Radio Friendly Unit Shifter

Tuesday just gone was my second assault on the airwaves. It went well.

Things are getting more and more hands-on and my nervous jabbering is beginning to be mistaken for a growing competence that would lend itself to its own show. The persons in charge want to push out new programming and they also want to start having pre-recorded weekend shows rather than just an automatic playlist (there’s no security then so unfortunately we can’t do live broadcasts.) Continue reading “Radio Friendly Unit Shifter” →

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TV Review: Hillsborough Disaster Debate

Inside Out, North West. BBC One, 19.30 Mon, 17 Oct 2011

 

There are a few news stories that I remember from my early childhood, events so huge that despite barely comprehending them I couldn’t fail to be moved by the public outcry.

There were the strikes and riots synonymous with Thatcher’s Britain, together with atrocities dealt out by murderous swine both foreign and domestic; the effects of these still resonate and define policy today.

I didn’t know a thing about the game itself, but the Hillsborough disaster of 15th April 1989 that resulted in 96 Liverpool F.C. fans being crushed to death and some 766 more being injured created such a furore of attention that it would have been impossible to not get swept away by the anger and frustration at both the failings of the Police, and the deception of the media. Continue reading “TV Review: Hillsborough Disaster Debate” →

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Notes From a Bar-Crawl

The following notes from the pub are a waste of my time and yours. Consider yourself warned.

If you think it’s a rhetorical question it isn’t, and vice versa; if you find it offensive, it’s meant as a joke; if it makes you go all tingly down below in your sexy parts then I have pornographic movies in my apartment, and lubricants, and amyl nitrite.

A Drunken Afternoon in Middlesbrough
A Drunken Afternoon in Middlesbrough

Continue reading “Notes From a Bar-Crawl” →

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Headline for a Piece About Blog Entries

There would be words here, the words would tell you things, there would also be links. That one takes you to tside.co.uk which is where the proper-serious-correct-and-checked-by-a-teacher-so-it’s-not-shit-and-libellous-like-most-of-the-stuff-on-here will, in future, be found.

Me with my shirt off, around the time you were born.

Any of the views expressed on this blog are poorly constructed and offensive to both creed and intellect; they do not, nor will they ever, reflect those of Teesside University. Continue reading “Headline for a Piece About Blog Entries” →

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Radio Ga Ga

I got to the Click station early and after babbling my usual brand of confused and terrified explanations I was shown to the studio where a broadcast was in full swing. Two girls were being shown the ropes by a chap I took to be a Professional but they were giving it such gusto that I was unsure if they actually were noobs like me. They finished off their set and one of them spoke to me; she was cute as hell. Concentrate, Mr Parlett.

Enter Ben ‘The Redwood’ Harker, Producer/Presenter of the 4-7 slot and all-round nice bloke. He talked me through what we were up to and sent me to fix a couple of audio clips in the editing room. I didn’t break anything so was quite pleased about that. Continue reading “Radio Ga Ga” →

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Still Life Show and Tell.

I should be reading the 12th chapter of the phenomenal page-turner Essential Public Affairs for Journalists, or actively seeking to contain my growing impression as an agoraphobic misanthrope, or working on the news-writing exercise, or doing some laundry, or perhaps even working out as I listen to current affairs via iPlayer; but no, I feel the need for another extraneous ramble.

So that stuff there, well, there’s a Transformer on a keyring that has the key to the windows and a bin key. The waiter’s friend has now been used to open the wine. Continue reading “Still Life Show and Tell.” →

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Living Tasted Better Than Healthy Felt

I’m pretty sure the people I live with think I’m a bit of a freak. Notwithstanding my forgotten but undoubtedly questionable conduct when drunk, I have shown to have in my possession an amount of kitchen equipment that would seem to rival all but the most thorough of small rural restaurants; and yet I haven’t cooked once.

I’ve been here nine days or so yet I haven’t cooked once. There’s a reason why – a mighty, engorged, sweating mass ten inches above where I would want adjectives like that used. Yep, I’m a fat bastard. A condition I wouldn’t say has exactly crept up on me but nor have I attempted any form of escape. I’m one of those guys where the fat sits hard on the belly and the arse, if I was a dead president’s head in a jar, 1000 years from now, I reckon I’d get on alright with the ladies. Nervous twitch n’all. Continue reading “Living Tasted Better Than Healthy Felt” →

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