Once we were inside the shed, Holly did her business of getting everything turned on.Lights blinked awake and things started to hum. I took a few deep breaths to try to calm myself. I just tried to pretend that everything that was happening was normal and no big deal.
Holly remained standing as Artie and I sat down at the mixing desk. I was in front of all the faders and equipment, which I knew how to work with my eyes closed after all my time on hospital radio. Setting it up, though, fixing it: no idea. That was Holly’s thing.
Artie was on my right-hand side by his mic.
‘OK, team,’ Holly said. ‘Let’s talk about our show today. It’s going to be great.’ She said this with such certainty I started to believe it.
I took out my notes with all my ideas for the first show.
‘Well, I want a big song to open the show, Artie: a song that says right away who we are and what we’re going to do.’
Artie nodded, smiling, and patted the stack of vinyl records knowingly.
‘Then I will introduce myself and Artie. I won’t call you Artie, obviously. I will refer to you as Ron.’
‘What?’ spluttered Artie, launching himself out of his chair, almost trampling on the bag crammed with cakes. He would’ve blown the shed apart with the cake explosion if that had happened.
‘I’m Radio Boy, so you will need a secret name too, Artie,’ I explained.
‘I get that, but I’m not … RON! Ron is an old man’s name. Radio Boy and RON? They’ll just think some old git is in here with you. No, I will take inspiration from one of music’s greats. I will be this guy …’ He put on a deep, rolling American accent. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is Elvis Presley. People called him the “King of Rock and Roll” and from now on I will be known as Elvis in this studio.’
‘Elvis …’ I said, experimentally. ‘I love it, Artie.’
‘ELVIS!’
‘Elvis, sorry. OK, well, that’s sorted.’ I looked at both of them. ‘Listen … before we start the show, I want to say something. I want this show to really mean something for kids like us. I want it to be theirs. I want us to talk about things that really matter to us. You don’t get that on ANY other radio show. Those shows are just for our parents, not us. Merit Radio isn’t for us either. It belongs to Mr Harris. I’m not saying I’m not happy about Anne Anderson getting her grade one violin, but how is any of that going to help us when we have important questions that need answering? Like, why do our parents tell us lies?’
‘Lies?’ said Holly.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Did I ever tell you about my first bike? Do you know what my mum and dad told me? They swore blind it was a brand spanking new bike. I knew something wasn’t quite right, though – maybe the odd flaking red paint revealing the name “Cupcake” along the frame. Odd name for a boy’s bike, I thought.
‘“Oh no, son, straight out of the bike factory,” Dad reassured me. All lies! I found out it was my sister’s old pink bike that my mum had got Dad to paint red.’
Artie laughed. ‘My dad told me that when the ice-cream van came round and played its tune, that meant it had run out of ice creams,’ he said. There was genuine sadness in his voice. As if a bottomless cake pit wasn’t enough for him. I seriously think Artie’s blood group must be icing.
‘My mum told me that Santa is chubby because he eats naughty kids,’ said Holly.
‘This is all great,’ I said. ‘So, we’ll get kids to call in with lies their parents have told them. Then, later on in the show, I will be … Fish Face.’
Holly and Artie frowned.
‘Go on …’ ventured Artie.
‘Well, I will “interview” Mr Harris. But of course I will be both myself and Fish Face. Radio Boy will be chatting to Mr Harris, our lovely headmaster. Holly, can you flick the vocal trans … transfer … the voice changer to go quickly from my setting to then making me, as Fish Face, sound like a sea monster? All slooooooow and blooooooobby, like the man himself?’
‘EASILY!’ Holly fired back right away.
What a great team I had.
‘OK, sorted then,’ I said.
‘Isn’t that … going to make him really angry though?’ said Artie.
‘Oh, come on,’ I said. ‘Just the show existing is going to make him angry.’
‘Hmm. I guess.’
‘No one will know it’s us though, will they, Spike?’ said Holly. ‘Secret. Like we agreed?’
‘Absolutely,’ I reassured them.
‘OK,’ said Holly. ‘Artie, what about the music? What’s our opener?’
‘This, my friends, is going to be our first song to the world,’ said Artie. ‘We want a song that’s really going to say what we are about on the Secret Shed Show, and this is it.’
Artie thrust a shiny black disc into our faces for us to read the central song label.
‘“Revolution”, by the legendary Beatles. Because this song says it all. We are going to start a revolution with this show, Spike.’
‘Cool,’ I said.
‘All the songs have been carefully chosen for today’s first ever show,’ continued Artie. ‘After the show, Holly, I thought we could even post the track listing on our website …’ As Artie spoke, he took an enormous bite of his doughnut. Some jam spilled on to the Beatles album cover.
‘… and I’ll start a Secret Shed Show Spotify playlist!’ said Holly.
‘Three minutes from show time,’ she added.
I took my headphones from my bag. Taped to them was a little note. It was from Dad.
Just do what you do, son. Have fun. Dad xxx
Despite the bike lies, he’s a good dad. Sometimes.
I tested my mic and nervously checked a few times that my deep voice disguiser setting was on. We tested Artie’s too. Holly tried a few different settings before Artie was satisfied.
‘Elvis is in the building,’ he said.
‘It’s a shed,’ said Holly.
Artie rolled his eyes. ‘Philistine.’
I was ready.
Elvis was ready.
Holly took out her bedside alarm clock and placed it in front of me. ‘When it’s four o’clock, you start the show and launch our pirate ship. Good luck, Radio Boy.’
I stared at my mic. My mouth was as dry as Dad’s Sunday roast, where he somehow manages to make the beef taste like old shoes. As if sensing this, Holly handed me a glass of water. Artie just sat there, looking as chilled as ever. That helped too. I didn’t need both of us shaking with nerves.
I sat in silence, watching the second hand on the clock, every tick seeming to cause my heart to beat louder and faster. I took a deep breath as the clock hands moved to four o’clock exactly.
It was time.
I pushed my fader button up, and a sign flashed red in the studio.
‘Hi, I’m Radio Boy and this is the Secret Shed Show. Streaming live across the world on www dot secret shed show dot com.
‘We aren’t about who got the highest grades and the most merits, or trumpet recitals.
‘We all try but sometimes we fail.
‘Who said we have to be the best at everything?
‘Maybe you aren’t top of the class or captain of the A team.
‘Maybe you don’t think you fit in.
‘Well, you fit in here.
‘We don’t have a fish-faced headmaster controlling us.
‘We are going to talk about our older brothers and sisters and mutant apes at school that make our lives a nightmare.
‘I don’t even know if this show is really going to work or if we can do it, but maybe, I dunno, together we can try and figure it out.
‘Oh, and we rock.’
I pressed PLAY. The loud squealing guitars of ‘Revolution’ by the Beatles rang out loud.
I closed my fader, turning off the mics. The big red MIC LIVE went out just above the flowerpots.
Elvis patted me on the back, as did Holly. I wasn’t nervous any more. This all just felt, I dunno, right. Like it was meant to be.
>
The record came to an end. Time for us to speak again.
I then told my story of parental fraud with the hand-me-down girl’s bike. Artie told his ice-cream van story, and then it was time for another song. David Bowie with ‘Rebel Rebel’. Perfect. Never heard it before in my life, but it was brilliant.
Holly pointed at the screen of the laptop.
Something amazing was happening. Our website was slowly coming to life with comments. First just one, two, three. People were listening! Then four or five comments … It was small, still, but they were there and it was a start.
Then the phone rang in the shed. We all jumped out of our skins. The shed studio team froze.
Finally, Holly picked it up. ‘Hello, the Secret Shed Show?’
She listened intently, smiled, then said, ‘Can you please wait there? You’ll be live on air after this song.’ This is what real producers say to callers! I was in heaven. In a shed, a shed heaven.
‘Tom is on line one, Radio Boy,’ said Holly, ‘and has a funny story about a lie his dad told him.’
The song faded.
‘This is the Secret Shed Show,’ I said. ‘That was David Bowie and “Rebel Rebel”. That’s proper music, Merit Radio. Later on today we have some recipes for the best way to cook and eat your pets, inspired by Monday’s show on Merit Radio.’
‘Mine is a ham-ster and cheese toastie,’ chipped in Elvis.
‘Well, Elvis, I love cat-atouille,’ I replied.
‘Of course, the Secret Shed Show does not support the cooking and eating of beloved family pets, unless it’s a cat as they are quite irritating … I’m joking! Anyway, on the line we have Tom. Hi, Tom.’
‘Hi, Radio Boy, loving the show!’
I didn’t know what to say. ‘Um … yes … thank you, Tom … Tom, you are the first ever caller on the Secret Shed Show and you’ve won a … prize!’
What did I say that for? I quickly scanned the shed to see what I could give away. I wasn’t really sitting on a goldmine of luxury prizes in there. My eyes darted around furiously from flowerpots, to weedkiller sprays, to rusty old nails. Inspiration hit me.
‘Tom, you have won an old paintbrush!’
‘A … paintbrush?’ Tom sounded underwhelmed.
‘It’s a highly coveted golden paintbrush we will only give away to our first ever caller. Elvis, can you start painting it gold for Tom?’
‘What? Yeah, I guess so,’ Elvis said with a face that if it was an emoji would look like this:
He obviously didn’t get my genius.
‘So, Tom, what’s the lie your parents told you?’
‘My mum told me that the smoke detectors around our house were in fact cameras that went directly to the North Pole and Father Christmas so he could see if you were misbehaving.’
Holly and I laughed. Artie looked confused.
‘What’s up, Elvis?’ I asked.
‘My dad told me that too. I thought it was true. And that you only get a thousand words to speak every month: once you get to that limit, you gotta wait until the next month to speak again.’
I started the next song. Somebody called the Beastie Boys came blasting out of the shed speakers, urging us to fight for our right to party. The little shed was rocking.
Right then, I knew I’d remember this moment for the rest of my life. I was happy. It was working. I could do it. Some people were listening.
Now it was time to really stir things up.
‘That was the Beastie Boys and “(You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (to Party)”. We now have a very special guest. Yes, it’s the headmaster of St Brenda’s school, Mr Harris …’
Holly’s hands were now a blur of action as she flicked between my ‘Radio Boy’ setting (which she’d written on the box) and a new one labelled ‘Sea Monster’ for Mr Harris.
‘Hi, Radio Boy, and thanks for having me on the Secret Shed Show,’ said Mr Harris in his best sea monster voice.
‘Hi, Mr Harris. Tell me, what’s new with you?’
‘Well, Radio Boy, I have a show of my own called Merit Radio. Have you heard it? It sounds like this …’
I fired off the sound effect I had lined up. The sound of a very loud, rip-roaring fart. Elvis fell off his chair laughing.
‘You know my son Martin?’ continued Fish Face. ‘He presents the show. Well, he’s really a chimpanzee dressed as a boy. Today I caught him trying to organise his M&Ms into alphabetical order.’
Holly spat her drink out.
‘He’s a chimpanzee but he presents a radio show?’ I said.
‘Oh, I taught him to talk,’ said Mr Harris. ‘He’s just not potty-trained yet. So the studio can get a little bit … messy.’
‘TMI, Mr Harris! TMI!’
‘You know why I look the way I do?’ asked Mr Harris.
‘No.’
‘Because I was made in the science lab at school many years ago and the experiment went very wrong. I’m part man, part fish.’
‘That’s very sad, sir,’ I offered in sympathy.
‘Well, on the plus side, I have gills so I can breathe underwater in the bath; on the downside, I have a goldfish memory … who are you again?’
The studio erupted into laughter. I hoped our few listeners were doing the same.
Now time for Fish Face to say goodbye.
‘Well, that’s it from me for today, Radio Boy. I have to go and have my tea, which is a huge plate of manure to keep my breath smelling this bad.’
I played our last song. Elvis had picked something by someone called Pink Floyd. I could hear the lyrics, another great choice from my head of music.
‘Hey, teacher, leave those kids alone.’
More comments were coming in on the website from people who’d heard the last bit.
‘That’s it from us on the Secret Shed Show,’ I said. ‘We will be back same time next week. Please spread the word, leave us messages and email us about anything you want. I hope you enjoyed listening. I’m Radio Boy and this has been the Secret Shed Show.’
The first show was over. We had started something. Quite what we had started, none of us really knew. We all looked at each other. Our faces were glowing.
There was no better way to enjoy the moment than with a delicious doughnut each. Only three days past their sell-by date.
After that first show, everything was a bit of a blur.
The weeks flew by, and every week we would get more and more comments on our website. Ten became fifty became ninety. We were getting hundreds after we did our third show. News gets around any school quickly, like the latest funny viral video involving cats falling in toilets. I guess the Secret Shed Show was now going viral, which sounds like an illness but isn’t.
The first thing that told me the Secret Shed Show was a real hit was when I saw this graffiti in the boys’ toilets at school:
It felt amazing! Wait until I tell the others we’re officially graffiti famous, I thought.
Then my heart sank a bit when I saw what was underneath it:
I felt like scribbling on there:
It was hard staying anonymous and in the shadows. I was so, so happy the show was getting bigger and bigger every week, but it was awful not getting all the glory. Is that wrong? It was like being an awesome striker in a football team, but playing with a bag over your head. Not sure if that’s a good example, but it’s the only one I can think of right now.
OK: imagine being a superhero and not being able to tell everyone it was you. I knew what it must be like to be Iron Man, aka Tony Stark, or Bruce Wayne, aka Batman. If the three of us ever met up, we would have so much to talk about.
Looking back over the shows in the last few weeks, there had been some awesome bits.
We had done a feature called Fish Face Idol. We asked people to call in and do their best impressions of our headmaster, Mr Harris. The winner got a framed photo: a face swap of Mr Harris and a blobfish, which looked like this:
A few shows later, inspired by a particularly depressing
Merit Radio show where the usual A-graders got loud and noisy congratulations after our big exams, I decided to have my own version of school merits. Ours were for your ‘Best Failures’. People tweeted in using #bestfailures. Others called; some emailed. This was the biggest thing we’d done. Some of my favourites:
Johnny called in, saying he’d spent two days glueing together an amazing model of the Millennium Falcon. Once he finished it, he enjoyed a victory lap of honour round his bedroom and then, due to his tiredness after his marathon efforts, he accidentally sat on it.
Caitlin called in, saying that when she was hungry the other day she ate some brightly coloured biscuits that were in the kitchen. Ten minutes later, her mum came in and asked where the dog biscuits were that she’d just left on the kitchen table …
Danielle called in. She texted her grandad ‘Happy Birthday You’, but due to autocorrect he got ‘Happy Birthday Poo’.
But the best was this email:
To: [email protected]
From: jamie king
Subject: Best Failure
Hey, Radio Boy,
Please can you, Elvis and the mysterious lady in the background keep doing this show? I look forward to Wednesdays now – your show means I’ve made it halfway through the week. I hate school and this keeps me sane.
My best failure was when I tried to make a home-made zipwire ride in my kitchen while my parents were having a lie-in one Sunday morning. I used some washing line from the garden. I attached one end to the kitchen light on the ceiling and the other to the fridge door. I stood on a kitchen stool and wrapped a tea towel over the washing line and grabbed with both hands and launched myself off.
My parents, after being rudely woken by a terrible crashing noise, rushed downstairs to find me on the kitchen floor along with most of the ceiling!
Artie got me to play a song called ‘Crash’ by the Primitives for Jamie.
After that, we had another good comment, but not surprisingly he didn’t want to tell us his name:
Hi, Radio Boy!
I made a Valentine’s card, put it through the letter box of the girl I liked. Two days later I found out I’d been tricked and that it wasn’t her address. It was one of the school dinner ladies, Big Brenda.
Radio Boy Page 8
