Saturday, April 3

Sad Week

Sad week. Peter Ustinov and Alistair Cooke both gone. Makes me feel both serious and old as I have admired these two for so long. Ustinov was asked what he would like on his gravestone. He said, “keep off the grass”.

Friday 26th March Harwich

Radio Caroline’s 40th anniversary. Found myself on a rusting hulk of a lightship in the North Sea with one of the original DJs, Keith Skues (sounds like Blackburn without the hair dye). Promo script – DJ kidnaps BBC executive and forces her to hand over BBC transmitters!

Tuesday 30th March Tunbridge Wells

If you are late for a train, London Bridge is not the station to travel from. It’s a confusing maze of walkways and full of annoying sales people tormenting commuters. On the brink of missing my train when a grinning clown in an orange wig asks if I can spare 5 minutes. Told him to piss off.

The outbound train to Tunbridge Wells clapped out crate. View from the window is a beige mud splattered haze. Explains “disgusted” of Tunbridge Wells.

Now on dirt track filming a man with a pick axe in a wood (style Blaire Witch Project). Hidden History BBC 1 South East. Another promo featuring a disturbed personality type.

Thursday 1st April Norwich
Garry – I think that might have been his name – enjoys movies so much that he can’t stop watching even when he’s driving is black taxi. I had to interrupt Bad Boys 2 to explain that I wanted to be taken to the BBC. It’s the first time I’ve seen a DVD screen balanced on the dashboard of a taxi, and I hope the last. The explosions were disconcerting as we slewed round the back streets of Norwich. Said he knew his way round blindfold – not reassured.

Coming back from Norwich the train broke down at rural station. Everyone got off including a large party of people in wheelchairs. The connecting train unhelpfully pulled up at the opposite side of the track. While the able bodied travellers raced competitively over the footbridge, the wheelchairs were bounced frantically along the edge of the track an inconvenient distance up the line – like a scene from wacky races.
Poor souls.


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