Radio Rocks

I’ve been invited onto BBC Radio York’s Morning Show next week to talk about my glorious (ahem, not at the moment because it’s twisted into bunches with the rubber bands I got from a bunch of daffodils) grey hair. I’m so low maintenance it amounts to no maintenance and hair dye is over for me. I don’t want to look like Morticia Adams and pay £80 a month at the hairdressers for the privilege.

I love doing radio. The studios are warm and comfy and you get to talk about yourself without interruption  and take occasional pauses to chat on the phone to listeners. It’s bliss. But now when I get booked for these radio shows I triple check that it is radio because I had a horrible experience a couple of months ago when I got into a car sent by the BBC to take me to a studio.  I thought I was going to be talking on BBC Radio London about parents who will step on one another’s heads to make sure their darlings get into the right schools and universities.

I had the subject right, but when the cab pulled up outside a different building to the one I had been to on several previous visits, I was confused. A producer was waiting to meet and greet and was clearly concerned when my first words were “Where am I?” He must have  thought he’d double booked for the early onset dementia piece later in the programme.

It was a TV studio. And the producer was clock conscious because we’d arrived late because of traffic. He bundled me  into the foyer, thrust his hand down my cleveage and up my top to mike me up, shoved me into a room and shouted “3,2,1 – ON AIR”.  I looked like the ‘before’ part of a makeover, and very, very startled. My  unwashed hair was   product free and I was wearing no make up unless you count sudocrem dabbed on my spots and aloe vera vaseline on my lips and eyelashes. I was exposed at tea time to BBC London Television news viewers au naturel.

 Be prepared is a motto which I should have borrowed from my son who was in the Beavers (baby scouts). I had been  caught out slobbing and should have been sentenced to a fortnight’s hard time in  Posh’s Clothes, Make-Up, High Heels and  Hair Bunker.

There was one night when  I wasn’t able to drop my son to his Beavers meeting,  so I called my husband’s school to remind him he’d agreed to do it instead. I  left a message with the secretary for him,. It was “Remember to come home early, it’s Beaver night”.   She announced it over the school tannoy system  and apparently years later the laugh lives on . That was one broadcast I’ll never live down.

8 comments to Radio Rocks

  • The ‘Beaver Night’ story is going to have me giggling for days.

  • Only you, Anna May. Only you!! Thanks for another laugh. You are keeping the good pheromones rolling around my otherwise fed-up-being-preggers body. Good woman!
    N x

  • Anna May

    Ah yes, you may laugh but can anyone explain what links a beaver ( the real thing with fur and beady eyes) with a vajayjay ?
    Anna May x

  • Serena

    loved the beaver story. Here in Bristol, there’s a local firm (plumbers, appropriately) called ‘Beaver Maintenance’ who offer a 24 hour service. So, ladies, if we’re having a bad beaver day we know who to call…Poor blokes in those Beaver Maintenance vans look totally mystified when gaggles of girls giggle at them at traffic lights. Anyway, I’ve got their business card on my fridge, just in case..

  • admin

    I’ve been having a lot of laugh out loud moments this morning at your comments.
    Hello Nuala, the hair link doesn’t work for me because nothing grows down there anymore in the dark shadow cast by my post baby jelly belly !
    Hi Serena so brilliant that the company are plumbers, hahahaha – is there a male equivalent, ie: an animal name for boys bits, I wonder ?

    Anna May x

  • Oh, GOd, there are too many pet names for the male bits, I fear, Anna May. The worst I ever heard was ‘pork dagger’. Eeeeew!

  • admin

    That makes me so happy to be a vegetarian

    Anna May x