Red Light Zone

Jeff Zycinski

Description

Stop! Danger! Sex for sale! A red light can signify any one of those, but in a radio station it means a microphone has gone live: the walls may be soundproof, but in a studio space, everyone can hear you scream...or sneeze. For twenty-five years, Jeff Zycinski worked for BBC Radio and became the longest-serving boss of Radio Scotland. He made the big decisions - buying a new vacuum cleaner for the Selkirk office - and chaired a meeting that almost erupted in violence when someone suggested cats were better than dogs. He has a lot to say about Brexit, Scottish Independence, football, BBC bias, Islam and strippers...but not in this book. Okay, he talks about them a bit...mainly the strippers. An affectionate, humorous account of inside life at the Beeb - you will never buy chips in the same way again!

Sujets

• Philosophie et théologie
• Memoir

Informations

• Publié par: The Lunicorn Press
• Date de parution: 24 janvier 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780992926472
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

THE LUNICORN PRESS LTD
Scotland
Text © Jeff Zycinski 2019
All rights reserved
The moral right of Jeff Zycinski to be identified as author of this work has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of The Lunicorn Press Ltd.
First published 2019 by The Lunicorn Press Ltd.
1
Printed by Martins the Printers, Berwick-upon-Tweed
Designed and typeset by Heather Macpherson at Raspberry Creative Type
Cover Artwork © Emma McGregor 2019
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-0-9929264-7-2


To Anne, Sarah and Alan … and Rascal


PRAISE FOR THE RED LIGHT ZONE
“As well as chronicling his time at BBC Radio Scotland, Zycinski offers amusement, bemusement and some honest reflections on the work. The book is interesting for all these reasons, but also because it paints a portrait of a man who loves his radio and whose heart lives for creative and inventive programme making.”
Liveanddeadly.net


ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Huge thanks to Lyn McNicol and Laura Jackson at Lunicorn Press, who encouraged me to write this little book, and kept me on the straight and narrow throughout the process. Also, thanks to my editor, Gale Winskill. Emma McGregor provided the photography and artwork and Heather Macpherson designed the cover and the overall look of the book. Richard Melvin at Dabster gave me permission to reproduce lyrics from ‘Santa’s a Scotsman’; he’s owed some Brussels sprouts.
Special thanks to all friends and former colleagues who answered my queries about past events and helped me put things in the right order. I’m sure some of the chronology is out of kilter, but we’ll call that poetic licence rather than my senility.
By and large people and events recalled in this book are done so with respect, affection and just sometimes, a bit of cheekiness. Some stories I omitted because I suspected the people involved might get huffy or hunt me down. If, on the other hand, you were hoping to get a mention, but did not, you can start that campaign for a sequel. Now that I no longer work for the BBC, I am open to bribes, political coercion and brazen product placement. Tunnock’s!


CONTENTS
Acknowledgements
Preface: An apology
1. This is how it ends
2. Strippers and dolphins
3. Money for old rope
4. Blokes on blocks
5. Wireless Towers
6. Reaching for the stars
7. A star in the north
8. The price of fish
9. The big boss
10. The elephant in the room
11. Brainwaves
12. Love everything
13. Bursting with new varieties
14. Making headlines
15. A bit tacky, but it sticks
16. Old Firm Day
17.Fortress Radio
18. Hall of Fame
19. Losing the plot
20. All talk
21. Yes and no
22. In the zone
23. When the chips are down
24. How I lost my job
25. Afterlife
Appendix: The Green Light Zone
About the author


PREFACE: AN APOLOGY
The Red Light Zone ? Yes, I know. It’s a bit misleading, isn’t it? I’m sorry if you picked up this book thinking it was an edgy exposé of Amsterdam brothels, Edinburgh massage parlours or Lochwinnoch tearooms (we’ve all heard the stories). But no – it’s all about radio, which is sexy in its own way of course. Just be thankful that we didn’t follow through with the original idea we had for the front cover: I was to be photographed in a miniskirt, leaning into a car window as I tried to persuade some hapless punter to change the station on his car radio and try a bit of hard-core current affairs, or a quickie comedy sketch. I’m not saying those photographs don’t exist; I’m just saying there are ideas you have after a few drinks and they don’t always seem so brilliant when you see the prints.
We had mulled over other titles for this book. I reminded my friend and former Radio Scotland presenter, Tom Morton, that he had once suggested that any memoir of BBC Scotland should be entitled Up Auntie’s Kilt . He had no memory of this but gave me permission to steal it. I fell in love with this title for a few weeks but then dumped it on the grounds that no one I’d worked with had ever referred to the BBC as ‘Auntie’. That term of endearment only ever appears in newspaper articles written by the kind of reporters who also describe scientists as ‘boffins’ and who still say ‘double-U, double-U, double-U’ when recommending a website.
Next, we considered A Head for Radio , thinking it would be a neat wordplay on my former job title as ‘Head of Radio’ at BBC Scotland, as well as alluding to some vague psychological angle. In the end though it sounded too much like one of those BBC policy documents from the 1970s: ‘Ahead for Radio: Public Broadcasting for the Twentieth Century’.
So it’s The Red Light Zone because much of my career has been spent in soundproof studios where the red light signifies a live microphone and a reminder not to cough, sneeze, swear or blurt out any honest thoughts about the Government, opposition parties, Ofcom, the BBC Director General, awards committees, football teams, bishops, needy comedians, psychotic agents, BBC accountants, overpaid presenters, moaning journalists, television producers and accordionists. Now that I’m no longer one of Auntie’s nephews (damn it!) the red light is off and I can say what I like about all of those things.
The only snag is that after twenty-five years at the BBC I’ve become conditioned to holding my tongue. This came home to me after I announced my departure plans and a friend invited me to join his particular political party and maybe stand for election.
‘Trouble is,’ I told him, ‘I’ve worked for the BBC for so long I don’t know what my opinions are any more.’
‘That needn’t be a problem,’ he assured me. ‘We can supply the opinions.’
Ah, so that’s how it works.
In the meantime, let me tell you how I sold my body and mind to broadcasting and about the people I met, the places I visited and the programmes we made. Friends have asked if this is going to be one of those ‘kiss ’n’ tell’ memoirs, but I don’t think my air-kissing encounters with luvvies would justify that description. However, there were lots of laughs, so maybe ‘laugh ’n’ tell’ is more appropriate. There are also movie stars, one car chase and some nudity. Not much sex though.
Again, sorry about that.


1. THIS IS HOW IT ENDS
There was still no word back from Sean Connery, but the BBC lawyer said we were good to go and I called the Drama Department and gave them the word. The Fountainbridge Spy , a fictional imagining of how an Edinburgh milkman had landed the part of James Bond, would be a centrepiece of Radio Scotland’s Christmas schedule. I had written to the famous actor, telling him about the play and asking him to consider a cameo appearance, but there had been no reply. It had always been a long shot.
I now turned to the image on my computer screen. It was a pastiche of the Beatles’ Sergeant Pepper album cover, but in our version, all the famous figures were those whose voices would feature during the station’s winter season of programmes. Billy Connolly stood next to Sheena Easton and Sharleen Spiteri; J.K. Rowling peeped out above members of Deacon Blue; Robbie Coltrane looked like the fifth member of Wet, Wet, Wet.
I shouted over to James Christie, our social-media producer. He was sitting at the next bank of desks, working out how to animate the whole thing on the station’s website and Facebook page. I told him that James Bond could now be added, so 007 was duly inserted into the front row with his gun pointing over the head of Rab C. Nesbitt. Oor Wullie would have to be removed, however, as there were some copyright complications with The Sunday Post’s famous cartoon strip.
‘Jings!’ said James.
‘Michty me,’ I replied.
I called David Treasurer in our marketing department. He would be making the radio trails for the season and was waiting to hear what should be included. It was always odd to be talking about winter programmes at the fag end of the summer, but this kind of forward-planning was part of the job. The Radio Times demanded billings information weeks in advance and all the production departments wanted to know if they would be making extra programmes. If we were planning a live show for Hogmanay, for example, the music producers would have to start booking bands: musicians were always in demand at that time of year and if you left it too late, you’d be lucky to snap up one of those buskers who played the harmonica to cinema queues.
‘Bond is in, but Wullie’s out,’ I told David.
‘Jings!’ he replied, ‘Michty me and help ma boab.’
‘Yes, we’ve done all that.’
As I ended the call, I saw that Irene Jones, my PA, was trying to catch my attention.
‘The boss wants to see you.’
I looked at my watch. It was after four o’clock. I had planned a curry night with the radio management team and was hoping to get away sharply.
‘When?’ I asked.
‘Right now.’
That didn’t sound good. I pulled on my jacket, straightened my tie and walked down to the third floor. Donalda MacKinnon, Director of BBC Scotland, was sitting in one of the glass-walled meeting rooms near her desk. As I drew closer, I saw Elaine from HR making a quick exit and disappearing down the back stairs. Usually she would make eye contact and say a quick ‘hello’. Not this time. This was not good at all.
When the boss calls you into her office and tells you that your job is being scrapped, it’s probably not a good idea to threaten her with sabotage – sabotage involving banjos, no less, but I’ll get to