One of the many fringe benefits of writing a book with an associated website is that I’ve been contacted by  many old friends, colleagues and acquaintances.  There was Mary McCarthy who I last spoke to at St Collette’s primary school in, let me see, 1975. She’s now a journalist in Spain.  Then there was Stephen Davren, a chum from college days who sent me those pictures of his teddy bear enjoying my book. And now, from way across the Atlantic, up pops Colin MacPhail (pictured), former producer with BBC Radio Scotland’s Tom Morton Show.  He left Inverness to pursue American adventures in forestry, then gin-making and now is the owner of the Vinfabula consultancy in California and writes extremely funny and informative articles about wine under the heading Cabernet Confidential. This, for instance, is some of his advice for the would-be connoisseur:
“Rule #3 – Stop and think. One of the great blessings of wine is it causes us to pause in our busy lives and savor the moment and how lucky we are to enjoy it. Take your time. If you have a long day ahead, spit the wine out into a spit bucket. That’s OK. If you have a designated driver you can forge ahead on your sampling. Taste too much and you are doing something called “drinking.” That you can do at home.”
That line about tasting too much reminded me of a trip I made to Washington State back before the turn of the century. This century, I mean, not the one before. Turn of the millennium really. It was one of those press junkets organised by the tourism people in Seattle and my news editor at Radio Clyde must have been in a good mood when he nominated me for the week-long jolly.  As I recall, there was about eight of us on the trip. I was one of two radio reporters and the others were London-based newspaper or magazine journalists. We were ferried hundreds of miles in a luxury mini-bus and shown the delights of the Seattle grunge scene, got to do horseback riding in an upstate ranch (in a thunderstorm) and given the VIP treatment in a Washington winery.  I mean, we were really welcomed as Royalty, with the management and guides addressing us collectively as Her Majesty’s British Press and, initially, at least, treating us with the deference they might have shown to the Queen herself.
At this point I should admit that we sustained ourselves on these long bus trips by passing around a bottle of Jack Daniels which we washed down with more Jack Daniels, so by the time we arrived at the posh winery we were already in the party mood.  Nevertheless, for the first few minutes we listened respectfully and attentively as our guide told us about the history of wine production in Washington, about soil conditions and grape varieties and then proudly poured sample after sample of their various products. There was no question of us tasting and spitting, we drank like we were on the eve of Prohibition and asked for refills. Polite murmurs of appreciation soon gave way to raucous laughter. Crystal flutes held properly by the stem, soon slipped from our fingers. The subsequent raised voices and the sound of shattering glass made me feel very much at home. Like I was back in Glasgow: The Horseshoe Bar, perhaps.

Sooner than scheduled, a Seattle P.R. representative was scooping us back on to the mini bus and we were being waved off by the open-mouthed staff. Don’t ask me to tell you the name of the place. Everything after that was a blur.

I just hope the Queen never finds out about that trip.

A few days ago my publishers relayed some feedback from a satisfied reader.  She said she had enjoyed The Red Light Zone and had felt that my style of writing made it feel that my words were aimed directly at her, like I was telling my stories to just one person. Then, perhaps because she is a fan of the genre, she added that she wished I would write crime fiction. Oh, if only!

I’ve been a fan of crime and detective stories since I was old enough to join the junior library in Easterhouse.  The Hardy Boys and Alfred’s Hitchcock’s Three Investigators soon gave way to the classics: Sherlock Holmes, Agatha Christie’s Poirot and then Raymond Chandler’s wise-cracking Philip Marlowe (“she tried to sit in my lap but I was standing up.”)

These days I devour anything by Michael Connelly, especially the novels featuring Harry Bosch whose quest to seek justice for murder victims  is driven by a simple yet powerful  philosophy: everyone counts or no one counts.  The Bosch TV show (a new series soon to be aired on Amazon Prime) is pretty good too.  I’ll be binge watching that while the rest of the world is immersed in Game of Thrones.

And so to Tom Morton, my friend and former colleague, who has just written a thought- provoking article about crime fiction in the latest Scottish Review.  His musings were sparked by the recent Shetland TV series which is set, of course, on the islands that Tom has made his home for the past umpteen decades.  He concludes his article by saying he finds it difficult to distance himself from the make-believe murder on the small screen when it seems so close to home.  Perhaps that’s why I also avoid those hard-bitten tartan noir tales set in Glasgow.

And could I ever turn my hand to crime fiction? I doubt it.  Apart from anything else, there are too many good writers in that field and if you want some recommendations then you could do worse that read Mary Picken’s Live and Deadly blog, which has been nominated for an award.  Or try some Manc Noir in the form of my friend David Nolan’s latest book Black Moss which begins in the same era of commercial radio as my own memoirs.

As for me, my slight and secret nod to the genre came in the Chapter Six of The Red Light Zone as I told the true story of a car chase in Los Angeles while we were out there broadcasting live editions of Tom Morton’s show from Hollywood. This was 1996 and our engineer, John Carmichael, took some of the VHS location footage which I’ve mangled and repurposed as the backdrop to this little extract.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Have you ever wondered what it would be like if you could go back in time and do your old job  but still keep the knowledge you have gained over, say, the last thirty years?Would you be better at it or worse?  Well, today, I got the chance to find out when I visited MFR (Moray Firth Radio as was) in Inverness.  A lot had changed; the layout of the building, the equipment (except the engineer’s bay was the same mass of cables and spare parts that I remember) and the staff were now so much younger than me.

Content Director, Davey Walker, gave me the guided tour.  I met Jodie McCluskey, presenter of the lunchtime show, and news reporter Isla Todd, who told me she was reading my book and had got to the bit were I was applying for the position as Head of Radio at BBC Scotland.  I didn’t tell her how that worked out. No spoilers.

Then Davey invited me to try my hand at reading a news bulletin. That’s when stage fright almost got the better of me…as you can see in this video.

 

 

 

It wasn’t quite a Twitter storm, more like a stiff Twitter breeze, but my thoughts on the future of local radio did bounce around social media for a time this afternoon after my interview aired on Heartland FM.   They came after an enjoyable twenty minutes or so as station manager Alistair Smith led me skilfully through my career in radio and allowed me to describe how I came to write a book about it.  I got to talk about that recovered footage of Let’s do the Show Right Here in Aberfeldy which I told you about a few posts back. We talked about music, transmitter blackspots on the A9 and a mythical Jacuzzi in the Heartland studio.  Then just as we were wrapping up, we got into this whole business of how Ofcom was allowing big commercial radio companies to dilute local content and broadcast U.K. wide breakfast shows out of London. Well, I didn’t need to be asked twice.  I used words like “shocking” and “outrageous” and said that the regulator Ofcom was left doing nothing except policing bad language.

Within minutes my words were being tweeted and re-tweeted and the Local Radio Group who are campaigning to save local content got in touch asking me to lend my weight (steady! I’m just wo days to my summer diet) to their efforts.

I happily agreed.

So, if you missed the interview, Heartland FM have made it available on this slick little podcast.

 

 

Driving south on the A9 towards Perth, there was a time when there was only one radio station you could listen to, and that was Heartland FM broadcasting out of Pitlochry.  You started to pick it up around Dalwhinnie and listen all the way into Perth city centre. It remains one of the best community based stations in the U’K. and is an excellent source of information if you find yourself stuck in a traffic tailback.

Last week, I finally managed to wangle my way into the Heartland FM studios – now located on the main Atholl Road in the centre of Pitlochry.  Station manager Alistair Smith gave me the guided tour and, as every radio manager does, began with the computer server and other technical gubbins that allows the stations to be heard locally and around the world.  I suspect it’s only radio people who are fascinated by this stuff.

I recorded a long interview with Alistair and he did likewise with me. This wee video gives you a wee flavour of what you can hear and see.

 

 

 

 

The postman delivered a parcel this afternoon. I unwrapped it to discover a box full of old DAT audio and Digital Video tapes.  A former colleague at the BBC had found them when clearing out a drawer and thought I might have a use for them.  He knows I hoard stuff like that.

Among the tapes was an hour of footage that I had long thought had been lost to the recycling police. It had been shot seventeen years ago on a summer’s evening in Perthshire that I still think of as one of my favourite nights working in radio.  We were recording an edition of Let’s do the Show Right Here – a community format in which people in towns and villages around Scotland put on a show to raise funds for a local cause. BBC Radio Scotland supplied the host – Jackie Bird – and a celebrity guest.  The villagers did the rest and we recorded their efforts to make the show a success.

In Aberfeldy, in July 2002, the star guest was Barbara Dickson but what made the night more memorable – apart from the balmy weather – was that it seemed almost everyone in the village got involved with the show in one way or another.  Children and teenagers performed on stage, parents baked cakes and sold tickets, others simply queued up to be entertained.

I’ve put together a few scenes for one of my illustrated Radio Stories.

 

 

 

 

Memories of long car journeys and childhood holidays near Carnoustie.  First of my new illustrated Radio Stories as I head towards Perth on Thursday night for the final Waterstones appearance this month.

To Harry Potter fans, I’m sure J.K. Rowling’s association with Edinburgh is well known. She famously penned her first tale of witchcraft and wizardry in at least one of several cafes and tearooms in our nation’s capital and you only have to look up at the looming presence of Edinburgh Castle to see where she might have found her inspiration for Hogwarts.

And yet that doesn’t qualify her for a bedroom in the chic Angels Share hotel. A bedroom named in her honour, I mean, alongside the monikers of famous Scots such as Nicola Benedetti, Robert Carlyle and Sean Connery.

“She wasn’t born in Scotland,” the receptionist told me, explaining the place-of-birth criteria as she handed me my magnetic key card and gave me directions to ‘Gordon Ramsay’.  That’s when a thought or two occurred to me.

“Tell me this, ” I asked, “Do guests ever complain about the rooms you assign them based on the name?”

“Yes, they do, ” she admitted, “Sir Alex Ferguson can be a bit divisive.  Not everyone supports Manchester United, after all.  We try to change the room if we can.”

“Anyone else?”

Her next answer surprised me.

“Lulu.  Some of our female guests – hen parties and the like – don’t like the idea of spending the night in ‘Lulu’.”

I thought that was a shame. I explained that I had once commissioned a two-part radio drama about Lulu’s incredible life and career and couldn’t see why anyone would object to her name on their bedroom.   Then again, when I opened to the door to my own room I saw a huge – and I mean massive – photograph of Gordon Ramsay hanging over my bed. I could feel his eyes following me as I unpacked my luggage and was glad I had neglected to bring my usual emergency supply of Pot Noodles. Imagine the shame of it. If photographs could swear…

It was a pity I wasn’t in a room named after a writer, though, given that the hotel was also the venue for our  Radio Academy event where Grant Stott was interviewing me about my book. It turned out to be a great night and had taken place in the basement bar – The Devil’s Cut – with appropriate red lighting shining from the alcoves. I ended up talking about The Red Light Zone in a wee red light zone.

But here I am, days later, still thinking that J.K. Rowling deserves, at least, a broom cupboard…and still pondering the answer to the last question I fired at that obviously patriotic receptionist.

“So what happens if one of these famous people gets embroiled in a scandal? Do you have to make a swift change to the name of the room?”

She didn’t hesitate.

“”That could never happen. These people wont get involved in a scandal.”

“Why not?”

She smiled.

“Because they’re all Scottish.”

 

 

 

 

I was recently asked what surprised me most when I joined the BBC.  I think I now have the answer: it was all the bad swearing.  I don’t mean the swearing was particularly filthy, I mean the swearing was done by people who weren’t very good at it.  I’m talking about quite senior management figures – usually in London – who would throw in the odd f-word during a staff presentation, presumably to demonstrate that they were street-wise and edgy. But you could tell they had thought about it too much beforehand. There was that moment of hesitation followed by that startled flicker of self-awareness in their eyes.  And usually, the f-word was slightly disembodied from the rest of their sentence. Like a bad edit in a radio pre-record.

“It’s about time we took this audience research seriously and give viewers programmes they actually want to (pause) f…ing  (pause, flicker) watch!”

Somehow bad swearing seemed more offensive that the kind of swearing I was used to growing up in Glasgow.  There the f and c-words flowed like sweet honey, punctuating dialogue and adding a touch of humour or anger, depending on the context.

Of course you never heard the c-word at BBC meetings in London and for that reason I was always tempted to throw one in, just to up the ante and see what the reaction would might be. I never did.  Call me chicken.

That’s another c-word.

 

 

I owe so much to local radio. Were it not for those brave risk-takers at Moray Firth Radio who, thirty years ago, gave me my first paid job as a news reporter, who knows what I’d be doing now?  Actually, I’d probably have retired from my alternative career choice as a fighter pilot and I’d now be running my own internet radio station.

But these are worrying times for my pals in commercial radio, what with the broadcasting regulator, Ofcom, giving companies like Global and Bauer, much more leeway to dilute local content, run stations from single hub studios and replace local Breakfast shows with London-based formats and big name D.J.s.   Those companies argue that retaining so many local radio stations is no longer economically viable and that the big bucks in advertising revenue can only come if they have enough listeners to compete with the  U.K. wide BBC shows on Radio 1 and Radio 2.

This market-economy argument – often compared to the plight of small High Street shops having to take on Tesco and Marks & Spencer – would be more convincing if it could be truly tested.  The trouble is, if someone takes over your local radio station and dumps most of the local content, you can’t just move the dial over to another local station. Those broadcast licences are a finite resource, as is the availability of space on the FM and digital spectrums.  So, once your local station is gone or changed beyond all recognition, no one will be allowed to fill the gap.  Whereas when it comes to shopping, small supermarkets like Lidl, Aldi and the bright new Co-Op stores are giving the big guys a run for their money.

So, if the big radio groups tell us the small stations aren’t viable, maybe they should be forced to relinquish their licences and let other people have a go. Here in Inverness, I’ve spoken to business people with radio experience who would relish that opportunity.

Then there’s the BBC. Here in Scotland, BBC Radio Scotland was created at a time when commercial radio was thriving and it made sense to have a national station for Scotland rather than compete by offering lots of part-time local opt-out services across the country.  Maybe now is the time to review that policy and breathe some new life into what it being beamed out of centres like Inverness, Aberdeen, Selkirk and Dumfries.

Oh, and while we’re at it, let’s also address the London-dominance of the BBC radio commissioning process which means that the version of Scotland you hear on the likes of Radio 4, is the one that has been approved by a tiny group of purse-string-holding executives in W1A. Devolved commissioning for the new BBC Scotland television channel has brought fresh and relevant ideas to the screen and created opportunities for the production sector here, let’s do the same for the radio industry.