It's Not What You Think

by Chris Evans

  I shot off with the machine to an audio/music shop and hauled it up onto the counter with a mighty thud. The guy behind the counter looked at it somewhat bemused.

  ‘Wow man, what-is-that?’

  What I wanted to say was, ‘That, my man, is my passport to a fully blown real-life conversation with my radio idol. Please can you provide me with something that might facilitate the possibility of it ever recording again—thank you!’

  What I ended up saying was something far more panicky and less articulate—even though it was only lunchtime I could already feel the pressure of my first broadcasting deadline approaching fast.

  The man could see my distress and kindly set about all he could do to help, eventually finding something equally as grey and antiquated as my machine that claimed to be a microphone.

  ‘There that should do ya,’ he declared almost triumphantly. ‘Oh and you’ll be needing a new spool of tape,’ he added. ‘I think that one’s well shot.’

  Earlier on he’d tested the mighty 350 Deluxe for me, unfortunately hearing Carly Simon in the process. I was quick to point out that this was my brother’s tape machine and it was his recording of Carly Simon. He sympathised and carried on, though I’m not sure he believed me.

  With my recording equipment now up and running, after the flat-tyre debacle of the day before I decided to leave the car at home and take the train into Manchester—also something I had never done before, let alone with the mass of a small land mass in tow. The Grundig was like a dead body. What in the blazes did they put inside these things to make them work?

  The beginning of my journey at the Warrington end was not so bad, the car park being quite close to the platform, but the walk from Piccadilly train station in Manchester to Piccadilly Gardens seemed like an eternity. Why these two places bore the same name yet were so far apart was beyond me.

  When I finally arrived at the other Piccadilly station—the radio station as opposed to the train station—I thought my right arm was going to drop off; my right thigh was bruised with the banging of the Grundig’s bloomin’ great hulk and the fingers of my right hand had turned blue with the deep imprint of its wide shiny metal handle.

  I was a mess but I was an early mess and that was good—three hours an early mess to be precise.

  Timmy waltzed in through reception around about an hour before his show. There was no Adam Ant outfit this time but instead a multicoloured stripy tank top over a bright orange shirt; he was also wearing a big fur coat and a beret. I didn’t know what it all meant but I quite liked it.

  He recognised me from the night before and politely said that he’d send somebody out for me when he was ready for the interview. I waited patiently for about half an hour until the tall, sharp-looking kid from the fun bus appeared. It was quickly evident to me that this individual was someone I could perhaps learn from, he was supremely confident and I couldn’t help thinking he looked like a member of Depeche Mode.

  Hurriedly he led me through several corridors—something I was finding hard to cope with as The Grundig was now back banging against my leg. Between the pain and my audible wincing I remember thinking how surprisingly unglamorous the place was, looking more like an office pool than a throbbing radio station—again showbusiness was proving to be more ‘business’ than ‘show’—when was I going to learn? Half a corridor later, we reached the office where the Great Mallett was to be found, head down, writing away—the master preparing.

  The tall kid wafted out. It was now only fifteen minutes before Timmy on The Tranny went on the air for this Monday night, Timmy was still totally focused on what he was writing,

  ‘Won’t be a sec,’ he muttered.

  I went to lift my machine onto his desk in readiness so as not to waste any time.

  ‘Shit, what-is-that?’ Timmy exclaimed, looking at what looked like a small building that had just been plonked in front of him.

  ‘It’s a Grundig 350 Deluxe—it’s my brother’s,’ I replied proudly.

  ‘Oh…I see,’ remarked Timmy, somewhat unsure of what to make of both it and me. ‘Alright, you ready?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ I replied, my voice now quivering nervously with the prospect of my first question.

  My interview with Timmy was really a thinly disguised list of questions designed to solicit advice to help me get his job one day. I have since been a victim of such ‘interviews’ myself—you can spot them a mile off. Whether Timmy knew what I was up to at the time I could only guess, though I suspected he probably did.

  I can’t remember exactly what my questions were, although I think I have a feeling the tape may actually still be on the machine and I think the machine is still somewhere in Mum’s loft. Dare I get it out? I’m saying no—for now at least.

  What I do remember vividly is the tall kid coming in again, several times in fact, always to deliver a concise piece of information or ask a quick question about the forthcoming show, speed and economy seemed to be everything between these two—there was a very no-nonsense atmosphere.

  I looked at the big white clock on the office wall above the desk where we were sitting, as it ticked towards seven o’clock it counted down the time I had left with my hero. My questions would have to stop soon as Timmy on the Tranny was about to take to the air once again. I thought it best to wrap things up voluntarily.

  ‘This has been Pete James interviewing Timmy Mallett for Warrington General Hospital Radio. Timmy, thank you.’

  Pete James, eh—what was all that about? Pete James was the name I had decided upon using as I sat on the train that afternoon. Why? I don’t know but for some reason I thought it sounded good, much better than Chris Evans. I thought it was the kind of name a DJ might have. I even practised the autograph.

  The only question I really remember asking Timmy that night is the one I asked after the ‘interview’ was over, just before Timmy left for the studio to go and do his show.

  ‘Who is that boy who keeps coming in to tell you things?’

  ‘Oh, you mean the one who looks like he should be in Depeche Mode?’

  ‘Yes, him.’

  ‘Oh that’s Andy, he’s my assistant, he’s fab but he goes back to university next week—now must dash, well done, good luck—byee!’

  ‘Bye, thanks,’ I replied to Timmy as he disappeared.

  I made another mental note, much quicker and bigger than I had ever done before.

  ‘The big kid is leaving—who’s gonna replace the big kid?’ I thought to myself.

  By this time, back in Warrington, I had left Ralph’s to become assistant manager of a small group of rival newsagents so I was already an assistant of sorts, but Andy was assistant to my hero and was leaving at the end of the week.

  I couldn’t help feeling that Timmy had volunteered this additional information when there was absolutely no need to do so. He could have just told me that Andy was great and he was his assistant but he hadn’t, he had extended to me the knowledge that Andy was leaving and soon. Why had he done this? Was it merely an unconscious and natural extension to the conversation or did he want me to know this for a specific reason? I couldn’t take a chance, I had to presume it was the latter.

  The walk back to the train station was a blur of excitement, all I recall is that I swapped the Grundig over to my left side so at least I would be equally bruised come the next day—the day I would write off for my first job in radio.

  Top 10 Things to Consider When Attempting to Make a Move in Your Career

  10 Make sure you really want it in the first place

  9 Really make sure you really want it in the first place

  8 Think if it’s going to help you get where you want to be next

  7 Think where you want to be ultimately and if it will help get you there

  6 Imagine if you had achieved it and how it would affect your life as a result

  5 Don’t consider the financial cost, as long as you can afford to carry on living it’s irrelevant

  4 Do
consider how much of the next few years of your life it will take up and remember you can never get those years back

  3 Have an exit strategy—this is so important

  2 Never let your nut rule your gut—ever…the brain is not all it’s cracked up to be

  1 For goodness’ sake, get out there and go do something about it!

  The boss of Piccadilly Radio was a man called Tony Ingham. I phoned up to find out his name and immediately set about composing my note. It was brief and to the point, I explained that I had interviewed Timmy only last night, during the course of which Timmy had let slip that Andy his assistant was leaving, which to me suggested there might be some kind of vacancy coming up and although I would never presume to be able to fill Andy’s role I was willing to do anything for nothing for ever—in fact I think I said I would do ‘everything’ for ever for nothing—if this meant I could work behind the hallowed doors of the great Piccadilly 261.

  I sent the letter before lunchtime on the Tuesday and to my amazement and complete and utter joy, I received a reply from Mr Ingham on the Thursday, I went to see him on the Friday and started work on Timmy’s show on the Monday. Incredible but 100 per cent true.

  When I went to see Tony he told me Timmy had mentioned the fact that Andy was leaving on purpose because he thought I was quite sparky and had suspected my interview with him was more a fraudulent attempt by me to find out more about working in radio than anything else and that he would soon need a new pair of hands and why not?

  Timmy had stopped short, however, of encouraging me further to see if I would do anything about it myself and now because I had, the door was open. However, the rest from here on in was up to me—and by the way I would be expected to do everything for nothing for ever!

  My long working days were about to get even longer. I would start at the newsagents at the usual time, go home in the day, return in the afternoon and then, after locking up, hot foot it off to Manchester up the M62 to do ‘whatever Timmy wanted’.

  This started by answering the studio phones, a true baptism of fire. Answering Timmy’s phones was like being a stock market trader at the moment a crash happened but for every minute of every show. He would announce a competition over the beginning of a three-minute record, give out the phone number and expect a correct, fully prepped and rehearsed caller before the end of it. If the caller turned out to be below par you’d better not have been the person to put them through.

  To Timmy, the callers were everything and the calibre of kids we put on the air told the other kids who was listening to the show—i.e. only great kids were welcome; as in many things, perception was everything. The kids also had to be spread out evenly from a geographical point of view, an equal number of boys and girls was also a target, although more girls than boys was acceptable as long as it was never the other way round.

  I wasn’t Timmy’s only helper—there were six or seven of us, some really sharp little operators, smart smart kids, good energy, lots of ideas and bags of confidence. There was Sally and Hannah and Geraldine and Paul and another Chris; they were mostly posher than me but that didn’t seem to matter. They couldn’t have been more welcoming, there was no air of internal competition—we were all too petrified of messing up to think about anything else.

  To work on Timmy on the Tranny was even more exciting than listening to it. Timmy really was a genius. I still think about watching him work: he was truly insane but for all the right reasons. The pressure he put us under was nothing to the pressure he put himself under every second of every show. He knew exactly what he was doing but everything was always happening so quickly in his head he often didn’t have time to tell the rest of us what it was he wanted us to do. This was a regular cause of frustration for him and blind panic for us—to be honest we were clueless most of the time.

  From the second the red light went off and Timmy put on a song there was furious activity to get the next link ready. Every link meant something, every link had some colour, either a joke, a character, a caller or an interview, and every link had a beginning, middle and end—the end being the most important as, if the beginning or middle failed, a good end would always get you out of trouble.

  This is just one of the lessons Timmy taught me that I have used on every programme I have ever been involved with to this day.

  This golden time was proving to be a master class in broadcasting, an invaluable and unique learning experience available nowhere but right here, right now, but the heat was about to be turned up—the next stage of apprenticeship on Timmy’s show was to be invited ‘on the air’ as a ‘character’.

  This was a huge deal and also a make-or-break moment. Helpers only got one or two bites at the on-air character cherry. If they were successful they would become a bit-part player in an award-winning radio show and would become famous in their own right. Listeners would write to them and want to know who they were and what they looked like; they would be asked to do more characters and be given more air time. If they were unsuccessful, however, they would be consigned to the hell of the phone rooms and sending out prizes, probably for ever.

  Timmy asked me if he could see me one night after the show.

  ‘Er, yes hi, well done tonight, I would like you to think about a character for the show, something different, something that you like, ’cos if you like it, the kids’ll like it, something that you can do night in, night out. Anything—it just has to be clever and funny, that’s all.’ He then paused before adding, ‘Oh, and have it ready for tomorrow night. Byeee’ (!) and with that he was off.

  See, perfect, why can’t everyone in life be so straight? How much more time would we all have to ourselves if they were? Timmy didn’t want a conversation, he didn’t want to be your friend, but he did want like-minded people to join in his mini radio revolution.

  The pressure was on and for me, pressure works: I came up with a character called Nobby N’O’Level.

  Nobby had ten N’O’Levels in nothing. He would always ask Timmy a question about an educational fact to which Timmy would be gobsmacked that Nobby didn’t know the answer. Nobby, as a riposte, would then triumphantly announce something that he knew, which of course was also completely wrong. Finally he would mitigate the whole episode by signing off with his catchphrase, ‘Well, what I don’t know…I don’t know.’

  Nobby was very Sesame Street and Timmy was taken with him straight away—he could see that the material for the character was fact-based while also being silly enough to be entertaining and sympathetic enough for kids to like. Nobby was a tryer and you had to love him for that.

  He was an instant hit and I was on the air.

  What I also was, was very tired, very tired indeed, as well as fast becoming a danger to other drivers.

  I had begun to stay on after Timmy’s show to work in the studio. Most radio stations have two identical studios with a control room in between. After Timmy went off the air, Cuddly Dave came on from the studio opposite and Timmy’s studio was free for the next three hours. I would spend the next year of my life hanging around and playing with the gear and practising various techniques and ideas until the wee small hours of the next day.

  Adrenaline was my friend—it had to be—I would drive home and get in around two o’clock in the morning, still having to get up to open the newspaper shop before five. I remember having to open all the windows in the car and singing all the way home to keep awake. I could tell I was in trouble when I would suddenly stop in the middle of a Beatles chorus for no reason whatsoever—when it all went quiet I knew the next thing that would happen was that I would close my eyes and who knows what after that; I had to keep singing.

  Needless to say, when I did get home I had no trouble falling asleep. It’s still the most tired I’ve ever been. I would be panting out of breath as if I’d just sprinted for the bus, purely from the madness of the day. No complaints though, I loved every second of it but something would have to give, and soon.

  I was beginning to run on empty
.

  Top 10 Things a Boss Should Never Do

  10 Try to be popular

  9 Incentivise as opposed to reward

  8 Recount stories of when they were a junior employee and how things used to be

  7 Repeatedly state to the year how many years they have been in the business

  6 Have their teeth whitened or their hair coloured—OK for girls but really not good at all for blokes

  5 Return to work after a boozy ‘lunch’

  4 Expect anyone who gets paid less than them to care as much as they do

  3 Get drunk at the Christmas party

  2 Employ a secretary or assistant that they stand any chance of finding even vaguely attractive

  1 Use their position to steamroller over other people, especially the little people

  Decisions are so much easier when they are more or less made for you, even if it’s down to circumstances and events beyond your control.

  There was no way I could sustain the life I was leading. I was so tired. I was losing my focus at the shop in the day and it was affecting my performance on the show at night, but the show was all I cared about, the shop for me was now purely a means to an end.

  The thing was, though I still wasn’t getting paid ‘anything’ for the show (not that I minded, none of the other kids were either and that had always been our deal right from the get go), it was just that I didn’t have any other source of income except my job. So for a while it looked like I was going to have to give up the one thing I loved, the one thing I thought I would never get to do and that I was now doing, the one thing that I thought I could make a life out of—the wonderful world of the wireless.

  Not so, however, an archangel was about to swoop down to my rescue in the guise of the grumpy old git of a newsagent. Not Ralph from my first job but my new boss, who took grumpiness to a whole new level.