End Of The Road/September

Today was the day that everything has been leading up to.
I don't know where to begin.
I hadn't slept. Daph's words were ringing in my eyes. Her newly tinted reddish hair was a deliberate attempt to make me not fancy her.

I arrived early, but people were avoiding me.
The show was wooden. No, I mean extra wooden. Very difficult to tell on a blonde format if somebody on the show was off with you, because, of course, there is no warmth, emotion, humour or spark in the delivery, just sterility. It is designed to resist whim, mood, emotion. It is designed to create a machine that sounds the same every day, regardless of form or personnel. Hence the constant use of the word crew. Ship one in, ship one out. That's the point.

The chemistry that I talked about a few blogs ago had gone. The shagging the co-host scenario that I talked about before that was now well underway.
And I was soon to find out why.

Over at Vixen, who had been quiet for a few days, all hell was breaking loose on the air.
Su Zuki was waiting outside the courtroom, logoed up like nobody's business. All the sat-vans were there too, and she was going to make all their bulletins. This wasn't tacky Black Thunder shit. This was proper American stunt radio.

News 24, Sky News, GMTV Live....Su would be in her leathers, and her branded bike would rev behind every two-way, positioning Vixen as the coolest rockers on the plant, Blonde as the saddest paedos alive, and all the stiff suited court reporters as a bunch of old farts. She was all set to rock up court reporting, like you had never seen it before.

It reminded me of the 'Hello Mum' banners when Cheggars toured the country, though obvioulsy not as funny and a lot more aggressive. Plus she hadn't had a drink. Her job: just to be a nuisance and let everyone know what a paedophile Felix Fondles was, without being in contempt of court. All for ratings. Don't just kick them when they are down, bury them.

Harley and The Duke weren't even in the studio. Listen to this. They were going to get on their bikes for the show, and accompany the police escort carrying Felix Fondles across town.

Dick Stinger was in early, and I clocked it first: The email was entitled 'Staff Meeting 10am-All Must Attend.' He didn't give any further details. I assumed it was one of two things: Either company policy re the trial or Tracey the Fairweather MD was out.
I was only interested in the second.

Daph was saying as little as possible. Really functional. Clearly my prowess had left her speechless. This was the problem of shagging the co-host. And it would never go away. Not just in the here and now, but every time in the future that she would hear those tracks from the Blonde playlist, she would think of me on top of her in the Greek restaurant, popping her olive in my feta cheese.

Harley and The Duke were playing with fire. The police do not like anyone advertising that their most wanted were cruising through town, though realistically how could they stop two bikers following their vehicle?

Nobody from the station had seen Felix Fondles for weeks. The picture in the Gazette last night was a shadow of his former self. His 70s porn tache was gone and his toupee was forcibly removed.

Such is the nature of court in the UK that even if he were exonerated on every charge, people were still going to say that there was no smoke without fire and he would never work again, not least in a public job. Plus- loads of inconsequential details about him, his colleagues and Blonde would get dragged up from lovers to finances. There would only be a celebrity jungle to save him.

We had Sky news on the TV monitor so we could see when they were coming into view. They had to pass the radio station. Everything had to pass the radio station. That's why we bought the fucking building. It was a good idea to be so central, if you were good, but a shocker if your radio station was as poor as ours. Why remind those stuck in traffic, by being in their sight that this shit radio station was there to bore them senseless through the morning commute?

Stinger was typing away when I passed him on the way to the toilet as today's 840 funny was playing out. This was a funny clip that we played out everyday that we stole from the BBC comedy archives with scant regard for royalties or copyright. It was one of Bruce Mccunt's legendary ideas to make us look even less funny. I never understood this bit. It clearly had one message attached. I don't trust you to be funny, so let's ship it in.

We had run out of clips months ago, much like our enthusiasm. This was our daily toilet break moment. Every show has one. On the way back, Stinger saw me coming, and cranked up his false laugh as Basil insulted the Germans once again, and just as 'I mentioned it once but I think I got away with it' was coming round, Stinger winked at me, saying 'we'd sort the contract out after the show.'

Meanwhile Harley and The Duke were about a mile away but the traffic was slow. There had been nothing on the talkback all morning from Derek Featherstone, clearly with the cloud of being a witness at the trial hanging over him too, and to complete the picture of the united front I'd heard last night that Wayno Gonzales had fled back to Greece, ignoring his summons, his Revenue bill, and his total lack of talent.

It was time for our TV bit, previewing tonight's The Apprentice over that music-whatever it's called. They were going to making greetings cards tonight. Daph asked me on the air if I had any idea who would get fired. I said that you could never tell who would get dragged into the boardroom.

At 855, I logged onto digitalspy.

HumphreyL: Big news at Blonde today. Can't tell you yet.
Kevin G: You shit-stirrer. Put your money where your mouth is. Scott Mills for Radio 2 breakfast.
HumphreyL: Trust me weed-brain. I know something you don't.
RogerS: Whose your all-time dreem line-up?
Kenny E: Whose is spelt who's, and dream is spelt dream, you fader wanker.
Ray M: Why was my post deleted?
Humphrey L: My dream line up would definitely include those two in reception.

'104.2 Blonde FM with The Feeling. I thought it was over. Dick Stinger's next with the Rewind.'

Except he wasn't. Weekend Dan was lining up another Dick Stinger tape. Daph just disappeared.

From the boardroom I could see the two Vixen bikes and the four police outriders escorting the van carrying Felix Fondles and coming into view. To be honest, I didn't really know him, despite our years together on the station. Like most night guys, he lived in his own world, had long since ceased to attend anything at the station, communicated just about by email, and hid, with seemingly a tangled web of secrets, at the other end of the day. You would only know him by his rubbish in the bin, and his lingeringly vile aftershave outstaying its welcome on the headphones.

Then everything went up in a smoke.

God, I don't know in what order it all happened. Stinger and Mccunt marched into the boardroom. The office outside seemed devoid of people.
Police cars were wailing outside the station, the Rewind was on extra loud as Stinger wanked off to his own links again.

I remember hearing Mccunt say 'I believe that you took something that belonged to me,' and Stinger restraining him, shouting 'Not now Bruce. We've got to be professional about this.'

Outside ....skids. Then screeches, and a decibel busting smash.

Inside Stinger saying 'I promised that we would talk about your contract.'
Ambulances and fire engines were rushing to the scene. I couldn't concentrate on Stinger's death sentence.
He was loving it, leaving edited Sugar-like pauses.
People were screaming. It looked like half a dozen bikes and seven or eight cars.

'We are going to talk about your contract, Zak' Stinger was milking it in a way that told me it would be on Youtube later. Nobody in management acted in real-life like it were a gameshow.

The police van carrying Fondles was on its side.

'And we've come to the decison...'

There were bodies everywhere.

'That we are not going to renew your contract.'

Several were dead.

I was escorted from the premises via the back.
Everyone was looking at the carnage on the road.
I saw the footage later on the web, and under muffled dialogue, you could hear Stinger saying 'I thought that went rather well' with Bruce replying 'Fucking great mate. You are md material.'

The TV news wasn't confirming names of the casualties, and Vixen was playing back to back music. Very toned down.

Stinger it transpires, still went ahead with his staff meeting at 10am. Tracey wasn't there. It was a short meeting in which he reportedly only spoke these words:

'Zak De Luxe has left the company to pursue other interests. We wish him well in his new ventures and look forward to hearing the fruits of his labour soon.

In the meantime I am delighted to announce a format change, and our all-new breakfast show, launching tomorrow.

Please welcome Daph, Zoe T, Beth, and Amanda De Luxe plus producer extraordinaire whom you may only know as Weekend Dan. A big hand please for your new breakfast team, The Four Non Blondes..... '


MEMO TO BLOG FANS: To be continued.........