Week Thirty-Five And Sat Nav’s Twenty-Five!
I am thrilled to be a soi-disant ‘˜pundit’ contributor for the BBC. I get called ‘˜motoring journalist’ and have now done a dozen or more radio spots a year and even some BBC News on TV for years now. It started way back when Nigel Ambrose, then editor of Max Power, got head hunted to edit Maxim, a huge geezers’ title, and fancied me as his ‘˜agony barman’. Turns out I can do a lesser version of my mum’s job. Who knew? Anyway, I did my best but blokes are reluctant to unload to blokes and the column didn’t get any letters. When they wanted me to make them up, they broke one of a well-known agony aunt’s golden misconceptual rules; ‘There are more than enough problems in the world, darling, than we should have to make them up!’ and indeed would get pretty shirty if any fool ever suggested her problem page ever had any ‘˜invented’ letters on it.
But there I was, in the inside covers of this huge magazine and got found by a BBC TV researcher, for Nigel happily knew to give her my number. I was called and found to be worthy and got all the way to Nottingham to do a bear pit debate thing with Nicky Campbell, about girls with big curves. After three goes and a bit of a networky thing, Nicky told me he was off to the Beeb and that he knew I ‘˜did motoring as well’ and said he would tell his researcher who was coming with him. I thought little else of it.
Yet a phone call came through one day and yes, they wanted me at TV centre for breakfast. I was, as described, thrilled and can tell you that getting a microphone up your shirt for a LIVE breakfast TV moment, reaches into your abdomen, finds your adrenal glands and frankly makes them spunk their load right into your bloodstream. Then, the snappy sofa bound TV Household Name presenter turns to you and says, ‘So, Adam Rayner, what do you think?’ I admit it is one effing hell of a rush. No rehearsals, live, literally millions watching. Don’t dwell, just speak, Fatboy.
And there are levels of doing it. Top end is going to Media City in Salford and staying overnight to do a crack of dawn item. Next is the London studios of Radio 2 in Weston House, where I failed so badly at acting cool when bloody Kylie Minogue appears, singing happily out loud, into the waiting area. I nearly died and went very pink. FAIL. And they even pay you for them. Not a lot but it is the principle. Local radio, however, does, I am certain get you an entry into the magical record of all contributors and how they last did, that I am convinced every producer can see across the whole BBC output of TV and radio at a whim. But no money. Yet I love it and do it all. I an even known as a ‘˜Friend of the Show’ on one BBC Three Counties drive show, which is nice.
But I admit that paid work comes first as I am a hustling jobbing media whore. And I was out this weekend on an exploring mission for the Anglers Mail. Having filed under, ‘˜inevitable’ I admit I had even forgotten that I was hoping to pull over to talk about Sat Nav having got to 25 years old, on BBC Tees at seven thirty in the morning. I was well up the M25 and in a 50mph average zone there WAS no stopping. While the damn mobile phone service gave me complete drop-out at one point, the rest, was I gather serenaded by the bleeps of the Road Angel Gem and the Traffic Master Smart Nav system in the background, along with my slightly distrait sound, as of course, I was driving FIRST, ‘doing being talking’ on the bloody wireless, second.
Well, I thought it was cool and gave them some hairy old anecdotes to broadcast and even sent them this picture from our recent break. It was to prove prophetic, as we got stuck behind a campervan later that holiday, trying to get up the twisty steep madness of a road climbing over a granite batholith.
And I even mentioned Galileo, the European GPS system being launched that will make the USA one look blunt of resolution. Then yesterday read that the first two satellites we launched.. are in the wrong orbit.
So don’t be a slave to the sat nav if you know better about the traffic and dare to go your own way. (Where’s that damn Fleetwood Mac album?)
The warmth has gone and it’s pissing with rain in Blighty, so reel up the glass and enjoy your tunes
Adam Rayner On Line Editor