My Story

So, how did I get here , to creating this blog all about radio? Why radio in the first place for me?

Well… it all started years and years ago- first, I loved music, I expect you may have done this as well, recording the top 40, and making a “best of” with it.

Perhaps pretending that you were the Dj introducing the records.

Or, when I was at college, pretending I was on the radio, by giving myself some outrageous pseudonym and making tapes of “Bedroom FM”. It was highly successful- an audience of, umm, one I think.

It would elicit mixed responses from people, when I played the tapes to them. Some loved it, some said that I would never make it as a DJ (hah), some looked at me with a touch of pity in their eyes- “Shouldn’t a 16 year old be doing better things with his time”

A lot of people, when they hear about your aspirations by the way, normally very well meaning people, will tell you to get a “proper job”.

My definition of a proper job by the way, is something you love to do, which you love so much you would virtually pay them to let you do it.

I digress.

So I became a mobile DJ. My brilliant mum and dad bought me a set of decks- belt drive- that means you had to cue up the recoed, then turn it half a turn back, or it would make a kind of grawnching (is there such a word? There is now….) sound that made the whole dance floor stop and stare at you as if it was your fault. And these were modern decks- we got them for about £300 I believe, and they were really good for what I wanted to do. I even learned to mix on them as well!

Back then, being able to log online, and buy ready made CD collections designed especially for DJ’s was unheard of, so I started to build a record collection- the box of singles, the box of albums.. the 12′ inch singles. I would carry about 8 large heavy boves into a venue, looking back it seems nightmareish now!

Oh yeah, I had a business partner. He was (and is to this day) a great friend of mine. But Oh my, did we disagree on DJing. It’s a cautionary tale by the way. He was into the “rave” music at the time- about every 2 Saturdays me and he would get the tube up to a specialist record shop in West London- a place called “Rayners Lane”- we called it “Ravers Lane”. He would spend far too much money on the latest must have record- imported from goodness knows where. Hardcore rave. Music made by nutters for nutters, who left, in the words of Pulp “half of my brain in a field in Hampshire somewhere!”

Now I appreciate there was a market for it, but what he didn’t get was that we were not in that market.

Imagine the reaction on the dance floor of Betty’s 50th birthday party, after I had hit tem with a load of Hermans Hermits and a bit of Come on Eileen, then he hits the decks and plays something which sounds like a kind of auditory road accident in ravers land.

So we argued. And I bought him out eventually. It was a good decision. We remain good friends to this day, but Dj partners- nah!

So I spent several happy years DJing peoples weddings, birthdays and more. And the buzz, when it was good, was euphoric. There was no feeling like it. If I could have bottled it and sold it I would have become a millionaire ovenight.

There were one or two colourful moments along the way, I remember K overturning by decks and speakers in a local pub gig (one I had successfully built up), because I wouldn’t let him drape a confederate flag over my speakers. He was the local thug (all towns have one don’t they), but it did ruin the night rather. One advantage of deckstands, they protect you from missiles being thrown at you, in this case a full pint of lager. He only did £30 worth of damage with his violent outburst, which was a result however. And I never did play his song.

Yep, I have seem some vicious fights on alcohol, but once, I caught 3 blokes sitting behind my speakers, quietly skinning up. They were no trouble, I don’t think they could have been bothered to start a fight even if they had wanted to.

“Do you wanna start?”

“No, I just want a Mars bar”

I digress.

We pulled off some amazing charity events as well over the years. The best one we did was at the pub where Mr Deckwrecker (see above) struck, about 3 weeks before that, we decided to raise money for Capital radios charity , Help a London Child. We formed a committee, worked out a 2 day schedule of brilliance, fundraising and fun, got it all worked out to a tee, told the local papers…. and 2 days- ” DAYS! before it was due to go ahead, the pub landlord and his wife got fired for something or other.

So, no pub, no charity weekend. Needless to say, many folks were furious “after all that work”, and I don’t blame them- so we ranted at the Regional Manager, and eventually he let us hold it at the next pub down the road. Not as good a pub as the last one, but ok. None of us were sure how it would turn out, but the place was packed out most of the weekend. We raised £2000, twice our target, got mentioned by Pat Sharp on Capital radio (woo woo), and I got a snog at the end of the night from a girl I had fancied for ages. Nice.

Like any job I guess, when it was good, it was really, really good, and when it was bad it was horrid.

One habit (drunk) people had was coming up and shouting something in your ear, and because they wanted to make sure it REALLY got through to you, would grab the other side of your head and pull it towards you, and really SHAAAAT in your ear. Of course, it would distort, so I would naturally move away, so they would move closer and SHAAAAAAAT even LAAAAAADER and the process would continue.

By the way, if you ever want to really wind up a mobile DJ, say any of the following:

*If you play this, everyone will dance.

*Got anything decent (usually when the dance floor is packed)

*Can I have a flip through your records.

*I’m a DJ meself mate, can I have a go

*Have you got a mike mate, I want to sing this one.

So that was the kind of DJ ing I grew up on. Kinda normal, bog standard stuff. And radio was a distant dream. Until….

Pirate stations- Yes, I did pirate radio for a while, first with a bunch of fellow Dj’s who set up a station in a disused house over in West London, I turned up with a friend who was curious and drove me there, and did the secret knock on the door. I did my debut show Saturday afternoon, playing records (the ones I wanted), and trying to sound like Martin Collins. A friend who was also involved called Phil- a brilliant mobile and club DJ at the time and he was really impressed, he rang me and told me I was going places, and I was way chuffed. That foray into radio lasted all of 2 weeks for me when someone nicked the transmitter.

It happens a lot in the pirate radio world.

Then I got the breakfast show on another pirate station which was called Radio London. There was a guy called Gary who would virtually climb anything in order to get the transmitter up. I could virtually see him climbing tower blocks with suction pads with a transmitter strapped to his back, and a screwdriver in his mouth.

So we were on air , round the back of a hairdresser in Epsom, about 3 of us were there doing the weekend shows, I was watching and loving it, and looking forward to my breakfast show on Monday.

We had locked ourselves in ‘cos we didn;t want to be caught, and there was a knock at the door.

We asked who it was. He told us. We said we can’t let you in. He said Don’t bother rather angrily- we felt bad and let him in. He was a man called Tony Collis, who had tracked us down as easily as pie.

He wasn’t the authorities, he was one of the original owners of Radio Jackie in her pirate days.

Now I work for him! Small world in the world of radio!

Anyway, Monday morning came around, and I went to the studio, and couldn’t get in. I did the special knock. Still no joy.

Our transmitter had been nicked and that was the end of Radio London.

Bang went my breakfast show. Hey ho.

So being on the radio for real remained a long lost dream, until…..

I got on Surprise Surprise. Yes, the Cilla show… Here’s what happened.

Once, a long time ago, when I was sitting on the stairs feeling sorry for myself, my mum said “Why don’t you go and call some bingo numbers for the old ladies at the local day centre”

I think I responded sarcastically by making some comment that it was hardly the giddy heights of showbiz, but I went and did it anyway, and it was ok. They loved me! This developed into me working there voluntarily 3 times a week, devising games and entertainment for them, including vintage video sessions, and discos featuring Glen Miller and other hotsters of the 40’s. Ah, those heady, halcyon days in sunny Surbiton. I may not have been that hip with the kids,but my God, I was huge with the blue rinse brigade.

Anyway, one day, they told me they were contacting Surprise Surprise, and that Cilla had agreed to come down, with Matthew Kelly and surprise and reunite them and do other kind of Cilla type things.

So, that day, I turned up, and concocted what I thought was a reasonably plausible story under the circumstances to explain why there were 2 giant cameras and a tonne of wires in the day room.

And then, at the right moment, I said, Ladies and Gentlemen, CILLA BLACK!

There were Oohs and aahs, and one old dear reunited with a long lost sister as they bought her plane tickets to Canada, one old girl who used to be a Tiller Girl, danced the charleston with Matthew Kelly. TV being what it is, they had to retake it 3 times, I could have sworn the poor thing was going to have a coronary!!

Then, (and I swear I had no idea this was going to happen), Cilla said Surprise Surprise Neil, we are going to send you for a 2 week radio training course at Bay radio up north, and at the end of it, they will give you your own show….

Trying to be cool and funny on national TV, I did that move where you let your jaw drop and use your hand to push it up again. Intending on saying “Valium”, I said “Morphine”. Nice. I think I lived it down, finally, about a year ago.

By the way, the “own show” they talked about was a one off, not regular, and I asked that too.

So… I nervously got the train oop north and met the people at The Bay.

Kenny James was my first point of contact there- he had big hair and looked like Kenny G.

I was made welcome- or at least graciously tolerated, but told I could never have a regular show there because I was …. southern.

But it was great experience, and a time I greatly appreciated. And on my first day there, when I was asking for directions, the man said “Arn’t you the bloke off Surprise Surprise!”

I remember the hotel we stayed in, (me and my girlfriend at the time), and the entertainment varied between a cover version singer “Whattts new pussycat”, to a woman who played the organ and sang so quietly you couldn’t hear her, with this fixed grin on her face and her mother looking proudly on. You had to be there perhaps.

We stayed in Morecombe. Morecombe rocks. There again so does Eastbourne.

So, with a one hour prerecorded show behind me, and a demo tape in hand, I was looking for work again.

And it just so came to pass that my mum spotted a little ad in the local paper, looking for presenters for a local station called Kingston FM, a small RSL (I will explain more on that in a minute), being set up by a local entrepreneur.

Most DJ’s think their demos are awful. I was no exception. Luckily Dave Mason (one of the nicest people you could ever hope to meet) didn’t, and he gave me the weekend drivetime show. Sat and Sun at 4PM.

An RSL stands for Restricted Service License, and what that means is this:

A station wants a licence- they apply, they get one for a month, then off for 4 months, then on for a month, then off… then on…. then all the stations that are competing for the licence throw in their hat for it, and the legal radio body (Ofcom), makes a decision on who will get the license.

I was in my element. There was ONE studio, not two, ONE, in the foyer of the local TV studios- an agreement with the owner. The station was on from 6 in the morning to 10 at night if I remember, then the other 8 hours, the studio could be used for making jingles or adverts. It wasn’t unknown that I would spend all night there, and Dave Mason who did the breakfast show would throw me out at 3 minutes to 6. I used to make jingles and ask the overnight cleaner what he thought of them. He was very polite, but I am sure he had no idea of what I was on about most of the time.

Best of all, by accident I discovered if you pressed a certain button in the studio, then pressed play on something else, you could make the sound come out of the TV in the studio foyer- that’s me on TV! With the jingle I just made. Cleaner approved!

There were 3 middle aged lady receptionists who worked there during the day, and they had us on in the foyer. I think I upset one of them by calling her an old bag or something, and I really upset one of my fellow presenters by pretending she was a witch and cackling on the air while referring to her. She was dating…… umm the manager of the studios. Dave Mason asked me not to do it again. That was reasonable I guess.

Kingston FM changed it’s name to Thames FM, they felt that Kingston FM was too parochial- meaning limited and small for what they were trying to achieve. The ouput was very different to the kind of local commercial radio you would hear now. Very, very local indeed, shows called Saturday Shopping and Workers Playtime (which I was promoted to - weekdays 10-1). Dave Mason had a TV background, and had written a book on gameshows, and it showed. I don’t want to sound like I am being rude about the man, I am not, he was brilliant. Lives in New Zealand now!

The other station in the running for the licence was Eclipse FM, which I must admit had a much more contemporary and funky sound than Thames did, and when the licence came up for grabs…..

Thames FM got it. The Eclipse boys were gutted, folks like Des Paul, Mike Banbook and Russ Underwood- all great presenters in their own right all felt they should have got the licence, and in a strange way, I agreed with them. Des is now a mainstream dance presenter at Capital radio, Mike works at Radio 2, behind the scenes, and I work with Russ now as a colleague.

A quick hi to some other brilliant colleagues I met there like Ray Gearing who did a show, and is still there, AND had jingles made for him by Kenny Everett, jammy sod!, and Jill James, Simon Hitner who was a producer and great fun, and Paul Kirrage and Martin Mumford, who I used to go to school with! And Nigel Mitchell, who was barely 16 when he joined and sounded like Pat Sharp, brilliant- he want on to become a presenter for the Disney Channel- a very talented young man, and a great guy.

I wont go into detail here, but there was a management shakeup, which meant Dave Mason had to leave his baby behind, and was removed from the running of the station. I admit there are things I would have changed if I had run it, but he was shit on from a great height, and it caused a lot of bad feeling- and he didn’t deserve it. I want to point out that last time I heard from him he was very happy and well and truly back on his feet.

But, about that time, before Thames ended for good, I was doing shows on there, and working as a mobile DJ, and as semi resident DJ at a club in Cobham called Rockys. Owned by Rocky Taylor, the stunt man (who broke evry bone in his body with a stunt that went wrong in Deathwish 3- the bit where “Charles Bronson” jumps off the burning building - except “Charles”- Rocky missed the cardboard boxes and landed full force on the ground- they had to leave that bit in the film-obviously!

Rocky looked lke a fierce bulldog, had a short temper, and a heart of gold.

Anyway, Rocky, the entrepreneurial type that he was, branched out a bit, he had karaoke on 3 nights, discos on 2 ( I did alternate Fridays), and special appearances from comedians- Jim Davidson once, and DJ’s from big radio stations, like Mick Brown from Capital Radio- crowd drawers of course. So I was pleased when Rocky asked me to Dj and warm up for Mick Brown. This was a guy I had grown up listening to- and I was very excited, and so was my co-presenter Martin Shine (DJ name!).

So Mick turned up- he has no airs and graces- a Saff East London lad, who did real, real good, down to Earth, and a bloody good DJ. And I jokingly said, I don’t suppose you have any jobs at Capital do you?

Well come on, wouldn’t you?

Next day, nursing a hangover, I was doing a Thames FM gig at my local leisure centre, and my mate brought me my phone that I had left in the van, with the window open.

Here’s your phone you pratt, you nearly had it nicked. By the way, Mick Brown rang.

Yeah right, who else rang- the Pope? Santa Claus?

Mick Brown rang.

Yeah right.

I got home and my mum said, Oh by the way, Mick Brown rang.

I paid attention then.

Mick asked me if I wanted to go to Capital to make a demo tape.

Me!

Capital!

That dream!

OMG

OMGOMGOMG

I got to Capital radio, back then it was in Euston Road, the “rockin tower”. They always gave the impression that they broadcast from the top of the tower, so you can imagine my surprise when I was ushered up to the first floor- to watch Mick Brown work.

This was hallowed ground for me. Wow! Fuckin’ wow. This rockin tower had seen the making and breaking of legends.This is where Kenny Everett struck up his friendship with Freddie Mercury, after he played Bohenian Rhapsody on the radio- then fell out and in a tiff wrote “All we hear is Radio Ga Ga, Radio Goo Goo, Rayyydio, …someone still loves you…”

Now you know the story behind that song.

Legends as I said.

So there I am trying to make a demo.

Making a demo is hard, as any presenter will tell you.

Making a demo for Capital is bloody hard, particlarly when you are a grubby little local radio boy.

I was in the studio, desperately trying to get it right, trying to make the joke that I had nicked from the star presenter at The BAY sound funny, with Mick Brown and his producer listening in the other studio.

I used a bit of music that I had used at Thames FM to talk over, and Mark Hurran, Micks producer came in and said words to the effect of “We are a dynamic leading edge London station, you wont get away with that twee crap here”

And he meant it.

Eventually I put together something that resembled a demo tape. And Mick said he’d give it to the boss. I thanked him and Mark for their help, and went back to doing the Twee stuff.

(Mark Hurran sadly died about 3 years later, he had been suffering from a long term illness. Thankyou Mark for all your help and God bless you)

Then one Thurdsay night at The Castle in Surbiton, at about 8, I got the phone call that would simultaneously scare the crap out of me, and life me to euphoric heights at the same time.

We want to try you out on an overnight show.

I got down on the floor in the pub, laid on my back and did the dying spider dance while whooping like a banshee.

Then it dawned on me what I had gotten myself into, I was going to be on Capital Radio for goodness sake, the biggest radio station in London. Kenny Everett worked here for goodness sake! And other names who I had grown up listening to!

It was scheduled for 2AM Sunday morning in about a weeks time.

That Sunday came around, and all day the Saturday before I have to say I had never felt so nervous in my life. I was terrified!

I had these contraction like waves of nervousness rise and fall within me with ever increasing regularity throughout the day. I went round a pals house for therapy, and we spent the day playing Splat-a-bat in the back garden- a rather crude game involving apples that had fallen from a tree and a cricket bat.

He said it would calm my nerves. He was wrong.

My dad took me to Capital that night, and I walked in the rockin’ tower in the Euston Road, and met Bethan, an American gal who worked there, who had drawn the short straw of getting me through the night on my first show.

The DJ on before me was doing the “Love Zone”, 4 hours of shagging, oops, sorry, Luuurve songs, - the DJ was called Captain Love. Captain Lurrrrrve. Really I should have known better, but I imagined him as the Lenny Henry character Theophilus P Wildebeeste, black, dreadlocks, as coooool as a cucumber and a killer with the layyydies.

The reality was, he was middle aged, balding, white, and looked like my doctor. I thought I had got the wrong studio. But my word he could give good voice.

His real name was Andy Wint, a seasoned broadcaster, and he became a good friend of mine while I was there.

So he played the last song on the show and the news came round and it was 2 AM. And I was on.

I cued up my first CD, which was U2, Desire. One minute past 2. Newsreader still reading. 2 minutes past. “Independent Radio News” . I pressed the jungle, and hit U2. The Edge played the guitar riff, Bono went “Yeah” I opened the mike and said “Yeah”, prompting a terrified look from Bethan and Captain Love. And I was off.

And shit scared.

I mean, really. But the show past without incident, I didn’t screw up too badly in other words.

And the boss was pleased. In fact he said it was one of the best debut shows he had ever heard. Result!

The boss of Capital at that time was a man called Richard Park, you may have seen him on Fame Academy as the “headmaster”. A very big player in the world of radio- and still is- google him.

Most people in the building were terrified of him, I heard the lagendary stories that were virtually folklore in the place about what happened when he got angry……

So I got the next Sunday morning as well. And Bethan again. She said this would be the last time- she had had enough and I could hardly blame her.

Then I got offered the overnight show regularly. 5 nights a week!

Yesssss!