JZ's Diary
Head of 主播大秀 Radio Scotland, Jeff Zycinski, with a sneak preview of programme plans and a behind-the-scenes glimpse of his life at the helm.
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Seventh Heaven
I was back through in Edinbugh this morning to meet Mary Kalemkerian, the controller of 主播大秀 7. It's one of the U.K.'s most successful digital radio stations and has a schedule brimming with classic comedy, archive drama and childrens' programmes.
Mary is a big fan of Fred MacAulay and especially enjoyed Fred's Edinburgh festival shows when his co-host was Sue Perkins. If things go to plan then this year's Radio Scotland festival shows will get a second airing on 主播大秀7.
It was interesting to hear about the inner workings of 主播大秀 7. I had vaguely imagined that their producers would spend fun-filled hours wandering through the radio archives, selecting programmes for transmission in much the same way that children approach the pick 'n' mix counter in a sweetie shop. Mary told me it wasn't quite that easy and there are a lot of issues surrounding rights and contracts that prevent her from transmitting certain programmes. Some older programmes also contain language and references which a contemporary audience would't find acceptable.
This upsets those fans of comedy who like to record and collect programmes and get frustrated if they don't have every episode of every series. I told Mary how I'd encountered a group of these collectors when I was on holiday in Yorkshire last year. They were gathered in the corner of an old record shop, comparing notes and exchanging casette copies of Dad's Army and Hancock's Half Hour.
Apparently angry collectors are a force to be reckoned with and Mary says some of them resort to name-calling. She has been called Miss Jean Brodie - a reference to her original career as a Scottish primary school teacher.
Well, this was the first time I'd met Mary and she didn't come across like that at all. As you'd expect, given her connection with comedy, she had a great sense of humour. A class act, really.
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Happy As Larry
I met up with Larry Sullivan today to discuss her recent conversation series Posh. I remarked that very few of the people she had interviewed for the series would actually admit to being posh, despite their voices, wealth or social background. Being posh, it would seem, is in the eye and ear of the beholder. Personally I think Larry herself is posh, but she wouldn't agree, so we changed the subject to her recent trip to Poland.
She'd just returned from a short city-break to Krakow which she'd enjoyed very much. She described one half of the city as being in a post-Soviet state of decay while the other half was undergoing a gradual process of renovation and gentrification. I have to say that I've never been more aware of my own Polish ancestry than I have in the past few months. I think it started just before Christmas when we were visited by a delegation Polish of radio executives.That was also when I realised the limitation of my Polish language skills, although I did manage to get a laugh by telling a feeble joke about only needing to know the Polish words for "vodka, beer and thank you."
At the end of that day I was presented with several bottle of vodka, two garlic sausages and an assortment of pens, mugs and t-shirts. I was also asked a lot of questions about the 主播大秀 and about the number of Polish footballers who had played for Celtic.
I think I'll have to bite the bullet soon and visit Poland myself. Anyone got any recommendations? I'll trade you for this lovely mug. Not sure what happened to the vodka...
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Meet The Press
Having spent so much of my career in radio as a news reporter, I still find it strange to be on the other side of the fence when I'm asked to give interviews to journalists. This week alone I've spoken to three different reporters and, I have to confess, I'm absolutely no good at "spinning a line". When a reporter asks me a question I tend to blab on until I hear the tiny click of their tape recorders switching off. When I tell the 主播大秀 Press Officers what I've said they tend to roll their eyes and threaten to lock me in my office.
Yesterday, for example, I had arranged to meet Fergus Sheppard from In cloak-and-dagger fashion we were to meet in a well-known coffee bar on Edinburgh's Royal Mile. How was I to know this particular American chain had two outlets on the same street? I sat upstairs sipping a massive mug of froth until Fergus called me on my mobile to explain that he was sitting at a similar table a quarter of a mile away. He said he would come to me, which was good of him.
I still can't shake off the routines I learned as a radio reporter. As Fergus arrived I realised we were sitting right under a speaker which was blaring out jazz muzak. I knew his tape recorder would pick that up and suggested we move to a quiet table. Then I babbled at him for half an hour about the future of radio, podcasting, on-demand services and digital platforms. I might even have mentioned some of the new programmes we have coming up on Radio Scotland this summer. That would have been a smart thing to do, but, well, maybe I forgot.
All went well, but Fergus looked a litle surprised when I pulled out my camera and asked if I could take his photograph for this diary.
"That's usually my line, " he said, but was a good sport when I asked him to pose "in a reporter-like way."
When the 主播大秀 Press Office get to hear about this I'll never be allowed out of the building again. And you can quote me on that.To read comments on this post, click here
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Mouthing Off
I was back in the dentist's chair this morning having finally got around to the appointment I was told to arrange several weeks ago. Fifteen minutes with the hygenist, followed by another half hour to replace a leaky filling. The first injection didn't quite freeze my mouth the way it's supposed to and when the drilling began I wanted to jump out of the chair and ricochet off the ceiling. Instead, I maintained my dignity, confined myself to a slight shudder and the dentist agreed to give me another jab. Of course, by the time the job was done, the entire right side of my mouth was drooping off my face like a grey blancmange.
Fifteen minutes later I burst into a meeting at Queen Margaret Drive and make my apologies using a combination of mumbles and gestures while wiping the drool from my face with a crumpled tissue. To make matters worse, my colleague who is chairing the meeting tells me she has recently had the roof of her mouth stiched and temporarily speaks with a lisp. The dialogue between us begins to resemble a Marx Brothers movie.
At the next meeting, things get worse because three paricpants are joining us via conference call from Aberdeen and Edinburgh. This is inaudible at the best of times, but now they have the added difficulty of understanding my frozen-mouthed babble. They seem to be coping but, ironically, they can't make out the words of our Head of Drama, Patrick Rayner who projects with enviable eloquence and razor-sharp diction . I end up translating his contribution.
So if, in a few weeks time, you open your Radio Times to see that we've launched new programmes enitled Good Borning Thotland and Sportsthound, you'll know where it all went wrong.
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Please Listen Carefully
My eight year old son has a great teacher. She's not long out of college and is clearly full of enthusiam for her job and the children in her charge. Every other day my wee boy comes home with some kind of sticker-festooned certificate to prove that he did something remarkable in the classroom. There are stickers for Good 主播大秀work, Magic Maths, Cracking Work, Super Science and Good Effort. My own favourite is the one showing a cute baby panda and emblazoned with the slogan "My teacher says I've listened carefully".
Of course we all know what she's up to. It's the old reward and reinforcement technique. Look, I didn't spend four years studying psychology for nothing. You want to talk about Freud? You want to talk about Skinner? I'm your man and, by the way, I also interpret dreams as a kind of party-piece.
But where was I? Oh yes..rewards. Now, let me share with you one of the difficulties I face in running a radio station like Radio Scotland. Frankly, we make too many programmes. Or at least too many programmes for me to listen to if I'm also trying to attend meetings, make future plans and get to the canteen in time for lunch. Naturally our programme makers are an understanding lot and will send me CD copies of anything I may have missed. There's also our Listen Again facility on the website, so I've no excuse really. Except that every time I'm listening to something on CD or PC it means I'm missing something that's being transmitted at that moment. I can never catch up. Is it any wonder I have that recurring dream about painting the Forth Bridge?
Yet, in a recent staff survey, the one thing everyone wanted more of was feedback - especially about their programmes. Some may also have wanted feedback on their haircuts, but that wasn't captured in the data. So, I'm trying to implement a new feedback system. This begins with me blocking out time in my day just to sit in my office and listen to the radio. (Look, I've never claimed this job was hard! Please let me finish.) I make detailed notes and then I arrange a meeting with the production team to discuss the programme. I'm hoping this works and gradually I'll make my way through the whole schedule and then start all over again.
I've also set myself a personal target of giving feedback at least ten times a day. This is becoming something of an obsession. Today, for instance, I was in Edinburgh with our Editor of Speech Programmes, Jane Fowler. We were in a hotel just around the corner from the 主播大秀 studios. The waitress was friendly and attentive and so, at the end of the meal, I decided to give her some feedback. Well, talk about an over-reaction. She became quite emotional. I swear there were tears in her eyes as she stammered out a "thankyou...that's so lovely of you."
At which point I went red in the face and quickly gathered up the paperwork I had spread across the table. It was only when I got back to the 主播大秀 that I realised I'd also scooped up two of the hotel's fancy menus. I had to sneak back ten minutes later to replace them.
As for programmes, well, I could do with your help. It would make it more real if actual listeners were to use this diary to comment on any programmes they have heard. What have you enjoyed and what would you change?
If you like, I'll even send you a sticker. Maybe not this one though...
P.S. One bit of late news tonight. Radio Scotland has secured two nominations in the . Looks like I'll be heading for the awards ceremony in May with some of our sports team. That should be a wild night!
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This One Is Going To Haunt Me
I got a call from the 主播大秀 Press Office today saying that the want to know more about the ghost I've been writing about in this diary. The story had also been picked up by yesterday, but I'd missed that because, as ever, the Ecosse section hadn't been inserted in the copy I picked up from the newsagent.
I call Innes Smith (psychical investigator) and pop in on Janie Murphy (radio producer and ghost eyewitness) to make sure they're ok with me talking to journalists about this. Later I take a call from Catriona Stewart, a reporter for the Daily Mail based in Glasgow. I tell her the whole story and, as I do so, I realise it doesn't really amount to much. A few spooky moments, various tales about strange happenings in basements, one sighting of a woman in a long dress. So it will be interesting to see if the Daily Mail actually run anything.
Mind you, I'm starting to spook myself with this stuff. I was down in the basement this morning, speaking to Annie Wood who runs our Training Project. Her office is at the end of a long corridor which once housed the teaching rooms when this was a medical college. Annie sits behind the kind of squeaky, creaky door that you associate with old Hammer horror films. I half expected to see a secret laboratory with coloured liquids bubbling away in glass jars. I didn't, of course, but the next time I go down there I'm going armed with some WD40. And I'm not afraid to use it.
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Springwatch
A working lunch today with Tim Scoones, the Series Producer of 主播大秀 2's Springwatch programme who has flown up from Bristol to tell us how Scotland can be involved. There are all sorts of events being planned in tandem with the programme, including a family day at Chatelherault Country Park in Hamilton on June 4th.
There are six of us at the meeting which takes place in my office with lunch consisting of filled rolls and fruit kebabs. Just before they arrive I realise that we've only ordered enough food for five people, so I pretend that I've already eaten and watch hungrily as everyone else stuffs their faces.
Springwatch sounds like a lot of fun and, this year, there's going to be special output from Shetland. I asked Tim why they had chosen that location and he told me that thought it was one of the most beautiful and interesting landscapes in the British Isles.
My next meeting is with Gloria Abramoff - an old friend - who is now working with Children in Need and is touring the U.K. to talk about the real work of the charity and the kind of young people it sets out to help. She talks powerfully about teenage runaways and child prostiution and it dawns on me that most people don't know much about Children in Need beyond Pudsey Bear and Terry Wogan. I agree that Radio Scotland can do more to tell listeners about the people using the Children in Need money to make a real difference to the lives of children.
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Nurse, The Screens Please
The nurse told me her name was Angela and she seemed very keen to get my home phone number before we went any further.
"Just in case we get cut off, " she explained.
I had been patched through to the NHS 24 helpline after calling our own G.P.s surgery. The youngest Zedette's toe was looking no better and I kept remembering the words of that pharmacist in Balloch yesterday.
"Don't hestitate to call a doctor if you're worried," she had said.
It took me a few minutes to explain the symptoms to Angela who carefully repeated everything I was saying to her. Stupidly I couldn't remember if it was the left toe or the right toe and by this time the Zedettes were downstairs playing Fifa 06 on the Playstation 2."Does he have a fever?" Angela asked.
"No, he's cheerfully playing football at the moment."
"Football? With a sore toe?"
"Oh...it's a computer game."
"I see."I'm always like this with doctors and nurses. I live in fear of being branded a time-waster. On the other hand, you don't want to down-play the issue in case it's serious. Angela was looking through her notes and I sensed she was coming to some kind of a conclusion. But then there was a stange burring on the line and the phone went dead.
I replaced the receiver at my end. Twenty seconds later the phone rang and Angela was back.
"Just as well you took my home number, " I said.
"Well this kind of thing happens from time to time."Anyway, the toe did not count as an emergency and Angela gave me some advice about applying a dressing. I thanked her and went downstairs. The FIFA game was in it's dying minutes and Scotland were beating Brazil six-nil. Mrs Z. handed me a paint roller and reminded me I'd agreed to give the hall a coat of emulsion. Apparently you can't refuse such requests on Mother's Day. Besides, she wanted to get on with the next part of her ECDL computer course. Did I tell you she got 94% in her first exam. Only another six to sit.
In the afternoon I took the Zedettes to the cinema at Clydebank. We saw The Shaggy Dog, a Disney Film starring Tim Allen. A typical American guilt-trip film in which the workaholic Dad realises he needs to spend more time with his wife and kids .... oh, and a sub-plot about him being transformed into a sheepdog after he is bitten by another sheepdog that has been stolen from a Tibetan monastery by evil research scientists. The kind of thing that happens to me all the time, but I tend not to tell you about it in this diary ... not when I can tell you about how I sat at home watching paint dry.
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Balloch Then Billy
We headed back up to Balloch this afternoon for a family lunch at our favourite Chinese restaurant. I wouldn't say the food is better than any other Chinese restaurant, but it has sentimental attachments for myself and Mrs Z. Yes, it was where we ate on that night, fourteen years ago when we got engaged. And it was what Mummy Z chose to do this weekend as part of Mother's Day celebrations. So we went as a family and, as usual, the waitresses made a big fuss of the children. This, I can tell you, is the way to a big tip.
Afterwards we went for a stroll along the swan-infested shoreline at Loch Lomond and then on to the main street, but that was curtailed when the youngest Zedette complained about a sore toe. This is the same sore toe that caused us to cancel his Saturday morning swimming lesson today and I'm starting to think a trip to the doctor will be required. In the meantime I sought advice from the pharmacist in Balloch. She couldn't have been more helpful and, as well as some ointment, she even game me the number for the NHS out-of-hours service "just in case".
So, we contented ourselves with being home birds tonight and finally got around to watching the Billy Connolly film The Man Who Sued God on DVD. We had heard mixed reports about this flick, but it was fairly enjoyable in a quiet sort of way.
And now, time to change all the clocks. Can't believe it's British Summer Time already. I must look out my shorts.
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Fun With Colin & Justin
I made it back to Glasgow this afternoon in time to meet Justin Ryan and Colin McAllister who are all set to present a new weekly music show for Radio Scotland during the summer. They're better known simply as Colin & Justin, the two Scottish interior design gurus who have become stars on TV shows such as
I joined the tail-end of a meeting with music producers Barbara Wallace and Muslim Alim as we discussed some ideas for the new show and the kind of music the audience would hear. It's all starting to take shape and should be a fun listen.
I was intrigued to hear about the boys' next television project which will involve them casting their eyes over some of Scotland's worst housing estates. They plan to knock on the door of Government ministers and demand answers about the state of the council housing stock.
On a lighter note, we've also asked them to come up with a redesign for the interior of the Radio Scotland camper van, which we use as a mobile studio for outside broadcasts. They seemed suitably horrified when we described the current decor...which, at best, looks like something you'd see in a 1970's Carry-On film.
More on that very soon.
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Return To Selkirk
A sunny drive down to the Borders this morning as I joined Gareth Hydes on a trip to our Selkirk studios to talk about our next SoundTown project. We set off just after seven o'clock and two hours later we turned into the car park at the old Ettrick mill building which now houses a modern business centre, including the new 主播大秀 Scotland base.
We met news reporter Cameron Buttle and his team and Gareth explained that we were now on the hunt for a local secondary school to house our next SoundTown studio from August this year. Angela Soave interviewed us both for Monday's local news bulletins which go out four times a day during the week. We had also arranged to meet Andrew Keddie from the who seemed enthusiastic about the project and offered to help in any way he could.
There followed some shenanigans as a photographer arrived and asked us to pose in the news studio, in front of a map and then, finally, I followed him outside as he arranged me in front of the Radio Scotland car with a map laid out on the bonnet. Of course, it was raining by this time so we had to borrow Cameron's 主播大秀 Scotland umbrella.
Both Gareth and I worked in the previous 主播大秀 building on the High Street so, at lunchtime, we could a nostalgic trip around the town and I avoided all temptation to buy a Selkirk Bannock. The famous Bannock is a very sweet and sticky fruit loaf which I used to eat by the dozen when I lived in the town ten years ago. Indeed Selkirk was my first ever posting when I joined 主播大秀 Radio Scotland. The town seemed to have changed very little since then, but I noticed the Cross Keys pub had been given a revamp.
Sadly, I wasn't in a position to have a drink there. My alcohol-free period has now lasted for 10 weeks. So no bannocks and no booze... who says I have no will-power?
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Sitting In The Back Row...
My TV colleagues were recording a new situation comedy for 主播大秀 3 tonight and I thought I'd go along and watch it happen. I didn't try to pull rank and watch it from the control room. I wanted to know what it's like to be part of a studio audience and so I joined the queue outside Broadcasting House in Glasgow and showed my ticket to the security guard like everyone else. There was a reason for this.
At this year's annual conference of the Broadcasting Council for Scotland, one of the members had pointed out that the term 'audience handling' sounded a little inappropriate. Indeed, this is the term many of us in broadcasting use without thinking when we talk about inviting members of the public into the studio to take part in programmes. It got me wondering what that whole experience must feel like and tonight I found out.
Well, the queue streamed into the building at about half past six . There's a long canopy outside to protect you from the rain but it wasn't needed tonight. Once inside you get the chance to hang up your coat and are then offered a drink. The space outside the TV studio is a bit cramped and I know that's one of many things that will change when we move to our new building at Pacific Quay.
Just after seven o'clock we were led into the TV studio. There are banks of seats and I was guided to one at the very top and right at the back. A floor manager then gives you fire exit information and then an all-important 'warm-up' man appears. His job is to get you in the mood for laughing and, crucially, to keep you happy and alert in the long pauses between scenes. That's when the camera and audio crew have to change positions.
Our warm-up man tonight did a fantastic job. He had us all singing and dancing and playing games. Most of us were exhausted by the end of the night, mainly because of the temperature under the bright studio lights.
As for the sit-com itself, well, I better not tell you too much about that in case I get into trouble for revealing secrets. It was very funny and the actors gave wonderful perfomances. Naturally we found it just as entertaining on the rare occasions when they fluffed a line and had to do it all over again.
Yet a lot is demanded of the audience too. We sat in the studio until after half past nine and dutifully laughed again and again when a scene had to be retaken. I realise I tend to laugh about two seconds after everyone else and I began to worry that I might disturb the actors. I shut my mouth. Then I began to worry that I wasn't laughing enough. Such is the paranoia of the studio audience.
It was thrilling to think we were witnessing the birth of something special. Who knows, the show we saw tonight might one day be a classic to rival Steptoe & Son or Porridge. Decades from now viewers will be listening to my delayed guffaws.
No laughing matter, really.
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The Ghost Hunter
This afternoon saw the long-awaited visit from Innes Smith, a paranormal investigator who has been reading about the ghost that's said to haunt the basement beneath my office. I wasn't quite sure how to approach my conversation with him. On the one hand, I don't believe in ghosts and was tempted to have a bit of a laugh. On the other hand, I wouldn't dream of poking fun at anyone else's beliefs, even if I didn't agree with them. So I played it fairly straight; I told Innes about the supposed spooky goings-on and about the one eye-witness account I had heard about the ghost on the staircase. He listened politely and suggested various explanations.
Then we went on a tour of the area outside my office. We climbed the stairs to the first floor, then descended to the basement. I showed Innes the exhibition of photographs telling the history of the building. I then suggested we might incorporate some kind of all-night ghost-hunting vigil into a forthcoming radio programme.
Having myself studied psychology for four years, I was most intrigued by Innes' theories on how the human brain might react to any kind of paranormal energy. In a nutshell; if a ghost sends out energy, the quality of the image depends on the imagination of the observer. Innes suggested it might be a bit like dreaming. Some of us have vivid dreams, others vague, but very few dreams have a lot of detail.
Innes then told me about a video clip that appears on the website of the It was taken on a hotel's CCTV camera and appears to show a strange dark figure on a landing. It's worth a look...but perhaps not just before bedtime.
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Bowled Over in Alloa
I was in Alloa this afternoon as the guest speaker of the . I went there with Karen MacKenzie, a researcher in our Events department, who volunteered to drive the big Radio Scotland car, while I navigated through every wrong turn possible.
Joyce Stalker, who organises the fortnightly speakers during the winter, had invited us to talk about radio, but I'm afraid I got side-tracked with my childhood memories of Clackmananshire. My Auntie Jean and Uncle Jimmy lived in Tullibody and, every Easter holiday, me and my sister got packed off to stay with them.
As I told the lady bowlers, Jean & Jimmy didn't have children of their own and tended to approach their childcare duties in an eccentric fashion. This included bundling us into their car late at night, driving us to remote spot on the road between Menstrie and Dollar and telling us the story of . Until today, I'd not met anyone else who knew about the tomb and the legends associated with it, but it was common knowledge at the bowling club. I never quite got to the bottom of Tait and his tomb, but everyone knew of the stange happenings on the nearby road. There was, for instance, the bus driver who stopped to pick up a solitary passenger, but when the conductor followed him upstairs to collect the fare there was no one there. A short while later the driver dies in mysterious circumstances.
Yes, it sounds the basic plot of an urban myth told the world over, but it sure gave me a sleepless night when my auntie told it.
Still, a fun afternoon at the beautiful bowling club and the home baking was superb. Back on the diet tomorrow. Promise.
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I Was Johnny Sellotape
Mark Rickards, who has made many a fine programme for Radio Scotland and Radio 4, tells me he was giving a talk to media students at Stirling University.
One student plans to make a short feature on stand-up comedy and Mark suggested they contact me to talk about my own experience in this field.
As I told Mark, I'm always happy to mouth off about things I don't know anything about but in this case my vast experience amounts to two performances about five years ago. Nevertheless I have, somehow, gained the reputation of being a secret comedian and I've been asked about it in a number of newspaper interviews. Time, methinks, to put the record straight.It all happened when I was the Editor in charge of the Fred MacAulay show and found myself talking to the production team about how they might cover an evening of comedy auditions happening at the King's Theatre in Glasgow. It was being organised by the London-based Comedy Store who were on a U.K. tour and trawling for new talent along the way. Off the top of my head I invented a character called Johnny Sellotape who, in my imagination, had been one part of a double-act with his partner Billy Bostik.
"They were pioneers of adhesive comedy," I told the team, "but they fell apart. The act never caught on because they both wanted to be the straight man."
Taking a joke too far, I invented a catchphrase for Johnny - "UHU" and decided that he would attach emergency jokes to his jacket with sticky-tape just in case he ran out of material.
Well, having gone this far, I was easily persuaded to turn up for the actual auditions. So two days later I'm standing in the foyer of the Kings Theatre with about fifty other hopefuls. I'm wearing glasses, my hastily designed comedy jacket (complete with emergency jokes) and, for some reason, I have half a pound of gel in my hair. I watch one performance after another and begin to get so nervous that it feels like someone has secured an iron band around my waist. Then I'm called to the front, given a green light and told I have two minutes to make 'em laugh.
"Hello my name's Johnny ... Johnny Sellotape. It's a bit tacky, but it sticks."
Of course, the audience is comprised of other would-be comedians who know that only a few of them will make it to the final. Yet, somehow, I pull it off. I get the laughs and applause and, would you believe it, the judges decide I'm through to the final. Another finalist is Craig Hill who has since gone on to great things.
Then Fred MacAulay appears and the three of us get our photograph taken by the magazine, who have kindly given permission for me to reproduce it on this website. They also give Johnny Sellotape a rave review, describing him as "a genuine, 24-carat, side-splitting, destined for international fame, undiscovered comic genius." I had that clipping in my wallet for about two years.
Alas, it was not to last. A week later I'm in the final and I take to the stage in front of a full-house at the Kings. I've spent a lonely afternoon in a dressing room, working myself into a nervous frenzy, and by the time I walk out under the spotlight, I've lost my bottle. I just want to go home and watch the telly. I don't want the life of a stand-up comedian. I know it, the audience know it and they grant my wish.
There's a clapometer verdict and I come last. I smile bravely. I go backstage and take off my comedy jacket. Johnny Sellotape is no more. He has come unstuck.
Except that a year later I make a half-hour radio programme about Johnny's fictional life. So, it wasn't a total waste of time. Funny old business, isn't it?
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Is This The Ghost of 主播大秀 Scotland?
More on the story about the ghost that supposedly haunts the basement beneath my office. Today an eye-witness came forward. Janie Murphy, a producer in our Topical & Events department, described to me how she was alone and working late in the production office directly above mine. The door was open and, as she turned her head away from her computer screen, she saw a strange figure walking up the stairs towards her. Janie described this ghost as a woman wearing a heavy long-sleeved dress with a stiff collar and with her hair tied back in a bun.
"I just told her I was trying to finish my work", says Janie, "and she went away".
Now, if it was me, I don't think I would have been quite so calm, but Janie tells me this is not the first time she has seen strange things. She also says she's reluctant to visit the basement area of the building because it gives her "a bad feeling".
The description of the ghost seems uncannily similar to the photographs outside my office, which form part of an exhibition telling the history of Queen Margaret College and the Medical School which occupied this building in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It's a fascinating story in itself, regardless of any supernatural element. The college was a female-only institution and was one of the first to allow women to study medicine. It was held in such high esteem that Queen Victoria came to visit although she didn't leave the comfort of her horse-drawn carriage. In the glass cases you can see illustrations of the event and it's eerie how little the building has changed since that time.
This colourful history should provide an excellent starting point for psychic investigator, Innes Smith, who read about the various ghost-sightings in this diary and has arranged to come in for a look. He's even sent me some posters which I have to pin up around the building. I'm afraid I still don't believe in ghosts but I'll be interested to hear what Innes has to say. Meanwhile, I think I'll avoid working late in the next few weeks. Just in case.
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Twelve Singers, One Song
Far too many people with no talent think they can sing. I include myself. Please don't ever come with me on a car journey to Inverness because that's when I'm at my worst. I start off singing along to the radio and then, when I reach that radio dead zone on the A9, I switch to my Sinatra CDs. The third stage comes when the CD player overheats and I convince myself I can get along fine without Ol' Blue Eyes. I'm usually warbling at the top of my voice by the time I reach Culduthel Road. If it's summer and the windows are open I've seen pedestrians fall to the ground clutching their ears.
Yet help may be at hand. According to Mary-Ann Kennedy "anyone who can speak can sing." This comforting statement was made in a kind of off-hand way when I met Mary-Anne this afternoon to talk about and her new Radio Scotland programme Global Gathering. We got chatting about singing and Mary-Anne was telling me she recently transformed a sizeable group of non-singing adults into a powewrful choir, with each member playing their own part in the harmonics. And she did all this in the space of a few hours.
This seemed too good to be true but it might also have the potential for a great radio programme. Imagine we recruit a dozen people from a particular organisation. Nurses, say, or police officers. We ship them to near Fort William and let her work her musical magic upon them. We'd hear all about their individual stories and find out if music can make them work as a team.
What do you think? Good idea? Would you listen?
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Let's Blame Everyone Else
Spring has sprung and that felt like real sunshine today鈥ou know, the kind that actually warms the side of your face. It was time for me to get back on track with my Five Hundred Mile Diet. I announced to my incredulous family that I would brave the great outdoors and actually walk to the video shop to return that new Bill Murray film we were daft enough to rent. I鈥檒l gloss over how we spent much of the previous evening staring at the goggle-box and munching microwave popcorn. It just goes to show how easily you can slip back into those couch-potato habits when the weather turns a bit nippy.
So I put on my coat and gave the Zedettes a special hug. Looking into their wide-eyed teary faces made me decide, there and then, to impart an important family secret.
鈥淐hildren,鈥 I said, 鈥渏ust in case I don鈥檛 return鈥here鈥檚 something you ought to know鈥︹
鈥淲hat is it, Papa鈥 they asked.
鈥淪imply this, dearest ones鈥he chocolate biscuits are in that tin behind the baked beans.鈥Then I was off, crunching through the broken glass and gazing at graffiti-covered walls as I set out on the two-mile round trip through the suburbs of Glasgow. This is not how I hoped things would be. I was expecting songbirds and daffodils. Yet, everywhere I turn these days I see desecration, defacement and destruction. No daffodils at all. They鈥檝e probably been yanked out by the yobs and that鈥檚 got to hurt.
Now it鈥檚 not as if I live in an area of urban deprivation. No, we鈥檙e talking about one of those terribly nice middle-class neighbourhoods where local residents go into a panic if the baker runs low on croissants. And if you manage to catch a glimpse of the yobs and vandals it鈥檚 difficult to believe that poverty is at the root of their problems. Most of them are wearing the latest branded sports clothes and communicating with each other via the kind of hi-tech mobile phones that wouldn鈥檛 look out of place in an episode of Star Trek. Designer Delinquents, I call them. It has a ring to it. Or ring tone, even.
So, how did things get this way? What happened to the good ol鈥 days when, if you saw a neighbour鈥檚 child drop a piece of litter, you were fully within your rights to deal with the situation by organising a horse-whipping? Community spirit, we called it. Has it gone completely?
Heck, no. Month after month I travel around Scotland and hear about the groups and individuals trying to make a difference. Some of them organise fund-raising events as part of our Let鈥檚 Do the Show Right Here series, others pursue more serious campaigns and feature in our Action Scotland programme. I remember schoolchildren in Dalmellingtion taking part in a big clean-up project and teenagers in Stonehaven involved in a midnight dip to help save the outdoor swimming pool.
But maybe we all need to do more. As I continued my walk today I passed a local primary school and saw a bitter little note tied to the gate. Apparently a quiz night organised by the PTA had been cancelled 鈥渄ue to lack of support鈥. It made me think. Perhaps if we all spent less time on couches, watching duff DVDs we might be able to do a little more for the community.
Now that would be a breath of fresh air.
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The Last Laughs
Today we'll record the last three of the eighteen comedy shows we've been staging at the City Halls in Glasgow. Sabotage at lunchtime will be followed by The Why Front at seven o'clock tonight and then Dance, Monkey Boys, Dance at half past nine.
I have to pay tribute to Margaret-Anne Docherty who has produced twelve of these shows across the week - each one with a different script. I spoke to her last night after another hilarious edition of The Why Front and you could tell she had about two minutes of sleep in the last six days. I mean, I told her a couple of my own jokes and she barely smiles so that must be down to lack of sleep.
I noticed the audience have come to recognise and cheer their favourite Why Front characters, including Auntie Sunbeam, the children's entertainer from the dark side who loves to share her bleak philosophy of life with the kids in her care.
Telling a story in which a dog called Sparky fails to save a little girl from falling down a mine shaft, Auntie Sunbeam tells the children: "dogs are like weans - it's not love they want from you, just their dinner."
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Speed Dating At The 主播大秀
Many weeks ago I'd gone to the offices of the in Edinburgh and suggested that Radio Scotland could forge better partnerships with creative organisations if only we knew about projects well in advance. at the SAC agreed we should bring programme makers together with key figures in the arts community. Today we did exactly that.
I'd been struggling to think of a good format for the meeting. The idea of us all sitting arounf a table bumping our gums seemed uninspiring. Instead I structured the meeting in the style of a speed-dating session. We put eight small tables in a conference room and put one radio producer and one SAC delegate at each of them. Each couple had seven minutes to exchange ideas and then we changed the pairings. I even rang a little crystal bell to signal the intervals.
It seemed to work well and at the end of the session everyone had made new friends and we had a pile of ideas to work through. I did get a bit carried away when I suggested we view this session as a "first date" and that when we next meet there "might be some kissing". Clearly some people thought I had taken the metaphor a little too far. Some, but not all. Gareth Hydes, who leads our Events team, won the prize for best heckler when he shouted "I can't wait for the fourth date!"
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Dance, Monkey Boys, Dance
I'm just back from the City Halls in Glasgow after another night of great comedy.
I'm glad the police didn't spot me driving along the Clydeside Expressway tonight, because all they would have seen is this manic-faced weirdo laughing away to himself. I was still thinking about an improvised sketch which involved Tarzan turning up at a job-centre and getting some top tips on how to start a new career:
"Is this the way you always turn up for a job interview? Leopard skin loincloth?"
The show was Dance, Monkey Boy, Dance and features four Glasgow comedians and a keyboard accompanist who ask the audience to suggest various unlikely scenarios from which they create on-the-spot comedy. In the grand finale they ask a member of the audience to tell them about their life and family. The Monkey Boys then perform a song in which they incorporate the various details. Tonight's song was about a man called Ross who revealed that his job involves making medical glue for sealing wounds. It had the audience in stitches
Earlier I'd been at another performance of The Why Front and there was a first-class sketch about a Glasgow couple who, after four years, still can't get past the beginners class for tantric sex. They're asked to hold a special crystal which will glow if they are compatible. Best line of the night:
"It's not just black...it actually seems to be sucking the light out of the room."
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Wish I'd Brought My Brolly
Over the Erskine Bridge this morning and paying my 60 pence toll for what might be the last time ever. The fee is being scrapped at the end of the month. I was heading for Mar Hall - on the site of the old Erskine Hospital - for the annual conference of the Broadcasting Council for Scotland. I parked outside and listened to Good Morning Scotland as Scottish swimmers won two gold medals in the Commonwealth Games. It certainly put a spring in the step.
Inside, I had been asked to give a presentation on the different ways that Radio Scotland involves listeners in programmes. I cited examples such as Morning Extra and Radio Rookies, but also talked about this diary. BCS members seemed intrigued that I get comments on my weight loss as well as programme suggestions. (No weight lost this week, I'm afraid. Not enough walking -blame the snow)
It's clear some of the BCS members are well up on new technology. At one point during a coffee break everyone was comparing mobile phones and iPods to demontrate live video feeds or downloaded movies. My own phone is just one step up from two cocoa tins tied together with string. I tried to hide it under my paperwork, but it was spotted by my colleague Julie Adair who runs 主播大秀 Scotland's Interactive Department. Everyone then pointed at me and sniggered. It was a bit like that awful dream in which you find yourself out in the street wearing pyjamas. There must be a word for this. Technoshame?
I got back to Queen Margaret Drive in time for an unscheduled fire drill which meant all staff had to leave the building immediately. Of course, it then began to rain. Sally Campbell, my PA, had a hood on her coat so she very kindly leant me her umbrella which I used to help shelter some producers from the music department. I'm not sure it did much for my street-cred, mind you.
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Laughter In The City
A day spent shuttling between Queen Margaret Drive and the City Centre to attend the recording of the comedy shows we're staging at the City Halls.
Went down at lunchtime to see . I have to confess that when we decided to take part in the Glasgow Comedy Festival I had imagined that the we'd have Springtime weather in the middle of March. Instead it was cold and raw and today but it's great to see so many people turn up at the shows. My favourite sketch in Sabotage involves a Forfar detective investigating various pastry crimes. It's all quite unsavoury. Or savoury. I can't remember which.
I was back at the City Halls tonight to see a recording of The Why Front. Again some excellent performances and material so funny that people in the audience were literally wiping tears from their eyes. Lots of great characters including Mephisto the Magician and her down-to-earth second husband George Wilson. Poor old George was being tied up and "drapped" into a tank of water filled with trout. Naturally things didn't go to plan.
We'll be airing these shows over the coming weeks and months in the lunchtime slot on Saturdays. I plan to be back in the City Halls tomorrow night to watch Dance, Monkey Boy, Dance - a very different kind of comedy which involves lots of improvisation.
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Airtime
Back in London today for a meeting at the 主播大秀 Media Centre in White City chaired by our Director of Nations & Regions, Pat Loughrey. It was a chance to compare notes with my counterparts from 主播大秀 Radio Ulster, 主播大秀 Radio Cymru and colleagues from 主播大秀 Local Radio in England. We talked about some of the new programme ideas that were being tried around the U.K. and the latest audience research which confirms that listeners don't want to be categorized according to age or gender, but prefer programmes tailored to specific interests. There was also a report showing the increasing number of people who listen to radio on digital platforms such as DAB, Digital Television or the internet.
Afterwards I travelled back to Paddington Station with Aled Glynne Davies from Radio Cymru who was telling me how his station has been supporting Welsh-language pop and rock music. I'd seen a report on the growing number of new bands in Wales in a recent edition of The Culture Show on 主播大秀 2, but hadn't realised that Radio Cymru had been so closely involved. I'm keen to pursue a similar strategy for supporting new muscial talent through a Radio Scotland initiative.
Of course, the downside of meetings in London is the amount of time you now have to spend in airport departure lounges. Assuming the flights are running to time, you still have to check in at least an hour before take-off and it can take an age going through the security checks. This morning in Glasgow the self-check-in machine wouldn't recognise any of the forms of identifications I slotted into its scanners. I had to join the end of the queue behind a university rugby squad from Ontario who seem to be on a tour of the U.K. As I waited, a man in front of me who was dressed like Johnny Cash -but with the girth of Elvis - seemed to lose the rag and forced his way to front, beckoning his two sons to follow him. Much to my disgust he then got checked in before the rest of us. They'll be talking about this in Canada before too long.
Tonight, at Heathrow, I wandered the concourse, trying to avoid the tempting array of coffee shops and muffin stalls. I drifted past some vending machines and realised that one of them was stocked with paperback books. I gazed through the glass at the various titles, but nothing took my fancy. If only they made books out of chocolate.
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The Sunny Side Of The World
Driving through the snow on Glasgow's Maryhill Road this morning and listening to Geoff Webster on the sport news, I could almost hear the sunshine in his voice. No wonder, he's in Melbourne covering the Commonwealth Games, along with John Beattie, Fred MacAulay and the production team. I've received an e-mail from the team with a photograph of various 主播大秀 Scotland people wearing shorts. I hope this doesn't upset anyone too much...
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Let's Do The Snow Right Here
Jim Duff calls from the newsroom telling me they'll be providing extra travel and news bulletins because of the snow. Both Glasgow and Edinburgh airports are closed and it seems lots of in Glasgow city centre last night and were allowed to spend the night in various trendy nightspots. We should do a follow-up on that story in a few weeks to see if romance blossomed on the dance floor as a result.
Meanwhile, at home, I head for the garden with the Zedettes to build a snowman. We're quite proud of our little figure until we see the neighbours rolling a giant snowball and sculpting an icy monstrosity about ten feet high. It has the sort of sinister smile that would give Aled Jones nightmares. Not to be outdone, we decide to construct a giant igloo. I use plastic storage boxes as a mould for huge snow blocks. I'm puting the finishing touches to this when Mrs Z. suggests my time might be better spent clearing the drive so that we can get the car out in the morning. It's times like this when I hate being a grown-up.
Later I'm looking out of the window at the neighbours' snowman and I see that local yobs have decided to add their own touch by pouring red curry sauce over its head. I now have the plot of a weird horror movie in which killer snowmen go around knifing each other.
Let's see if Aled Jones can come up with a song about that!
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Something Borrowed
I returned from my Saturday morning walk to the Marie Curie charity shop this morning, armed with a copy of the late Sir John Junor's memoirs and two VHS cartoon videos for the Zedettes. Having forked out just over three quid I would have been quite content to put my wallet back in the safe until the end of the month, but Mrs. Z had other ideas. We were all heading out to do some serious shopping. Apparently the family needed clothes, gifts, books, food, paint brushes and a proper sit-down lunch in a restaurant. I pointed out that, technically, we would be sitting down in the car if we went to a drive-thru. Then I ducked in time to dodge the car keys.
How we ended up in Easterhouse, I'm not quite sure, but there's that big new retail park just off the M8 now and that's where I dropped everyone while I went to the old Easterhouse shopping centre in search of the paint brushes. It has at least three of those everything-is-a-pound shops and I was able to buy a pack of five brushes for, yes, you're way ahead of me...
I also went upstairs to have a peek at the old public library where I used to spend so much of my time as a child. What would I have done without The Hardy Boys, Jennings and The Three Investigators? I wondered if those books were still on the shelves.
No chance.
The library had been transformed in to Learning Resource Centre and what was once the junior section was now bereft of books and filled with computer terminals. The other side of the building now held both adult and children's books but a quick scan of the shelves didn't reveal any of my old favourites. It was comforting to see the old volumes of Encyclopedia Britannica still stacked on a trolley against the librarian's office window, but I wondered if anyone ever opened them in these days of internet search engines.
Then I remembered a silly thing I used to do and I'm wondering if anyone else did this. If I looked at the date stamps on a library book and saw that no one had borrowed if for a while, I would start to feel sorry for the thing. I'd use one of my five tickets to check it out. How crazy is that? Mind you, I read all sorts of things I wouldn't usually have been interested in. Teach Yourself Serbo-Croat was one of them and a tedious book about Office Administration was another. To this day I remember the advice on how to open a letter using a proper letter opener and to shake the envelope "in case of enclosures".
Meanwhile it was time to rendezvous with the rest of the family for lunch and to ask, fearfully, why we needed the paint brushes.
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Spare A Thought For Bubba
This may sound crazy, but I usually enjoy train travel. Well that's assuming you can get a seat and it's not next to those three guys competing for the title of Scotland's Drunkest Loudmouth. Otherwise the train journey gives you a chance to catch up on some paperwork and, in my case, listen to CD copies of recent radio programmes.
My journey to Inverness and back was not the highlight of my week. The Thursday night train from Glasgow was one of those weird services that splits at Perth and where the last two carriages are uncoupled while the rest of the train goes on to Aberdeen. You need your wits about you if you don't want to end up in the wrong place. Also, if you're sitting in the Inverness section, you don't get the option of a trolley service for drinks and snacks. The train operators must think there's an obesity problem in the Highlands. Either that or they believe that Aberdeen-bound passengers need fattening.
You must also make sure you have the right kind of ticket. This is tricky when you work for the 主播大秀 because we're all obliged to book the cheapest possible fare. There's a fancy online service that helps you do this. It worked a treat for me on Monday night when I got a 拢10 ticket from Edinburgh to Aberdeen. Of course I had to travel at a specific time of day and only on one of those vulgar red trains that Richard Branson is always promising will be travelling at the speed of light by the year 2012.
Tonight, on the other hand, I've muffed it. The ticket inspector tells me that I've bought a Super Saver instead of a simple Saver and it doesn't allow me to make my return jounrey to Glasgow on a Friday. Not unless it's a bank holiday or the King's silver jubillee or something. He lets me off with a warning but tells me that the inspector who comes on at Perth might not be so lenient. Naturally, I spend the next couple of hours worrying about this. I can see myself being escorted off the train in handcuffs, taken to Perth Prison and sharing a cell with someone called Bubba who once forgot to return a library book.
Mind you, there's no danger of us reaching Perth in the near future. There's a signalling problem at Pitlochry and everything on the track is delayed. Fellow passengers who had hoped to make connecting services to Edinburgh are being given ten minute updates on how they might have to get a bus from Stirling. At least I can stay on the train until we reach Glasgow, whenever that might be. I unfold my laptop and do some work.
It's been a good day in Inverness. Radio Scotland's senior producer there is Pennie Latin and she's been developing some new conversation formats, including the current series presented by Larry Sullivan called Posh. We talk about plans for a grand finale to our SoundTown project in Elgin and some editorial issues surrounding a forthcoming documentary called The Joy of Smoking. I'm bound to get into trouble for that one.
I'm also here to get some reaction after a recent internal survey of 主播大秀 staff. I've been collating this from production teams across Scotland and most of the comments have been fair and constructive. Everyone wants more feedback about the programmes they make and more opportunities to share ideas and learn about new technology. On the train I look through the e-mails from other teams and I see one acerbic comment about 主播大秀 managers living a "nine-to-five" existence. I look at my watch. It's 8 O'Clock and we've just inched past Gleneagles. I call Mrs Z. on the mobile and tell her I'm running late.
"What time will you be home?" she asks.
I try to work it out. It'll be nearer 9 O'Clock by the time we reach Queen Street, then an Underground train to Hillhead, walk up to the 主播大秀 to collect the car and then the drive home. Might still have time for a quick game of hide-and-seek with the Zedettes before bedtime.
Unless, of course, I'm spending the night with Bubba.
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My Day In A Soho Strip Club
Annie McGuire came in to see me today. She's lately built a cult following as Jim Traynor's sidekick on Your Call, but I first met Annie at the end of 2001 when she was a student. She took part in a project called Old Firm Day in which we recruited student journalists from colleges and universities around Scotland and asked them to record different aspects of life on the day of a Celtic v Rangers game in Glasgow. Annie - who is second from the left in the top row in the photo - had the job of following a Celtic fan from when he woke-up to a CD alarm clock (playing Celtic songs) to a night of celebration in a city pub. In the final programme we mixed this with stories of police helicopters, ambulance crews, the referee, newspaper reporters etc. and told the story of the day.
Since then, Annie's career has taken a few exciting twists and turns. She's worked for newspapers, radio and television and told me that she once had the job of writing Gary Lineker's script for Match of the Day. So she was responsible for putting words into his mouth.
I was telling Annie that the idea for Old Firm Day came from my own experience as a student journalist when Capital Radio did something similar to tell a "Day In the Life of London".
I was sent to the Paul Raymond Revue Bar in Soho armed with microphone and tape recorder, I spent the morning behind the box office as various Japanese businessmen came in to book tickets. The afternoon was spent behind the stage, watching the carpenter repair a backdrop that involved an American football stadium. By the time the actual performances started in the evening I was so fed up with the assignment that it didn't bother me that I was watching topless 'cheerleaders'. Believe it or not, I was more concerned with monitoring the meters on my tape recorder and making sure I was getting something that could actually be broadcast.
It is, however, a good conversation-stopper when I tell people that one of my first paid jobs was in a Soho strip joint. It's what you need if you want a career in the media: naked ambition.
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Not To Be Sneezed At
I've told the catering staff in the 主播大秀 tea-bar that I'm on a diet. Just one more pound and I'll have lost a stone since the 10th of January. Under no circumstances should they sell me any confectionery.
"Not even if I beg." I warned them.
So there I was on my hands and knees today, pointing at a box of creme eggs near the cash register and making pitiful whining noises. They sent me on my way with an apple and a threat to call security if there's any more nonsense.
Truth is I've been feeling a bit sorry for myself all day. I have a bit of a bad cold and am getting precious little sympathy from colleagues. Everyone I meet tells me that their cold is much worse than mine and, to prove it, they start coughing in your face. Now I don't want to go on about this, because I know that women think men exaggerate the tiniest illness. All I can tell you is that I spent my lunch hour composing my own obituary for the 主播大秀's in-house newspaper, Ariel. I thought I'd keep it low-key:
"...the world of broadcasting has lost a colossus . (Yet, his diet did seem to be working.) Jeff's early demise means he never achieved his lifetime ambition . He had always hoped to end his days as a burden to others...."
I was still in a bit of a macabre state of mind when I met with colleagues from television to discuss how Radio Scotland might support a series on mountain climbing. I suggested a programme about the kind of people who trek up Ben Nevis with no proper training or equipment. We'd call it Give 'em Enough Rope.
Then I put forward a notion that the senior executive of the television series be made to climb a mountain herself.
For the second time that day, someone threatened to call security.
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Nancy With The Laughable Car
A slight thaw is turning the snow-crusted pavements of Aberdeen into brown slush as I tread gingerly up to Beechgrove Terrace and head for the 主播大秀 studios. There's a clapped-out old Renault blocking the car park and, as I draw nearer, I see the driver roll down the window and start shouting at me. It's Nancy Nicholson, presenter of of Grassroots.
"I must get a new car, " she explains, "the engine on this one just cuts out from time to time, but it starts again after a few minutes. It can be quite bad at traffic lights."
I take the opportunity to start an ad-hoc debrief of the recent Grassroots programme on bird flu. I'm just warming to my theme about the temperature required to kill a virus when Nancy signals that enough time has elapsed and her engine splutters back into life.
It's a good day in Aberdeen with lots of ideas flying around for new programmes and projects. Tom Morton's team want to link up with Vic Galloway's team and launch a competition for unsigned bands. I get an update on the forthcoming archive programme in which listeners are encouraged to search out old audio tapes for hidden gems. We haven't confirmed a title for that yet. I suggest Magnetic Memories. Robbie Shepherd's producer is planning a special concert later this year to mark Robbie's 70th birthday. So a good buzz about the place.
Except for Anne Paterson who looks after the Radio Scotland website. There was a major server crash early this morning and it seems to have impacted on 主播大秀 websites throughout the U.K. Anne looks miserable. No new content can be added, although I guess if you're reading this post (which I'm writing from my home at half past ten) then the problem will have been sorted.
On the train back to Glasgow this afternoon I started shivering and sniffing. It feels like a cold coming on. It must have been all that melting snow dripping down the back of my neck.
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Poles Apart
Checking in at an Aberdeen hotel last night I discover that Monika, the receptionist, is Polish and, seeing my surname on her computer screen, she subjects me to a rapid-fire quiz about my own origins. She discovers that my family hail from the same part of Poland as her own (Lodz) and that, for most of my life I have been mis-prouncing Zycinski.
"It should be said Zhishinski, " says Monika who shakes her head with despair as I run through some other Polish words in my limited vocabulary. She then ticks me off when I reveal I have never visited Poland.
"You must go, " she insists and there's a look in her eyes that suggests dire consequences if I refuse, "but don't go in the winter."
Half an hour later Tom Morton turns up at reception. He's presenting his show from Aberdeen this week and we've arranged to go out for dinner. Unwittingly he asks Monika if Mister Zycinski has arrived.
"You mean Zhishinski, " she says, sighing.
I sneak past reception and follow Tom across pavements where the recent snowfall has turned to ice. We go to a quaint little bistro where the waiter impresses us by taking our complicated order for starters and main courses wthout the aid of a notebook. I'm about to remark upon this amazing feat of memory when he returns to to the table and taps me on the shoulder.
"Sorry did you say you wanted the mussels?"
It kind of ruined it, really.
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Before The Fringe
I'm in Edinburgh today as we begin the planning for Radio Scotland's coverage of the Edinburgh Festival & We have to decide which venues we'll broadcast from, which dates and how we plan to promote the programmes.
I'm also keen that we involve media students from various colleges and universities because it's one of the best ways of spotting new talent and offering valuable work experience.
I travelled through on the train this morning with comedy producer Margaret-Anne Docherty and our business manager Kate Hook. We thought we'd impress Kate with our thrifty ways by walking from Waverley Station to the 主播大秀 studios at The Tun. Of course, this suits me as I'm on a fitness kick at the moment, but Margaret-Anne didn't realise there would be so many hills and steps to climb! She made a few jokes about mountain goats but punchlines don't work when you wheeze them.
Meanwhile we're also hoping to stage a special comedy event for children at this year's Fringe. As a parent I know how difficult it can be to find something that's suitable for a younger audience. As it happens, our programme plans overlap with the end of the Scottish school holidays and that doesn't always happen with the Festival.
I love the odd combinations which are thrown up by the Fringe. Last year I watched Fred MacAulay and co-host Sue Perkins interview Richard E. Grant and former presenter Jim Bowen on the same programme. Now that's something you don't hear (or see) very often.
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Hollywood Radio
I was once mistaken for a famous film director . This was a few years ago and I was sitting in the Hamburger Hamlet on Hollywood Boulevard with Tom Morton when a well-mannered young man approached our table, apologised for disturbing us and asked if I was . I had to disappoint him, of course, and I felt bad about that. Then Tom pointed out that the mistake was understandable given that I was wearing glasses, a baseball cap and, as he put it, could lose a few pounds. I felt bad about that too, but then my triple decker cheeseburger with extra fries arrived and I decided to get on with my life.
I was reminded of this trip to Los Angeles when I read Lawrence Donegan's witty column in The Herald this weekend. He has spent some time working in California and has been comparing his experience of American talk radio stations with their counterparts in Scotland. Lawrence is of the view that U.S. style phone-in shows simply don't work in this couuntry because we're less inclined to vent our anger over the airwaves. I'm not sure I agree. Besides, there's something else about the American radio market that interests me and that's the illusion of choice.
Sitting in my hotel room in L.A. I was able to tune in to seventy different stations on my bedside radio. I'm sure the number has increased since then. Yet, that sheer number didn't guarantee variety. Most provided pop music of one kind or another - Top 40 or Gold formats - and then there were the variations of country music - classic country, hot country, new country.
In Scotland we've seen a similar explosion in radio over the past few years, but I'm not convinced that has resulted in more choice for listeners. Instead I've seen many commercial radio stations retreat from whole programme genres such as drama, comedy and documentaries. You can't blame them; the stations have to be run as viable businesses. They need programmes with big audiences and pop music will give you that.
Now, through digital platforms and the internet, audiences have access to more radio stations than ever before. That, in theory, should offer real choice.
So tell me, where does 主播大秀 Radio Scotland fit in to this global village? Should we fall back on our unique selling point of 'Scotland' and retreat from the kind of international topics that you can hear elsewhere. Our experience tells us that would be a mistake, that listeners in Scotland don't want a service they perceive as parochial.
But you're the boss...you tell us.
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The Price of Popcorn These Days!
So, after much debate and a family vote, we went to the cinema today - all five of us. Yes, there was me, the two zedettes and two cuddly toys called Mister Duck and Mister Penguin. These last two insisted on riding in the front of the car up at the windscreen. That was until a sudden emergency stop sent them zooming towards the rear parcel shelf. This prompted a lecture on the wisdom of wearing seat belts and a discussion about whether or not penguins could really fly.
Our chosen film, Zathura was billed to start at 1pm. Now here's a thing; the traffic was so bad heading into town -and we had to park on such a high level in the multi-storey car park that the attendants were handing out oxygen cylinders - that we didn't arrive at the cinema until 1pm. We then waited in a queue to buy tickets for ten minutes and it took us another five minutes to make our way up six escalators and then find three vacant seats in the dark. But guess what? We were exactly on time for the start of the film, having missed fifteen minutes worth of trailers and adverts. Also, we didn't stop to buy sweets, juice and popcorn from the kiosk. Oh no, cheapskate Dad here learned long ago to stock up at the supermarket and bring a plastic bag full of goodies. I've saved a fortune over the years with this trick.
As for the film, we all agreed it was a seven-out-of-ten flick and was just a wee bit too similar to Jumanji...that other movie about a board game that plunges its players into a terrifying adventure. On the way back through the multi-storey we had our own adventure, trying to remember where we'd parked the car. Finally we spotted the squashed penguin on the back window. As for Mister Duck...just don't ask.
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For My Next Trick
I was walking out of the building the other day when I saw a young trainee reporter dashing about with her microphone and mini disc recorder. I felt a pang of jealousy and decided there and then to make a concerted effort to get out of the office soon and get back to some hands-on programme making. I'll see if I can persuade one of our production teams to give me a job and I'll let you know how I get on.
In my early days as a reporter I developed an enthusiasm for the kind of cute, weird or wacky stories that, at best, you might call 'human interest' journalism. I interviewed a woman who kept a toy bear on display in her tenement window and changed its outfit depending on the weather. There was the warden at Stirling Castle who told me about the ghost who cooked roast beef dinners. And there were the two ladies in the Borders who travelled the country collecting Ken Dodd memorabilia, especially Diddy Men.
I have to confess there was one story I failed to track down and it relates to a strange black-fronted little shop in Glasgow city centre. It's called Tam Shepherd's Trick Shop and, as far as I can tell, it's been there, in the same location, selling the same sort of stuff, for more than a hundred years. In that time other shops, banks and businesses have come and gone, but this little trick shop survives against all the odds. I mean, it's a pricey part of town, so how come?It stocks the usual assortment of jokes and novelties; chattering teeth, fake chewing gum with hidden finger trap, whoopee cushions, electric handshake joy buzzers and Mexican bandit moustaches. I believe it also sells more specialist equipment for professional magicians. I'm guessing that if you were keen to safely saw a woman in half, you'd visit Tam Shepherd's for the necessary equipment and not your local D.I.Y.superstore.
Years ago I made contact with the manager of the shop hoping to arrange an interview, but that request was turned down. It left me to imagine what secrets might lie within. Who was Tam Shepherd anyway? A famous magician? Perhaps the shop's survival is linked to real magic. I thought about Diagon Alley in the Harry Potter books. Perhaps the back door of Tam's shop would lead to a similar netherworld. Or just a big rubbish bin full of defective moustaches, non-jumping beans and x-ray specs that don't work in changing rooms.
Well, if you know any more than I do, I'd like to meet you and shake your hand. But watch out for the joy-buzzer.
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Tell Me Where To Go
Mrs Z is having a girlie weekend in London with old friends and I'm in sole charge of the Zedettes. I nipped out today and bought a pile of rubbish from one of those everything-is-a-pound shops. (I must remember to go back there for my Christmas shopping.) So I've kept them amused this evening with books, stickers and "rocket balloons" which make a rude noise and bounce off the walls when you let them go. They're now watching a video about cute animals and a vet.
Of course, the house looks like the inside of an exploding toy shop and I suppose I had better scrape that burnt pizza from the inside of the oven before it becomes permanent.
Tomorrow they want me to devise one of my famous treasure hunts with dozens of elaborate cryptic clues hidden in unusual places around the house (under the bath plug, inside the freezer compartment etc) and a miniature bar of chocolate as the prize.
I was going to ask diary readers to suggest destinations for a family fun day, but the comments might not get posted until Monday. Besides, the weather might not lend itself to a seaside outing. Maybe we'll build igloos instead.
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Radio Caroline
You may have read in the papers about the restructuring going on at the 主播大秀. In fact, it's not just the 主播大秀. Most media organisations are going through a period of change as everyone tries to adapt to a world of on-demand digital services and greater choice.
As much as you can make a sound business case for all of this, it doesn't remove the human consequences or indeed the emotional impact. This week, for example, I've seen numerous e-mails and office posters about leaving parties and farewell drinks. Many close colleagues have opted to take voluntary redundancy and start new careers or new chapters in their lives. We sign cards, scribble glib references to past triumphs and glorious failures and drop money in big brown envelopes to fund goodbye gifts. It's a ritual that anyone who works in an office will be familiar with.
Tomorrow, for example, I'm saying goodbye to Caroline, a researcher in our Events team. There's bound to be tears - lots of them - but I'll just tell people that my hayfever has kicked in early this year. I'll join Caroline and the team at a special lunch, but I won't be there in the evening for the drinks. That's probably just as well. Alcohol can turn an emotional situation into one of melodrama or hysteria. Tongues get loosened and people get silly. Especially me.
Someone once told me that, when you leave the 主播大秀, they fill the hole before you've driven out of the car park. It's true. Everyone soldiers on...but that's the nature of employees and organisations. Friends are different. When friends leave there's a scar. Nothing is ever quite the same.
Good luck, Caroline. We think you're great and we're missing you already.
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We'll Meet Again (Alas)
It was a day of back-to-back meetings today. I tend not to write too much about meetings in this diary on the assumption that you'll find descriptions of meetings about as interesting as me telling you about my dreams. Funnily enough I sometimes have my best dreams during meetings, but I'm usually nudged awake by a colleague just as Nicole Kidman is telling me that she could really do with someone with my kind of radio experience to give her one-to-one voice coaching in Hollywood.
Sorry, where was I? Oh...meetings. Yes I probably spend the majority of my working day in some sort of meeting. Today, for example, we kicked off with an inter-departmental meeting about . It was mostly information-sharing as producers from Gaelic, Television and the Orchestra talked about plans to cover next year's festival of Highland culture. I had to leave before we agreed action points because I had another meeting to attend. This time I was in the main TV studio where producers from the independent production sector had been invited to hear about 主播大秀 Scotland's plans for the future. After lunch I chaired my own meeting. This was our fortnightly Creative Management meeting where representatives from different radio departments gather to brainstorm programme ideas. Today we were discussing a big outside broadcast in Edinburgh later in the year and suggesting ways that families could come along and have some fun at the event. I suggested handing out 主播大秀 branded kazoos. I then nudged the person sitting next to me who awoke with a start.
Last meeting of the day was with other senior managers as we were brought up to speed on developments at our new H.Q. being built at Pacific Quay in Glasgow. This was the toughest meeting of the day with lots of horse-trading about competing plans. Tough, maybe, but probably one of the most productive meetings in that things were decided and action agreed.
There are various theories on how to run a good meeting. I know some organisations have meeting rooms without chairs so that managers are encouraged to get to the point. That might work, but can you imagine how many people would be off work with bad backs?
The worst meetings are those that involve very long Powerpoint presentations. I sat through one of these a few years ago. The person giving the presentation spent fifteen minutes on the first slide. My eyes drifted to the corner of the screen and I discovered, to my horror, that this was the first slide of sixty! Outside the window I watched the seasons change and by the time I got home, my wife had remarried and sold the house. Well, almost.
Anyway, I do have a very important meeting at nine o'clock tomorrow morning so I must get some sleep now. I wonder if Nicole still needs my help. Must remember to put my passport in the pocket of my jim-jams.
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- Jeff Zycinski, Head of Radio at 主播大秀 Scotland, on the highs and lows of his work/life balancing act.
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