Door-knocking with Rajar

You know those days when the weather is so cold, your body almost shuts down and concentrates on sustaining vital functions.  It was one of those.  I was admittedly, ill-dressed for the day, albeit looking smashing in my blue Fred Perry jacket. 

Wonderful Wendy was better-prepared in her ample baggy coat.  As a cheery Rajar researcher of many years standing, it was hardly surprising WW knew what she was doing.  Here was someone who'd walked miles and miles in her life on variously bitter cold and sweltering hot days, banging on doors in the name of radio. 

WW is one of a truly dedicated team of researchers, working for the research company IPSOS-MORI, which is currently contracted to carry out the fieldwork to the specifications set by RAJAR, to produce the audience figures on which UK radio relies.

Over the years, we've all had a pop at RAJAR, given from time to time it does produce a result which seems, well, puzzling to say the least. Usually, a further audience sweep or two thankfully sees the germ flushed out the system, and smiles return.  It was when the whole markets my stations serve caught what looked to me like the Winter vomiting bug, that Ipsos afforded me the rare opportunity to accompany a researcher as they carried out their task.  If only to shut me up.

'A single job' for a single researcher is to persuade about 22 people of all shapes and sizes to fill in a RAJAR diary.  The default diary now is typically online, but people are given the chance to choose papyrus should they wish.  Either way, the research journey starts with a knock on the door.

It was Thursday, and we were seeking good folk to start their listening records the following Monday.  As we wandered down the first road selected by Ipsos, clipboards in hand, I suspected  it would be simple to find a few willing candidates.  Just grab the bloke walking down the road to Londis, or the woman pruning her privet.  Reality was less straightforward: the researchers are given a list of 'starred addresses' and are obliged to bang on these doors first.  Only if they get a refusal are they allowed to go to the neighbouring address on the list.  If the door is simply not answered, researchers are asked to return later before selecting the alternatives.  To say it takes dogged persistence would be an understatement.

My days as a spotty paper boy flooded back. Where is the doorbell? Does it work? Should we go through the porch door or peer from outside? How many times and how hard should we bang?  Wonderful Wendy was an expert in all this, and mastered too how to cope with a veritable Animal Hospital of dogs and cats.

The script at the door is standard and well-rehearsed.  Declare research company name, flash badge, smile and ask them if the puzzled person holding the door slightly ajar  would like to help  give their opinions on radio programmes.  Witness the cogs whirring in the householder's head.  Some volunteer: 'I don't listen to the radio at all', and the researcher then has to insist that their views are still valid, which possibly bemuses the respondent further.  Once inside, in some cases, there is the opportunity to 'snowball' and recruit more than one person within the household, or a friend at another starred address.

I was hoping a door might be opened to us; frankly more so I might get warm than any remaining interest in the process, my survival instincts having kicked in.  Thankfully, WW's efforts were not totally in vain; she had persuaded  a couple of folk to allow her back another time.  I gather Fridays and Saturdays tend to be more productive than Thursdays.

It was agreed, prior to my trek out, that I would be able to observe a mock interview of the full procedure.  Once through the front door of the respondent, it lasts around a quarter-hour.  To add some realism, we could not resist some role-play; and our Chief Exec, Phil Riley, ideally cast, played the part of an awkward respondent.  It took him a few handfuls of fingers to answer the question 'how many radios have you in your house'. As WW keyed in his answer, her official Rajar laptop duly bleated an 'are you sure?' verification message.  It should have known that Phil always is.  

Other questions followed, for example to establish what listening platforms he had available.  One such question features a picture and description of DAB radios, to establish whether a listener has one of these sparkling devices.  Not a perfect method to establish the answer but it's tough to suggest better; albeit a listener's listening repertoire offers a further clue.

Phil suggested he wasn't too hot on the old computer stuff, so WW whipped out a good old-fashioned colourful listening diary from her huge bag.  A pack of yellow and green cards were offered; and he was invited to select the stations which he'd been listening to in various ways, to grab both active and passive listening.  

Each card bears a station name (or two names, in the case of e.g. BBC Radio 4 and 4 Extra), alongside a simple platform description e.g 'a digital radio station'.  A first calm run through all the cards.  Then a second run through some of them, and a third run through the rest.  Like Valerie Singleton, WW then peeled off labels for each of the selected stations and stuck them at the head of the columns in the Rajar colouring book, before explaining how to draw crosses on the page joined by a line, to denote a listening occasion.  Too many stations for the twelve label placings? You are asked to  drop a few from your repertoire and note that de-minimis listening as 'any other'.  The labels are left with the respondent just in case they want to add any later; with the average number stuck in across the UK being 5.4 (6.2 in the West Mids).  The full station descriptions ('Biggest Mix of Variety & Fun with Fred Flintstone in  the morning'), over which we agonise, are contained in a huge slab of text towards the end of the diary.   

WW also took the trouble to tempt Phil into completing the rear section of the book with any comments on stations.  As she stressed its importance, I felt a tad guilty that so few of us bother reading through the comments when they are sent to us.

The multiplicity of languages spoken now in the UK is a challenge for any research, and although Rajar do have some explanatory letters in all manner of languages, it is self-evidently a challenge when researcher and respondent cannot communicate.  The richer the ethnic texture of an area, the more challenges that brings in recruiting.  Having said that, Rajar stats suggest that once a diary is successfully placed with ethic minority respondents, it's probably easier to get completion than with , for example, 15-24s as a whole.  This month will also bring an update to Rajar's population weightings as the new Census results are fed in; and one imagines some pretty serious shifts in the complexion of some markets.

Had an online diary been chosen, the respondent gets a useful little booklet asking them simply

to log on and follow the instructions on screen, accompanied by a listening jotter for notes.  If they have any questions, they're asked to 'call Alex' on a dedicated number.  All their assistants are called Alex.  I like that.  The good thing about online diary-keeping too is that the researcher knows whether or not their charges are doing their homework; and polite emails prompt along the way.

It was a fascinating experience.  Hats off again, to WW and her skilled colleagues.  If it's warm enough to forsake headwear.  I'd seen many of them at a researcher briefing a few weeks prior. They all appeared polite yet insistent, dedicated, professional; and one could see many of these indomitable characters  had achieved a lot in life, with this work being a useful way of topping up income and drawing on their considerable people skills.  They planned their excursions with military precision and pride.  Several have been working on the Rajar contract for some years; and some work for Ipsos on other research projects.

If door-to-door is the best way of conducting this major survey, and Rajar appears to think so at least for now, then I am assured that the researchers are doing it in a way of we should be proud.   And the trend to online diary-keeping shortens the briefings, which has to be a good development.  Respondents cannot yet use mobile or tablet to complete the online diary but I gather that's in the pipeline.  Overall, it's still a currency which enjoys trust and is largely consistent.

Longer term, however, is door-knocking the best methodology for the 21st Century?  Were I on the Rajar committee, I suspect I'd have heard intelligent and informed debate on just this topic.  Yes, some sort of watermarked signal triggering off a measurement device in your phone, sounds a decent solution.  I also know of a long list of quite serious limitations for that too.  But seeing the increasing numbers of 'no hawkers or circulars' signs on people's doors, ever more doorstep suspicion, and people generally leading busier lives, I am not sure just how long we can continue to rely on teams of intrepid WWs to recruit a representative band of respondents to spend quite so much time having their duties explained to them.  Would our industry ever even consider a wholly online survey journey from recruit to submission, regardless of whether recall or electronic data capture?

There is doubtless an alternate long-term solution; and we have to place trust in Rajar to identify it, in due course, and move towards it safely. We then have to accept the results may well be different from now; and not moan too much.  And, judging by the above, I'd be pretty confident in the diligence of IPSOS MORI to dispense it for us.

But, hey, what an afternoon.  When I look now at the mammoth size of the Rajar sample across the UK, still one of the most extensive research projects in the UK for any product or service, I am in awe of those who manage to persuade thousands and thousands of people to fill in the diaries. To all the WWs, thank you.  We appreciate it. Honestly.

Follow my #radiomoments daily on Twitter @davidlloydradio. 

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Bricks and Mortar

I smiled when I made the mistake of reading one of those anorak groups recently. One contributor suggested that ILR's 'downfall' began when Capital moved out of the "iconic Euston Tower" into premises "above a restaurant" in Leicester Square.  It was Kenny's magic which turned that Euston office block into the 'Tower of Power'; and I suspect the author of that post would be none too pleased were his rates to change from those of Euston Road to those of Leicester Square. 

Some radio stations have an aura. You walk in you can ‘breathe in’ the spirit of the place.   Often it’s not the building itself, it’s the history and the characters who’ve spent time there over the years. We all leave a bit of something along the way.   Often a funny tale to tell, passed from generation to generation by professional story-tellers, amplified each time.  They all seep into the brickwork. 

Regardless of the impressive new facilities at New Broadcasting House, I know a few old Bush House folk shed a tear as they walked down the Strand for the last time.

At Free Radio, we moved our Wolverhampton studio facilities to a new purpose-built location elsewhere in its broadcast area.  All very practical, frankly.  The old building was far too large for the number of people now working there.  And it leaked.  Each room was equipped with a heavy large door: great in nuclear war when you need to prop one up against a table, as instructed by the Government  ‘how to cope in WWIII’  booklets, but not so good when you are wondering what the folk in the sales team are thinking about your latest bright idea.

Free Radio Tettenhall Rd building (pic: Tom Stokes)

The old 19^th Century Tettenhall Road building became a radio station in the sunshine days of 1976, when Beacon Radio came on air, the last in the first tranche of ILR commercial radio stations.  

It was a rambling old house, formerly an orphanage, housing many of those who'd lost their parents to Cholera. The screams of stroppy presenters went on to replace  those of stroppy children.  I gather the station was very nearly not based there: it was to be in Sandwell, but the management team rushed out and bought it on a whim with a cheque for £18,000.  And there it’s stayed.

It became offices after out tenure, although I mused that it would have made a great building for a nursing home for ex-disc jockeys as we all reach retirement.  The mind wanders. How much fun that would be.  We could all have a turn at the decks for the Friday night discos.  Our doorbells could play JAM accapella namechecks; happy nurses would wear satin jackets with logos on; and coffee would be served in red and blue 'Radio 1 247' mugs.

For thirty years, Trent occupied a converted house in Nottingham, well, two to be precise; and it had been a hospital too.  I think Dale Winton’s desk was plonked where matron used to sit.  If the walls of that place could speak, the tales they could tell.  I pass the battered old blue door most weeks and smile wistfully; and on quiet mornings, even touch the dimpled gold door-handle to touch my past.  This was a building which saw me grow from boy to man and I was forever intimidated by its reception area, where my acne and I sat so often before getting my first job there.  We all have a building like that in our hearts.

My quick history of the old Radio Trent building in Nottingham

Trent had ghosts.  I only mention that, as I recall that it is not the only radio station which lays claim to them.  Mind you, with the studios having been the morgue, it’s hardly surprising.  The Beacon building is said to haunted too, as, reportedly, was the old 1876 ecclesiastic Leicester Sound building.  I gather someone hanged themselves on the stairs there in its life before radio.  The station nearly drove me to that on occasions.

I recall from friends around the network that many other stations chose buildings with rich histories.  Red Rose Radio was based in a former church, where hardened journalists feared the late shift; and GWR Wiltshire suggests its newsroom boasted a ghost which switched its TV to adult channels overnight. Yeah, yeah.

Chris Evans writes in his book about hanging around at the Piccadilly Plaza in his Manchester youth, and awful though that original radio station building, built in 1959, eventually became, I’m sure in later years, he’d still stare at it and smile.

Capital’s building in Leeds is still very much alive with great living, breathing, radio; and there is another of those buildings which you ‘feel’ as you walk in.  Not so much for the Joseph's Well brickwork, or indeed location (talk to them about the day when Boy George turned up at the car park), but because you can feel the energy as you walk in.  

And Golden Square, the beautifully decorated home of Absolute - and a fund of memories.  There is another of radio’s stately homes.  Why is that?  Because of the characters who’ve passed through it.  And, as ownership changes again, thoughts return to those who’ve shouted, cried and laughed between its four walls.  And, one imagines, feelings surface that Golden Square may not be forever the home of that legacy.

Most of the first 73-79 generation of stations have now waved farewell to the rent, leaks and spooks of the buildings in which they launched. Who's left? The Pulse (Pennine)?  Possibly a couple more, but the list is small.

As we wave farewell to Tettenhall Road as a broadcasting base after 37  years, it's a chance for a last farewell glance at one of commercial radio's original stately homes, and the people within,  before we put the key in the Chubb for the last time:

                                                             The Tettenhall Road Years 

But really, it’s not about buildings.  It's about the teams and the people.  They energise the space, not the other way round.  

The future?  Is radio an operation which always needs a single building? It's amazing what a presenter can do with a few egg-boxes, a Soundcraft mixer and a blanket draped round their head.

Radio's Unsung Heroes

Am I allowed to write about radio station technical folk without risking being stabbed with a circuit tester before being hauled off in a large flight case, my mouth sealed with Gaffa tape?

Baggy cheap jeans from the Freeman’s catalogue; topped off with a sweaty over- tight, over-washed light-blue T shirt bearing a huge logo, riding up over an elastic snake-belt, to which a gadget is affixed.  

The gifted Jon Holmes is oft-invited to give light relief at the annual Radio Academy TechCon conference, where he’s been known to refer to the dress-sense of our technical crews.  Most would concur that my wry vision here is outdated; and I actually envy some of the natty sartorial elegance displayed by technical brains.  Just maybe, now technology is easier to heave about, and technical blokes are allowed to be creative themselves, they are letting their feminine side show.   

At one station I worked at, the engineers were dubbed the ‘Programme Prevention department’.  When we leapt forward with a bright programme idea, they would create a fringe performance, leaning back in their chair, relishing the power of the moment, arms folded, before reciting a catalogue of reasons why the idea was a non starter, with dramatic huffy intolerance.

It’s all changed now, mostly.  If it hasn’t in your station, it’s time to have a stiff word.  In my last few gigs certainly, including Chrysalis, Virgin, and here at Free Radio/Orion, I’ve worked with some hugely gifted enablers. 

Dave Walters used to wander into my LBC office, sink into my black leather chair and ask 'how would it be if you could...’ before outlining some crazy idea he’d had in the shower that day. Thus the premium podcastingidea at LBC sprung to life, which became an appreciable revenue earner – and a great service to listeners.  If Press had access to those sorts of brains and insights a few years ago, they’d probably be in a better place.  And, full marks too to the great Lawrie Frayne at Orion.  After seeing radio through from its triple-stack* days, he still has the enthusiasm of a teenager and a tolerance I envy when presenters call him at 2.00 a.m. to correct something that is their fault.  

Wolves studio build 2012 by Nilesh and Alex

Our Orion IT guy, Jonathan Dean ('JD'), hotfoot from the brilliant Golden Square machine where Science meets Art seemingly all day long, is a master of that great skill of translating techie speak into words people like me understand.  Just like Bruce Davidson (Chrysalis/Global, now BD Technology) too.   And John Moon from Trent, a youthful enthusiasm to this day, having engineered music sessions brilliantly for decades.  The list goes on – and I reckon there are now more great people now than ever in this sector. Thank goodness.

For those who’ve been doing it a few years the job has changed beyond recognition. No longer do you get that delicious Scalextric smell of soldering wafting from the engineering workshop. It’s gone from stylii** to wi-fi in a generation; and those who've adapted with it deserve a ripple of applause.

I like the fact that Global Radio has a ‘Creative Technology division’.  It’s a great, fitting name.  I also admire many of the folk who work within it, who have significant larger brains than I have. A bit of me wonders whether there’s a more prosaic ‘Non-Creative Technology’ division hidden away somewhere in Leicester Square with isolated folk hunched away doing any necessary duller work.

There is maybe just one thing which hasn’t changed in generations of radio: the notes saying don’t spill Coke in the mixer.  Maybe the other thing which remains unchanged is presenters suggesting they never received that note.  Or indeed any note asking them to do something they forgot to do.   

The truth is that many technology folk are justifiably frustrated by the lack of planning ability of their programming colleagues and their lack of care in equipment usage. We drive them to distraction.

Similarly, from our end, it’s tough to explain the way a presenter feels when they ‘don’t sound right’. Naff mic processing or some dodgy cans affects the way you hear yourself.  It can depress a performer  which affects their next link, which depresses them further.  As every music jock knows, even new earpads on Beyers*** affect your show.  And, when something’s gone wrong, we really value you telling us what the likely prognosis is, and how to get round it – before you disappear from view to go off and fix it.

When technology is first developed, the technicians are also the folk making the content.  It was certainly true with the Marconi engineers in Essex in 1922. Witness the talents of the inimitable engineer-turned-presenter Captain Peter Pendleton Eckersley in my other blog.  Similarly, when the ‘online’ thing began, web pages were written by techy folk.  As the technology matures, it tends to be 'handed over'. Accordingly nowadays, those who originate on-air content are seeing it as part of their role to think of bunging things online and on social media, rather than leaving it 'that chap in online'. 

Maybe, though, because of the speed of technical change, the line between content and delivery is blurring the other way too.  Great technical folk can be assets in brainstorming – and self-originating content. A technical solution/platform can now be the answer to a creative challenge.  We're thankful for a new breed of frighteningly talented individuals ideally suited to the next generation of ‘radio’.  Step forward, James Cridland for paving the way.

The two divisions of the business are talking more.  At the annual TechCon conference, isn't it great to witness a few more familiar programming faces amongst the skilled technical crowd.  If you’re in content, you are missing a trick if you don’t spend some time with technical brains. They’ll help you understand how you’ll need to do your job within the forseeable future.  I also see a few more women sat on the hard seats at the Lowry too, which is the other welcome change.

The only emails about technical stuff used to be when something went wrong or was not fixed.  At last, the bright technical brains are getting the profile  and credit they deserve.  When something goes well, an OB or an award, the people rarely mentioned in despatches are technical teams.  And, almost without exception they’ll have helped in some way. 

So, in case i ever forget again, may I just say, on behalf of all programmers, thanks for all you do.  We appreciate it genuinely.  And, to the, now rare, awkward 20th Century techies still working in this field who've no idea what your job really is, get your act together.  Most of your colleagues have.

*A three tiered tape cartridge machine - great for playing lots of jingles in a row out of the news. 
** Gramophone needles. Fit in record grooves to make noises.
***The best headphones ever.  Oh yes.

Words don't come easy

When a presenter says 'keep your texts coming in', I picture an elderly lady hunched over a large mobile phone frantically despatching repeated texts to the radio station, in dutiful response to the instruction.

In truth, the presenter really wants each listener to sends a single text.  As a broadcaster you want to motivate one listener to do one thing, once. 'Text me'. When that connection happens powerfully, scale results.

As Terry Wogan said to Andrew Neil on 'This Week', radio engages because you 'talk to an individual'.  Terry's words are correct. Whilst his Radio 2 transmitters beamed out to millions, he sounded as though he was just mumbling to you.  That great relationship between radio station and listener exists because every listener feels the presenter is addressing them alone.   That's why, when listeners do get in touch with you, they use the same language to you as they would to a friend.

Whilst this 'talk to a single listener' lesson is probably the first thing most broadcasters wisely learn when venturing into radio, it's surprising how many presenters appear to have had that page of the rules ripped out of their copy of the presenter bible. They'll announce that 'lots of you have been in touch'. Lots of Me? As I  look around my room, like so many radio listeners, I am alone. The presenter appears to be addressing a large  assembly somewhere else. 'Keep your calls coming in'. Goodness, I have not made one yet. You must be talking to someone else, not me.  

Winston Churchill would probably agree with me that words do make a difference. As would every sports captain giving a half-time pep talk. In fact, if we truly believe that a few words here and there make no difference then  we should agree there is no difference between the best and the worst broadcaster. Rudyard Kipling suggested that “Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind.” 

It's easy to pick up bad habits.  That officious passive language, as befits railway announcements like 'passengers are reminded that', can creep into both presenter banter and the 'tickets can be obtained from' phrasing of on-air promos.

Then there are those lovely travel cliches, including the 'earlier accident'. As opposed to the one which is just about to happen, I guess.  Hopefully, though, the travel news has been ordered in a sensible way, telling me where the incident is first, before the detail. And the presenter has avoided the common 'over in X' error, and has acknowledged that the presenter and the listener are actually in the same place. You are on their radio in their car, in Scotland.

Don't you just Iove those lovely lengthy show menus: 'all that - and more - between now and 10.00'.  What a great idea it must appear to be  to highlight the time at which the show will end. The show menu is usually inordinately long too, forgetting that great 'round of drinks' analogy: when you're asked to go to fetch a round of drinks, there's only so much information you can store in your head. And of course, there are the presenters  who trumpet a vaguely familiar guest's name and hope that alone is sufficient to tempt me to listen, rather than telling me something interesting about what they might say.

Poor language gets in the way.  You're more likely to get a personal story from a listener when you say 'give me a call', than if you say 'call us here at the station'. The listener trusts you. They're more likely to share something with you than your 'team' 'through the glass'.  

When you're on air, stare your single listener in the eyes. Talk to them, and only them. Ask them questions. Give them time to nod, smile, or shake their head.

Mind you, we are such a polite bunch. If we are introduced by a colleague on-air, we say 'thanks, Shirley'. Why are we thanking her though? Just for mentioning our name? How bizarre. Sometimes it's even politer 'thank you very much indeed there, Shirley'. It's likely a reflex action, to afford the presenter sufficient time to compose themselves, in much the same way that so many news reporters say 'good morning' before beginning their live reports.  Even if those despatches are about a murder.  There's little good about mornings like that.  

TV reporters can be even jollier with the delicious 'a very good morning to you'. How often do we hear that phrase in the real world? Ever?

And, not largely relevant, but it gets it out my system. What about time checks?  Why do normal grown-ups start saying '18 before 2' when they get on the radio, even on BBC stations?  And when 'it's just coming round to 21 and a half minutes past 8', should we maybe be eternally grateful for that imprecise precision? It's just not what you would say.

Follow my #radiomoments daily on Twitter @davidlloydradio

Pointless rules

In that ‘gritty’ episode of Coronation Street, when the Rovers Return burnt down, there was a lovely ‘P’ on the credits; suggesting a healthy dash of ‘product placement’. 

Given the symbol was shown nowhere near the moment when the ‘placement’ happened, I’m still blissfully unaware what the commercial message was. Putting to one side the fact that the  mystery advertiser’s money would have been clearly better spent on radio, it does illustrate the folly of this ‘P’. Most viewers either don’t notice it; or don’t understand what it means. And, frankly, aren’t much bothered.  In OFCOM research*, over half of viewers appeared not to know Placement exists, let alone how it appears. Did C & A pay for Deirdre's lovely Crimplene frock? Who can tell.

There is a regulatory desire in the UK to separate ‘commercial communications’ from any other sort.  It’s a pointless pursuit, and one which stems from a heady mix of beautiful English conservatism and, to some extent, European regulations.  Regulators rarely move radically, they adjust things incrementally. In radio, it’s taken thirty years to get from the IBA’s menacing intervention to a regime of radio rules which are much more sensible, thanks in no small way to some thoroughly pragmatic folk at OFCOM.

In truth, the distinction between commercial and other communications can never be clear, as long as PR companies place stories, TV companies invent stories about themselves to grow their business, and most sporting events are riddled with advertising hoardings. Just about everything we see and do now has a commercial connection for which someone is paying a bill, and someone is benefiting.

If a Tweet is an 'ad', they’re supposed to say it has been paid for, but if a company influences some viral social content, then it’s fine. Maybe it’s time to give up and let most sensible people make up their own minds about whether there has been a commercial influence or not.

In radio, we're obliged to credit clients who’ve paid us with a pithy phrase like ‘our friends at’.  It’s a neat way round, and I thank OFCOM for the recent freedoms, but I’m not awfully sure that this ‘friends’ business shouts ‘we’ve been paid’ to any listener.  And the fact that we still have to ‘separate’ ads from, well, presenters talking about the ads is a bit crazy, really.  It’s all fine, and the regulations are, thankfully, sensibly implemented, but I’m not awfully sure they do anyone any good.

Then there’s the small print.  Those crazy disclaimers on credit ads. If listeners could press a  magic button on their radio and sign up instantly for a credit agreement, I’d understand the caution, but given there's a mountain of paperwork before any credit agreement is entered into, there’s ample opportunity for the detail to be considered. The obligation to carry this is a nonsense; and it makes things less clear not more clear. Not least when the material is delivered as quickly as if the VO is trying to get away to the pub.  Those who draft regulations should maybe pause to understand how radio works; and the depth of listeners' recall. 

Let's be honest, do the words 'terms and conditions apply' serve any useful purpose?  Do they really protect the listener; or merely the advertiser?  And if we are going to warn listeners of every possible implication of any product or service, should we not add 'kids may misbehave' on the fostering ads?

There was a time when the use of premium phone lines did indeed warrant tighter regulation.  Some stations were acting thoroughly improperly.  When I arrived at my grey, dusty desk at the Radio Authority in the early '90s, there was no rule in the Programme Code which required fairness in competitions. I drafted one, and I’m pleased that my legacy wording remains, about competitions being ‘conducted fairly to rules which are appropriately made known’, in the extant OFCOM code.

In those days though, the costs of calls ‘under 50 pence’ did not need declaring. Now, any possible incremental charge needs declaring.  Even a 25 pence charge for general texting requires a disclaimer every so often, to a formula best understood by Phonepay Plus. And don’t you just love the BBC announcements about landline numbers which might be free, or might not be. It’s all gone too far. I'm surprised our holiday advertisers don't have to declare that your holiday might cost you more if you live further from the airport.

I think listeners understand that when you pick up a phone, there might be a small charge. If it’s an appreciable one, then, yes, we should say something about it. The rules can be as simple as that.  

In bygone days, we never announced the price of a stamp for a write-in comp, or the price of a landline call when they were, actually, formidably expensive. Now, everyone e-mails rather than sends letters; and phone calls are proportionately much cheaper, yet we have this rampant catalogue of disclaimers.

I have a theory that every time there is a new regulation, the extra protection diminishes the original protection, which means that consumers see and hear less, not more.  Witness the 27,000 words in the i-Tunes terms and conditions.  The more rules and protective 'noise' there is, the more innocently we sign up to what we’d rather not.

*UK audience attitudes to the broadcast media, OFCOM. August 2012.

Gazing at the navel in W12

"It's like endless pictures of a friend's baby".

That's how @DeeeDoc described, on Twitter, the BBC coverage of its move to its stunning new premises in Central London.

There are those who, like me, who have a touch of sympathy with that view. No matter how much we love the BBC, its excellence and its rich history, one must concede that the Corporation is inclined to navel-gaze.

For days we've been treated to details of the last bulletin from TV Centre; the last programme; the last weather forecast; and so the list goes on. Everybody's been allowed a teary farewell. That's before we have the list of 'firsts' from the new home. And we even had Nick Higham (for whom I have much respect) guiding viewers round the new empire like a chirpy estate agent. I could have accepted, with ease, the odd smiley aside and a touch of reflection. That was thoroughly justified. But it just appeared to go on and on.

A typically beautiful package of TV Centre sepia memories had genuine integral value for the News Channel, but this, and its sequel, were followed by interviews in which much the same ground was covered. Can this depth and volume of coverage be justified?

This was a week in which Cypriots had monies stolen from their accounts. Like many Brits, I rather worried whether the same might happen to me in the UK. It was a budget week; and one in which the press were regulated more strictly than in living history. It was also one in which every parent related to the tragic story of the father and son killed on the mountain. And we reflected on what happened in Iraq exactly ten years ago. It was not a quiet news week.

We work in media. We are inordinately interested in it. We know that. We also know that our normal friends sometimes glaze over when we talk incessantly about a world we care deeply about. And they might gently suggest they are 'busy' when they know a night out with you and your 'media friends' is in prospect. So, when determining the news agenda, we must be aware that our finely-tuned news judgement filter has the potential to be flawed. Can we measure this 'TV Centre moving' story by our usual journalistic tests, and then honestly suggest it warrants such an extensive volume of coverage?  Is there a reason why any balanced appraisal of this huge public investment is absent from all reports?

Here's a test. Let's host a phone-in: "call us with your memories of and views about TVC" and witness the response. Especially if it's aired in, let's say, Newcastle, away from the media bubble.

Yes, there is a market for this expansive commentary. For us in the media, and people with a keen interest, we should be able to feast ourselves on this great achievement. Social media and online coverage offer a great place to do just that. Like many of us, I love seeing it there.

Maybe it's the same flaw which results in broadcasters talking so frequently about the 'studio' they are in, ignoring the fact that to a listener or viewer, the presenter is not in a studio, they are in every single home. The temptation for radio presenters to talk about their headphones, when there is a whole world outside to talk about. And the same reason that newsreaders apologise for the lack of 'VT'. Thank goodness radio journalists no longer have cause to explain  that 'the cart has gone down'. The language is alien: it's easy to forget that viewers and listeners do not live in our world.

 Maybe I should concede some bias. I work in the commercial sector, and get a little annoyed when I see the BBC speak of itself where the merit is absent. Forgive me for tutting when the BBC TV announcers nod sagely and suggest I listen to 'my local BBC local radio station' late on a snowy night, even when I know the staff there have all gone home and yet some commercial radio is still broadcasting live and locally. And when the local BBC TV channel bothers to film a major commercial radio fund raising event yet misses any station credit. It's less likely to forget to mention any of its own initiatives.

The BBC loves to talk about itself in good times, and feels equally obliged to trumpet its less favourable escapades at equal length. That's a great shame for such a magnificent organisation. A touch more restraint in both chest-thumping and self-flagellation might be wise. And eminently sound journalism.

Gigs from Hell

I smiled when John Myers Tweeted that he had been booked to 're-open'  the refurbished Spar shop where he'd officially cut the ribbon twenty years before.  He'd probably been paid back then in Spangles.

On stage with Erica in Nottingham

When we get into radio, we dream of being booked to introduce our fave act on stage in front of thousands at the O2; but the truth is that the public appearances we do get invited to are a little more everyday.  

Most radio jocks are now, quite rightly, seen by listeners as 'normal people'; rather than as uncomfortable  'cheap, local  mini-celebs', so even the invitations to 'open' local events don't flow in at quite the same rate nowadays.  In short, just not quite so many coffee mornings and Summer galas to open as there used to be.  Phew.

Peter Tait, rest his soul (Trent/Aire/Magic), often related the tale of one event he'd been asked to open, where he was paid live on stage in full view.  "Just before we go, we'd like to say  a  big thank you to Peter Tait. Thanks, Peter for coming.  This is from the committee'.  As the PA crackled, they proceeded to count out crisp tenners from a dirty envelope into Peter's hand, whilst still on-mic:  "Here you go. Five; ten; fifteen; twenty....'. Applause.

There was a memorable baby show I once judged on a steaming hot 80s Saturday. Never judge baby shows.  You make enemies.  The organiser hissed in my ear just prior to my announcing my finalists, demanding I pick a blend of colours and continents amongst my finalists.

My forsaking the L plates on my Ford Escort came late in life, so I'd arrive at gigs by taxi.  When duties were done, I'd wave like a star before running round the corner to hop on the bus home. I always felt uncomfortable taking the usual £25 Trent  expense payment, so often refused it.  By the time I'd spent a few polite quid on the  tombola, I was  usually out of pocket anyway. How can you take £25 when you know they're probably only raising £150?

Invited to open a new bed-shop

And there was the police 'It's a knockout' I compered on the wettest day in history. Thames Valley Police v Leics Police.  In a bid to brighten up the proceedings, I was disparaging of all competitors throughout.  They took it in good spirit, until the end.  As  I made my final announcement, they nodded to each other and ran for me in a concerted terrorist attack.  Never try to escape from an entire police force.  Having caught me, I was lowered unceremoniously into one of the huge water obstacles.  I walked away from the event in a dirty old over-sized police track suit.

Isn't it frightening seeing women fight. I once opened a charity event in a pub in a less salubrious part of town: a rowdy 'do', where I had to shout to be heard.  In the absence of any stage or PA system, I balanced precariously on the two arms of an armchair to declare the event, such as it was, open.  Shortly afterwards some dispute erupted over by the trestle tables and I cowered in the corner as two women shouted, spat, slapped, thumped, hissed and pulled hair.

You get accustomed to having to organise events yourself. Whilst  some are beautifully choreographed, with a full briefing dispensed on arrival; others require that you take off your satin jacket with your name on - and turn into event manager. They have clearly given nothing any thought at all.  Similarly, they struggle to remember who you are and where you're from as they prepare to they introduce you.  On the luckiest occasions, they trouble to hiss quietly 'who are you again?' before grabbing the, usually faulty, mic.

Then, of course, the unreasonable requests. You've been asked to open a Summer Fete.  On arrival, you discover they want you to draw the raffle. In six hours time. There are seventy three prizes; and most winners have sensibly long since departed.

Not being a driver meant people gave me lifts home; or organised taxis.  I recall one afternoon after a  Summer's afternoon gig, waiting in the organiser's kitchen.  Being a well-brought up boy, after finishing my tea, I washed my cup.  The handle came off.  What do you say? And then, and this is 100% true, I waved farewell and got into the car which had slowed down outside. It turned out not to be the taxi I thought it was.  I know the listener still remembers, as she got in touch ten years later.

Don't remind me of compering Miss Radio Trent 1985. There I was in sparkly suit, with a blue-dicky bow and matching patent shoes, trying to lend a sense of occasion to the proceedings at Nottingham's Commodore International. That was the sort of venue where  orange fluorescent posters boasted all its on-stage musical acts as being 'the fabulous...'.  As I described the young lady's attributes, which had been usefully written down for me lest I not notice, her heel got caught in the hole between two of the stage blocks.  She fell over.  I laughed uncontrollably. She wasn't a happy beauty queen (not the one pictured).

Groupies too; some truly frightening (that's quite another blog altogether).  You get the one person who simply follows every movement in your life with alarming tenacity.  If you announce you'll be in a park in Arnold at 10.30, you know they'll be there at 10.00, armed with a carrier bag of dubious contents.  The innocent organisers, delighted to be getting enthusiastic  visitors, allocate them a front row seat.  If you are dismissive of the 'fan', you are seen as 'not very nice'. If you encourage them, well goodness knows what will happen.

Wish I could remember more about the dogs' fancy dress show I judged.

And what about Long Eaton Carnival?  They suggested they would fly me in by helicopter.  This was exciting.  This was the Big Time.  Not as it turned out, though.  On this grey windy day, after touchdown,  I descended from the helicopter, swaying and spewing.  This was not the Bay City Rollers arriving at a Radio 1 roadshow. 

Managing Truly Top Talent

Talent is a funny word.  Often used in a sniffy sort of way.  I remember first seeing the word used when DOS Selector software arrived in the 80s: the presenter schedule on the software was (and is still) called ‘Talent planner’. Blame the Americans.

No-one is a true expert on Talent management; least of all me.  So, when I received a surprise invitation from the BBC to pop across the road to give a talk on ‘Talent management’, I paused to ask a few presenters about how they like – and don’t like - to be managed.   

I harangued some of those I work with currently; and also begged the views of others I have worked with in bygone days on other major stations.  Many of them earn much more than me; so I respect their views.  It was also useful to be reminded.

One recalled they’d been told: “When it comes to dealing with presenters, it helps if you have children of your own".  They reflected:  “It's sadly true. But, you build them up and cosset them and then can't work out why they're stark raving mad.”

Empathy.  They asked that their lives be understood.  Planning a 4.00 p.m. meeting involving breakfast Talent, without prior consultation, is a huge flag which suggests: ‘I really do not think or care about you’.  As one said to me: ‘If I reply to an invitation like that, I ask if they are free for a 4.00 a.m. meeting instead’.  If they send an annoyed note about issue A, they are comforted when you are sufficiently sage to understand it's really about unrelated issue B.

Specific.  They’re not keen on vague comments – positive or negative. Even ‘great show today!’ needs another line to say what it was exactly which truly was great. Talent can identify hollow praise from a million miles away. "We are sensitive needy people, whose egos need the occasional massage. Many colleagues over the years have said to me they are managed too closely and then still complain if they are left alone. As a manager, you may feel as if you can't win, but strike the right balance and you will be respected and held in high regard by the broadcaster."

Paranoia.  Some Talent may behave, on occasions, as though they think they are the ‘bee’s knees’. Whatever they are.   Sometimes intolerably.  But deep down, they realise how lucky they have been in life. One day, they expect it will all collapse. They’ve seen it happen to friends around them; and feel convinced that one day their time will come.  So, when you happen to ignore them because your mind is on something else; or cancel meetings; or make a remark about something, they suspect an agenda. 

Snoop.  How I hate that word. I never use it.  Playing back bits of shows is often important and useful, though.  “What I find annoying and completely pointless is when a manager will tear apart an aspect of the show without any solution to how it could have been done better and make it better in the future”, cautioned a colleague.  Another great Act volunteered to me that a great athletics’ coach would never just simply applaud a fast lap and say ‘that was great’, they’d help you get it half a second faster.

Having said that, there was a comment which suggested:  “The best meetings are where the boss says, that was a fantastic show, go and do it again tomorrow, or even better, "that was great....let's go and get breakfast”.  It is true that some great days there is not much to say;  those are, maybe, days for listening to someone else’s show, or talking nonsense.  Creative talent is easily bored, so different approaches/formats/locations to ‘meetings’ do help.

Food. Studies appear to suggest that people are more pre-disposed to being amenable where food is involved. I’ve yet to meet any Talent who do not like a nibble.  Not least ‘cos the likelihood is they are on-air when people normally eat.   Try a fairy cake.  (When did they become cup-cakes?)

Respect.  You probably expect a degree of respect for your experience and skills; and so do they.  You have made your mark in the management thing; they have made theirs as a presenter. They are as successful as you are; probably with a rarer skill.

Support. They like you being concerned about them and what they have to cope with.  Whether it’s a studio fault or someone around them not supporting as they should: “let me look after that – leave it with me, I’ll sort” are words I am assured Talent like to hear.

Calm.  ‘I want to be led by a manager who never loses his cool, especially in the face of adversity, even if inside he's about to pop!’.

Timeliness.  One person related to me the story of how he nipped to the loo during a show. Whilst in mid-stream, his manager from the adjacent cubicle called out: 'Y'know that last link? Don't do it like that again".  There is a time for critical feedback; and, unless it's a matter of life, death or legal action, during the show is probably not the best time. Nor when you're in the loo.

Honesty.  Talent will likely say they want it.  Many concede they’d like it wrapped up nicely by someone they trust whom they feel is a ‘fan’ of the show.  One person suggested their partner was their biggest ‘fan’.  Their partner loved their show (and presumably them too), but was shamelessly critical when need be.  That’s the sort of relationship maybe to aspire to: the relation you love enough to allow them to slag you off.

Support: “If I feel like my boss will go into bat for me when the shit hits the fan, then I feel liberated”.  That sort of sentiment was echoed by many.  Being ‘on my side’ said another.  Not ‘red corner and blue corner’, ‘working together’, ‘consultant’.

Not all Talent is the same. “Any manager who does that is naieve” said one person I spoke to.  Many of my respondents correctly observed that managing Talent is not a ‘one size fits all’.   In that vein, some like to be treated a bit different from newbies; yet others feel uncomfortable when they are singled out for better ‘facilities’.  All views are probably compatible.  It’s about getting to know the individual, and being alert to their feelings.  “Other team members end up resenting the talent and the talent ends up having an inflated opinion of themselves”, recognised one.

People I did not speak to

I floated this topic to one of the best record reps in the business, given he’s had to cope with the strops of artists in his years.  He suggested that there are fewer Divas around. Why?  Maybe social media, he suggested.  It means fans know if an artist has behaved unreasonably: they now have to answer to those fans.  Just maybe there is an accountability lesson there for radio talent too; and a useful device for Talent management.

Back to broadcasters.  I loved this: “the secret is making the broadcaster feel like they are loved and wanted. It's their food and water, give them just the right amount and they will perform all day long. Don't give them enough, and they will become troublesome. We all get grumpy if we don't eat”.  No wonder the person who wrote this is a success story.  And they are.

Huge thanks to all who bothered to reply to my spurious questions.  I would credit you, but thought you’d prefer to stay anonymous, given I did not suggest I’d steal your words for a blog.  Cheers.  Shout up if you’d like me to credit your name to your great words in this epistle,

To those with whom I currently have the pleasure of working, who used this invitation to tell me things they needed me to know.  You were right to.  Message understood.

The final canny observation has to go to this great Talent who made me smile so much more than they ever made me scream: 

“Essentially all Talent is insecure, paranoid and delusional.  If they're not when they start, the system will ensure they become so.  Treat them as you would a confused elderly relative: with kindness and care.  After all, you sent them nuts”.  

With amusing, deliciously self-deprecating insight, little wonder this individual is truly one of the best performers.


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