Anyway, here are the dates. A couple more are coming along and I will post them here when I get them. They’re small venues, so I suggest if you want to come, get them quick.
I am talking to a few other places including London and Manchester….
I used to do a bit of stand up when I was younger. Not much. It was always a means to an end. I didn’t have an outlet and doing stand up at least gave me 5 or 10 minutes a few times a month to stand on a stage and twat around. I wasn’t very good. As time went on I began to learn to trust myself and my instincts a bit better and I sometimes, only sometimes, had good nights where people laughed and I got away with it. I couldn’t write material – any I had was nicked or very flimsy to say the least – but I got a sense for winging it.
As soon as I got on the telly, stand up went out the window. I didn’t enjoy it and it was just too hit and miss for me to stick with it.
A few years ago, I had another crack to see if I was missing anything. I wasn’t. Again, I got a few laughs and had a nice little routine end set piece where I would do a really bad pun about Gurkhas that would go down terribly, and very very slowly, I would put my coat on, strap my bag over my shoulder, put on my headphones and walk out of the venue. Generally in silence or maybe to some catcalls. This ending could last as long as 5 minutes. It was so uncomfortable. And I loved it.
I hosted my own evening, Set The Agenda. A monthly cabaret night I started with my friend James. After a while, he left and I took on the hosting duties all by myself. I loved it. Had very little material planned, a few things here and then. Again, I was learning to trust my instincts and just go with the flow man. Unfortunately for the evening, I found the stress of booking the acts, selling tickets and nearly getting the shit kicked out of me by a local coked up hard man just a little too much.
So, what the hell am I doing about to start work on my first ever solo tour? I mean proper solo tour. 80 minute shows, an interval, just me on the stage?
I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
First things first, THIS IS NOT STAND UP.
I can’t stress that enough. I am not a stand up and I will not be doing stand up comedy. No gags. No one liners. No snappy puns. I won’t be telling jokes about pushing into queues, getting on aeroplanes or how funny my kids are.
Iain Lee Vs. Radio is kind of a talk/lecture/relaxed/groovy/evening/slideshow/whatever/love in/experience.
There are some funny bits, trust me, some very funny bits, but it isn’t, you know, laugh out loud funny. It’s sort of…well…I don’t know how to describe it. I play some of my favourite buts of radio by other people (a few bits of me but not too many) and share why I like them, how radio works, how I got into it and why I don’t like Anna Raeburn. And that’s it really.
Here, let me show you an example. This clip is not in the show but this is the kind of clip that would be in the show. It’s John Inverdale
Isn’t that beautiful? And I have a whole collection of these bad boys. Mostly stuff that actually went out on the air.
I have a projector, a computer and maybe a live link up or two with some famous faces. If the show is running short, there will even be a Q&A, although in the back of my head that feels like a cop out.
Look, it’s my first tour. It may be my last. I’m playing about a dozen small venues across the south, south east and the midlands. The rooms hold between 50 and 120. I’d really like to see you there. I’ll even hang out afterwards so you can smell me and have a picture taken. I’m doing a sort of work in progress tester in Croydon on Saturday 14th. It’s sold out, so don’t come unless you have a ticket. Honestly? I think the show may run a bit short on Saturday but that’s all part of work in progress. There’s always the trusty Q&A if all else fails (do you think it’s a cop out? I genuinely don’t know)
Can’t tell you the dates and venues yet because they are still being finalised. I’ll post them up here as soon as I can.
I absolutely love The Monkees. My first records were a scratched copy of I’m A Believer and a beaten up old copy of the first album, sans cover. This must have been around 1976 when I was 3 years old. I loved them. I constantly tried to record the B Side to Believer, Stepping Stone, on my old Dansette by dangling a microphone inside and hitting record and play on my tape recorder. It never occurred to me to have the microphone outside the wooden box, you know, by THE SPEAKER!
Micky, Davy, Peter and Michael have always been my companions. They’ve been with me every step of the way (a joke there for fans of their mid 80’s career). I loved the TV show, had my mind blown by the movie Head and have spent pretty much all of my life banging on about just how good they were. The fact that they didn’t play their own instruments on their first or indeed last few records is no longer relevant. We all know the Beach Boys didn’t play on Pet Sounds now, so a lot of the musical snobbery has gone.
And these guys created some of the best pop ever. How could they not? It was written by Neil Diamond and Carole King, played on by Glen Campbell, Neil Young and the band retrospectively called ‘The Wrecking Crew’. Daydream is THE perfect pop song – lush, catchy, sentimental and just the right length. Pleasant Valley Sunday is a cynical psychedelic barrage of angst disguised in a sugar cube, and the aforementioned Stepping Stone is pure pro to-punk.
…they did record some utter shit.
Not much. Changes, the last album of the initial Monkees run, features just Davy Jones and Micky Dolenz and is a tired rag bag of songs that other artists wouldn’t touch. A lot of fans hate it. That’s a shame. I love it’s world weariness. Ferry Ride is just achingly beautiful and Oh My My is pure sexual filth. The 1987 album Pool It! may have the worst title of all time and a hideous cover, but listen to Dolenz belting out Midnight? Jesus, it’s just incredible. And Since You Went Away submitted by Tork is hilarious and triumphant in one fell swoop.
…they did record some utter shit.
So, here for your aural displeasure are the 5, count em, worst Monkees songs of all time.
5 – She’s Movin’ In With Rico
Kicking off with what some may consider, from the 1987 reunion album Pool It!, I give you the absolutely piss poor She’s Movin’ In With Rico. Pool It! SHOULD have been huge. The Monkees were riding high on the back of their 1986 reunion tour. It was one of the biggest grossing tours of all time and catapulted them back into superstardom after years in the wilderness. They’d already had a top 20 hit of sorts with That Was Then, This Is Now, not technically a Monkees song as Davy had a strop and refused to sing on it. And it was another hissy fit from The Manchester Cowboy that through this album of track, or at least one of the reasons.
Basically, the 3 guys (Nesmith was too busy to rejoin, he wasn’t being snobbish as some have said) were having a love affair with MTV (created in part by Nez trivia fans). The new music channel had helped kickstart the reunion by showing all the eps of the TV series back to back. Both sides won. Then The Monkees were booked to appear at some MTV do, Davy didn’t fancy it and buggered off. Without telling MTV. Boom. The boys were banned from the channel and any promotion they may have got was out the window.
That’s all well and good, but even MTV getting behind the album wouldn’t have helped this song. What is it? Is it a joke? The Monkees doing cod reggae? What the…? It is a mind numbingly bad choice of song for this group to cut and one can only wonder how strong the Frodis was in the 80’s if anyone thought this was a good idea.
4 – Writing Wrongs
Michael Nesmith. What a guy. I was lucky enough to interview him once. A genius. Seriously, His mum invented Tippex (OK, she was a genius) he invented MTV, the music video and country rock. Listen To the Band has got to be one of the best songs of all time. His voice, ah man, it is just so sweet. Rio! Papa Gene’s Blues. Yes please. Hell, I even paid $100 to meet him for 90 seconds and get him to sign my Head box set (just his name, mine would have cost an extra $40 – fact) and do you know what, I can’t hate him for any of those things.
I can hate him for Writing Wrongs. It’s from The Birds, The Bees and The Monkees – an interesting album that kind of signified the beginning of the end of The Monkees as a pure pop act. Sure it’s got Daydream Believer and Valleri on, but it also has some far out experimentation. A lot of which works. Auntie’s Municipal Court is a joy and Magnolia Simms (both from The Nez) is wonderful.
It clocks in at 5.08, not in itself a crime, but the majority of it is filled with a laborious keyboard solo that turgidly drags along and makes you want to eat your own fingers. I couldn’t give a stuff about Bill Chambers, or his mum, and the drawn out, painful vocals leave me wanting less. Awful.
3 – Laugh
This is from the second album, More Of The Monkees, a record the boys didn’t even know existed until they went into a record store and saw it in the racks. The cover is an embarrassment, a picture taken from an advertisement for what can only be described as fugly clothes. It’s a real mixture of songs from different writers and producers. There is no coherent sound, and while it sold over 5 million copies, it’s not one of my favourites. The obvious choice from that LP for this list would be The Day We Fall In Love. Yes, the spoken word ‘song’ may be a bit schmaltzy, but fuck it, Davy can do schmaltz. And if you have the stereo version, ditch the vocals and listen to the music, it’s actually quite charming.
No, Laugh is terrible. Davy’s vocals, for me, tread a fine line between wonderfully powerful pop voice to annoying and nasally broadway. Ah man, I just pissed off a load of Davy fans. Sorry! I love him. I cried when he died, but he could be a bit grating sometimes.
Anyway, I think this song is meant to be a joke and a comment on the social scene in the sixties. ‘Laugh, when you go to a party, and you can’t tell the boys from the girls’. Right, OK mate. Yeah, that’s exactly what I’ll do.
Terrible singing, production, lyrics, tune. Bin.
2 – Star Collector
Oh, bloody hell. In for a penny, in for a pound.
This should be a great song. Written by Carole King and Gerry Goffin at the height of their powers. A song about star fuckers. One of the first songs to ever feature the Moog (pronounced Mow-g) synthesiser. But…it doesn’t really work.
Again, another example of Davy trying to do Anthony Newley, instead of doing Davy Jones (honestly, I love him. Go and dig out the lost classic It’s Nice To Be With You. Delightful). And yes, Dolenz is playing the third ever Moog, but, let’s be honest, he aint got a clue what he’s doing! That cat is as high as a kite. And while his frazzled brain may be getting off on all the crazy sound effects, it just annoys the hell out of me.
I think I should maybe mention that the first time I heard this song was when I was 14. It was still pretty hard to get Monkees stuff then and I didn’t have Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn and Jones Ltd., the majestic album this track comes from. My friend Psycho Bob T had a weird compilation that had this song on. He lent it to me and because I was so excited to have a Monkees song I’d never heard before, I recorded it 12 times in a row to make it easier to listen to. I may have made myself hate this song.
1 – Your Auntie Grizelda
Oh fuck off.
This is terrible. Poor Peter. A wonderful musician, an earnest guy. He would keep turning up at Monkees sessions hoping to get a crack at a song. Boyce and Hart, the main songwriters and producers would let him have a go, and then get another Monkee to record the song once he’d gone. This, from the second LP, was Tork’s big break. A chance to sing lead vocals. And…well…neither the song or Tork were up to the job.
I read somewhere this commentary on a nasty aunt was meant to sound like 19th Nervous Breakdown by The Rolling Stones. It doesn’t. It sounds shit. And the amazing thing is, they keep playing this bloody song on tour. Every tour since 1986, they’ve wheeled this one out as Peter’s solo spot. Let me tell you something guys, no one likes it. This is the toilet or bar break tune. Let Peter do Lady’s Baby, Come On In…there aren’t many tunes he did but they are all better than this monstrosity.
OK. That’s my list. I’m expecting some hate and I’m sure I’ll get shunned by some of the fans (Monkees fans are ze craziest people) but please remember, I love The Monkees. It was as struggle to come up with this list. And boy, it was cathartic.
Katherine and I went to Coventry last week at the invitation of Mark Brown, a lecturer at the City College. He’d responded to a message I;d posted on Twitter offering our services to talk about working in radio. I don’t quite know why I did it, and I certainly hadn’t run it past Katherine to see if she was cool with it. It just popped into my head. So I posted it. Boom.
Mark got in touch, as did a couple of other people. He asked if it was a serious offer or was I taking the proverbial. It was, I wasn’t. He told me about his class – a group of media students between the ages of 16 and 20, some of whom wanted to work in radio, and who he thought would benefit having a chat with some ‘professionals’.
Anyway, we arranged a date and Katherine and I thought about what we could tell them. How would we fill 45 minutes? Well, quite easily it turned out. We outlined a little chat about how we got into the industry, what our day entails and the relationship between producer and presenter as we see it. Played a few clips and answered some questions. That was that.
It seemed to work. The students looked at us the whole time (no one took out a mobile phone or looked like they were falling asleep) and we enjoyed ourselves. So, not completely selfless. But, I guess the idea behind it is ‘giving something back’. That sounds a little pretentious, so I won’t dwell on it, but it’s true.
Anyway, we have another chat at a school in a couple of weeks. And we are keen to do more. If you want an award winning presenter and an award winning producer to come to your school or college to talk about working in radio, send me an email email@example.com and we’ll see what we can sort out.
Last week I had the worst run of depression I think I’ve ever had. It was certainly the worst I can remember. I managed to get myself out of bed and get to work…but that was it. And even then I nearly called in sick every day.
I present a radio show and man, was I ever just going through the motions. It felt like I was sitting in the studio watching myself present a radio show. I was in control of me, but I was operating myself through a three second delay and doing a terrible job. I was faking it to make it. I was acting what I thought Iain Lee should say and do.
After the shows, I came home and crawled into bed. Nothing unusual there, that’s what I tend to do. But I then spent all day in bed. I slept for a couple of hours, woke up, lay in bed for a few more hours wide awake, padded downstairs for a coffee, then back under the covers until the morning. Repeat.
What made it more painful was my kids would come into my room, intent on creating the joyous mayhem that children do, and I simply had nothing for them I couldn’t give them a single thing – no affection or love or interaction. ‘Daddy isn’t feeling very well’ was pretty much all I could say as I sent them on their way.
That of course broke my heart, filled me with shame and self hatred and sent me even lower. Great little cycle there, thanks head.
While I was lying in bed, I just felt, and this is where it gets hard to put into words, er, useless, low, meaningless, lost, spent, sad, tired…it’s a toughie and none of those descriptions really sum up the pure bleakness I was experiencing. I hated myself and everything I had achieved and simply wanted to stop existing. I didn’t want to die necessarily, I just wanted to not be.
There are some of you reading this nodding and going ‘yeah, that’s me!’ and probably just as many scratching your heads and thinking what a twat. Stop being such an idiot and get on with things.
Ah, the old ‘pull your socks’ up brigade. If only it were that simple. I’d love to pull my socks up and get on with things. Ignore this little voice in my head that tells me I am worthless and no one likes me and actually I only make things worse for people. Some days I can. Some days it’s just too loud. And sure, my life is actually pretty good. I have a good career, financially I’m OK, so what have I got to worry about?
And that’s the thing. Depression, for me anyway, isn’t always about what’s going on in the external world. Sometimes it is. My dad dying, my mum being ill, being hauled over the coals for something I said or did at work – they can all have an effect. But it tends to be either really small things or simply nothing that sends me over the edge. Jesus, I found an ink stain on my favourite coat today and I could feel the well of blackness starting to overflow within me. It was insane.
I’m pretty confident that for me, the depression is primarily a chemical imbalance in my head. Just as there’s no logic to who gets cancer or asthma, the same goes here. Yeah, there are outside elements in all of these conditions or diseases that may have an impact, but, sometimes it’s just bad luck or bad genes or bad karma or whatever the fuck it is. There’s no point in asking ‘why me?’ although, ironically, that’s a pretty common question amongst depressives as we struggle with existential angst while trying to get enough inner strength to get up and go to the toilet.
I’m lucky. I had a REALLY bad week. Some people have really bad months or years. I tend to even out throughout the year. Sometimes I’m pretty good, sometimes I am like utter shit but generally I’m bouncing around in the middle. Just below the middle perhaps. Last week was an extraordinary and freakish one that I do not want to repeat. I’ve had this long enough though to know that no mood lasts forever. This too shall pass. I just have to ride it out. For me, talking, exercising, eating, listening to music…none of that stuff works when I am in it. It’s a disease of isolation and I need to hide. When I am in it, I just need to ride it out and know that I will reappear on the other side at some point.
I had a weird thing yesterday. I was doing OK. And then it hit me. And I could feel it hit me. Just before midday, this wave of bleakness swept up my body and there was nothing I could do. I went down under the surface and let it sweep over me. It may sound odd, but it was kind of beautiful. Does that make any sense to anyone? A beautiful bleakness? It only lasted a few hours. I was well enough to move downstairs a bit later and put a film on. Something shifted and I had a rare moment of feeling powerful and invincible before it sort of evened out. I’m bouncing around a bit at the moment, mainly down, in fact I’m typing this in bed, fully clothed, wearing the coat with a stain on it. Does anyone know how to get an ink stain out of a jacket?
I have absolutely no idea why I’m writing this. I suppose partly because I believe that journaling ones feelings and moods is a helpful tool and I had enough energy to drag my computer out of my bag. Maybe it’s to partly explain for last weeks shows being a bit crap (although, if I’m honest, right now I don’t actually care about work). I suppose it’s to let people know that this is OK. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Or scared of. Well, be a little bit scared. This disease can be fatal. But it’s real and people have it and people come through it. Don’t be embarrassed (although the thought of actually posting this rambling online is making me very anxious) and let people know you have it. Those that do the ‘pull your socks up’ or ‘oh for Christ’s sake, get over yourself’ lines are probably not people you need around you. If you told a friend you had cancer and they said ‘just man up’, is that someone you’d want to hang out with?
Ah, I dunno. I’m not doing this for sympathy, I tell you that much. So, you know, thanks but no thanks. I’m doing this to show that you’re not alone. Although, I bet you feel very much like you are, whatever anyone says.
About a year after I qualified as a journalist I got a gig on local telly. I was so excited I bought a new suit. My first job was to wear it while standing in the middle of a field, doing my best concerned face while a donkey called Sadie mooched about in the background. It had been rather windy in the Fens that week and a pylon had fallen over, leaving her stranded her in her paddock.
That was ‘the news’…seriously…not even a dead donkey, just one that looked vaguely brassed off – as did I.
Fast-forward 15 years and I’ve just about got over the excitement and am now producing a show with a strong seam of local news running through it, but which people say doesn’t ‘sound local.’ My initial reaction is to take that as a compliment, and that’s a shame, because what I think they’re getting at is that they expect local radio to sound parochial.
Guess what? Not everything that’s local is news, and some news is too local for our show…now there’s a comment that could get me in trouble. What I mean is that we’re proud to be picky.
We only have three topics set up in advance. They’re always local, but we make sure they’re also universal.
We go for things that mean something to most people, regardless of whether they know the place or person involved. We apply the same principle as the national news outlets; choosing only the most important, interesting or funny material from our patch, so that someone who lives nowhere near the action will feel almost as connected to the subject matter as someone in the next street.
This means we also reserve the right to ditch the drab. So a man’s hat could blow off in Eaton Bray and you’d never hear about it on our show.
Unless it blew off with dynamite…
..then we’d consider it.
What I’m trying to say, and I’ve said this before, is that just because it’s happening in our patch doesn’t mean it gets into the show.
There are certain things we all care about, because it is happening or could easily happen to us or someone we know. Stories about health, education, crime and punishment generally push people’s buttons. Others need an extra ingredient to raise them from the realms of the parish newsletter.
Planning rows are one example. We could do a planning row every other day, but they’re seldom interesting to anyone other than people within a mile radius. We look out for the exceptions…like the stink kicked up when a wannabe Stringfellow opened a strip club slap bang in the middle of the otherwise quaint and traditional town of Ampthill. Probably the biggest scandal there since 1533.*
The listeners loved that one, because it’s the sort of tale that tickles the snob/ schoolboy** in all of us.
The same snot-nosed kid also loves to see the mighty fall – or at least make a wally of themselves – so a good grilling of anyone official will also float his boat. The listener may switch on half way through, they may not know what the hoo-ha’s about, but when they smell bullshine they all like to point and laugh at the perpetrator.
By the way officials, here’s a tip for taking the wind out of our sails:
Instead of trying to fudge your way out of a situation where you’ve clearly been caught out, just admit it and offer a solution. Honestly, the number of uncomfortable interviews that could have been avoided if the speaker had just said they’d ballsed up and they’d do X to make sure it didn’t happen again…
…actually I’ve just ballsed up by saying that, haven’t I? Ok guys, carry on fudging, it’s much more fun for us!
Anyway, back to Sadie the donkey, looking glum in her field. I guess the idea behind that is that the audience likes a furry, fun or ‘wacky’ story. I just think stuff like that’s a bit too knowing.
Would we do one? Possibly…but I can’t really think of recent example, so probably not…the closest we’ve got to a hilarious animal story was the time Fire and Rescue were called to save a dove from some netting at a supermarket, but that was less about the hapless bird and more about whether it was a waste of time and resources.
Admittedly, once that question had been put to the Area Commander we had some fun with it…
I guess what I’m trying to express is that local news doesn’t have to sound small. If you wouldn’t/ hear see it on the national news, maybe you should ask yourself whether it’s got a place where you are. How many people does it affect directly? How many more will it touch? And if you’re not bothered about it, be brave enough to admit it and give it a miss.
*The year Henry the Eighth sent his first wife Katherine of Aragon to be detained there while he shacked up with Ann Boleyn. You get the idea. It’s been a while.
**Yes I know I’m a woman, but I also have an inner schoolboy. His name’s Steve. I try to ignore him. He’s mostly an idiot.