Joan slid further down in her chair, almost to horizontal. A guttural grunt came involuntarily from her pretty lips as she ran her fingers through her long, curly hair. Another typical day for this hard-working PA, now managing a coven of ‘bosses’. “What time is it in Brazil?”, she croaked. It transpired that, in a three word email softened only by a puzzling emoticon, busy Clive had decreed that a meeting with some bizarre company be postponed. From a cold Google start, Joan uncovered that said company had Head Offices listed in the US and Brazil and decided to try Brazil first. To see if they knew of a man called Clive. And whether they were expecting him on a conference call.
It’s been that sort of time, these last few weeks. Putting our foot down on the open road to make sure we get there on time. Plans all so detailed, they’ve needed A3 multi-coloured printouts, caressed by that nice marketing man from Albion with the great dress sense. Nothing left to chance. Meetings. Meetings and more meetings. Cancelled meetings. Rearranged meetings. Meetings that were about one thing but now are about another. 7.30 am meetings. Meetings where one disembodied attendee booms from the spider-phone like a Dr. Who monster. Meetings where half the attendees gather in one meeting room – and the rest in another: both wondering where the remainder are. But, importantly, productive meetings with lots of custard creams.
And it’s going well. The listeners seem to have cottoned on to what we are up to and are enjoying the journey. The coverage has been impressive – and it’s a tribute to the team here that they have managed to get across the intelligence of our case absolutely.
For me personally, it’s been a funny time. I was parachuted in as Programme Director just before the company sale, to keep the ship heading for the right harbour. Then, when Clive and Co arrived, it was expected I’d have to hand over this teenage foster child onto its new adopted parents with a tearful farewell at the garden gate. I’m hugely proud but sad.
It’s become a ritual in our great industry that once a manager – or presenter – is displaced, they are despatched within hours with a macho curl of the lip. Here, it has been genuinely different. It was always clear that the new guys had more than sufficient brains (Clive’s cerebral energy alone is enough to power the whole of Sussex), so they had no need for my 80s anorak mind too. When they invited me to ‘hang around’ to help with the launch, I smiled, thinking they were being typically polite. They were – but I tossed my black bin bag to one side once I realised they also meant it. Damn, I had dreams of months in Mykonos. But, actually, how wise. More typically, swaggering new managements invade stations, making a swathe of very sensible decisions, accompanied by a whole host of naff ones, just because they do not trouble to seek the views of those who have lived in the house for a few years and know where the dry rot is and which walls not to knock down without an RSJ.
That’s what Clive, Donnach and Adrian have done. Like me, Clive’s a fan of early starts, and as the dawn smell from Gregg’s wafted across the road, he’d wander into my office (a kingdom in which I have been permitted to remain with seeming diplomatic immunity) and share his plans fully in a way he need not have. I’ve thus been equipped to catch a few balls which might have been dropped as they shifted up to sixth gear. Consequently, even knowing I was only ever going to witness the first breaths of this Absolute infant, I care about this new station as much as I have cared about any. The fact that I agree with Clive’s tactics does help.
Some stations are just breeze blocks and no spirit. Anonymous buildings on industrial estates full of anonymous people. This place is different – and that’s why it’s such a great foundation. You know those companies where every day brings a growl of those irate emails which generate even longer responses: angry paragraphs that ruin your day when you read them remotely when on holiday. Well, you don’t get that here. Some inter-floor e-mail trails are so constructive I want to frame them. Only those who’ve worked at other stations will know why. This is a truly great, fun place. All fuel for my radio-themed novel – which I shall now finish ‘cos life in radio just has to be more exciting that the Bill or Holby City.
Goodbye to all my programming team – including gifted and inspiring presenters, still refreshingly hungry to do each show better. A marketing and comms team with great talent, calmness and huge character. And, upstairs, a commercial team second to none. One day, someone should assemble a book of valedictory notes and speeches from people who have passed through the now black front door of Golden Square, because each person has left a bit of their heart. This building has a culture so strong that it need never be written down. I shall miss so many people here.
The new guys have brought energy, vision, intelligence and no-one could have cast them better to grab hold of the passion and talent within this building by the scruff of its neck for the good of commercial radio. I wanted to get the Golden Square spirit coming out the speakers; and I think that’s what the new guys want too. No-one can predict the future – listener behaviour is always difficult to anticipate and we live in challenging times – but few deserve success more the determined team here – new and old. If they get one new listener for every hour Clive has worked (or e-mail he has sent) we’ll take the smile off that talented, handsome Andy Parfitt’s BBC face. Here’s a window of opportunity – and I’ll watch from the sideline. Proudly.
Goodbye.
David Lloyd. Soon to be – ‘available for hire’.
And here’s David’s leaving video!
