An Istanbul tram
MONDAY 11 FEBRUARY
Two of my favourite things in one picture - Istanbul and a tram. Awesome.
THE TRUTH ABOUT THE BBC: II
Many of you have been understandably intrigued by the coy insights I let slip recently about the arcane and almost masonic rituals observed - usually on a daily basis - by the staff here at BBC Radio Newcastle, high or low. Unfortunately, intrigue tipped over into attempted felony eleven days ago. On that fateful early morning, Mike Parr - upon stepping out of his chauffeur-driven Lexus (a luxury he has kindly agreed to share with Colin Briggs because of BBC cutbacks) - was confronted by Cedric the Security Man writhing in terrible and obvious pain but victoriously clutching Lord Reith’s lower dentures to his bosom. Apparently, an attempt had been made to purloin the sacred relic by force and it was only Cedric’s previous experience as Carol Malia’s Personal Bouncer that prevented the success of the escapade. The would-be thieves made off across Nun’s Moor, Ena the Cleaner in hot pursuit brandishing her sump-wet Addis as if her life depended on it - which, indeed, it often has in the past.
Needless to say, the first thing Mike Parr did when he saw what had happened that morning was to instruct Grope, his butler (who travels with him everywhere), to call the Station Manager on his mobile and complain that the Red Carpet had not been laid down. This gave Cedric and Ena time to recover their composure and then give Mike the deference to which he is undoubtedly due.
As a result of the ensuing bruhaha, and having consulted with my colleagues about the wisdom or otherwise of pulling the Pink Palace curtains any further back, I have decided that, regretfully and for the moment at least, further revelations would be unwise and may even precipitate legal action of one form or another. My lawyers - recommended to me by the National Avarice Helpline - are currently in discussions with Messrs Dogposture and Bland (who represent the interests of the BBC) about the possibility of further light being shed on the internal workings of this august institution - purely, of course, in the public interest.
So....if you REALLY want to know what Simon Hoban wears under his David Beckham sarong, whether Paddy MacDee talks like that off-air or why there’s ALWAYS a box of lavender-scented tissues on Alfie Joey’s desk.......watch this space!
BOB’S YER UNCLE, FANNY’S YER AUNT
The fifth question in this nine-part progressive anagram is......which US State is Frankfort the capital of?
CONTACT ME
Post comments on this blog or contact me in any one (or more) of these ways....
ian.robinson@bbc.co.uk
ianstuartrobinson@googlemail.com
text 07786 200954 (while the programme is on-air)
call (between about 0545 and 0630 Monday to Friday) 0191 232 6565
Ian Robinson, The Nightshift, BBC Radio Newcastle, Spital Tongues, Newcastle-upon-Tyne NE99 1RN
NOTE
Please bear in mind that the views expressed in this blog are my own and NOT the views of the BBC.
Two of my favourite things in one picture - Istanbul and a tram. Awesome.
THE TRUTH ABOUT THE BBC: II
Many of you have been understandably intrigued by the coy insights I let slip recently about the arcane and almost masonic rituals observed - usually on a daily basis - by the staff here at BBC Radio Newcastle, high or low. Unfortunately, intrigue tipped over into attempted felony eleven days ago. On that fateful early morning, Mike Parr - upon stepping out of his chauffeur-driven Lexus (a luxury he has kindly agreed to share with Colin Briggs because of BBC cutbacks) - was confronted by Cedric the Security Man writhing in terrible and obvious pain but victoriously clutching Lord Reith’s lower dentures to his bosom. Apparently, an attempt had been made to purloin the sacred relic by force and it was only Cedric’s previous experience as Carol Malia’s Personal Bouncer that prevented the success of the escapade. The would-be thieves made off across Nun’s Moor, Ena the Cleaner in hot pursuit brandishing her sump-wet Addis as if her life depended on it - which, indeed, it often has in the past.
Needless to say, the first thing Mike Parr did when he saw what had happened that morning was to instruct Grope, his butler (who travels with him everywhere), to call the Station Manager on his mobile and complain that the Red Carpet had not been laid down. This gave Cedric and Ena time to recover their composure and then give Mike the deference to which he is undoubtedly due.
As a result of the ensuing bruhaha, and having consulted with my colleagues about the wisdom or otherwise of pulling the Pink Palace curtains any further back, I have decided that, regretfully and for the moment at least, further revelations would be unwise and may even precipitate legal action of one form or another. My lawyers - recommended to me by the National Avarice Helpline - are currently in discussions with Messrs Dogposture and Bland (who represent the interests of the BBC) about the possibility of further light being shed on the internal workings of this august institution - purely, of course, in the public interest.
So....if you REALLY want to know what Simon Hoban wears under his David Beckham sarong, whether Paddy MacDee talks like that off-air or why there’s ALWAYS a box of lavender-scented tissues on Alfie Joey’s desk.......watch this space!
BOB’S YER UNCLE, FANNY’S YER AUNT
The fifth question in this nine-part progressive anagram is......which US State is Frankfort the capital of?
CONTACT ME
Post comments on this blog or contact me in any one (or more) of these ways....
ian.robinson@bbc.co.uk
ianstuartrobinson@googlemail.com
text 07786 200954 (while the programme is on-air)
call (between about 0545 and 0630 Monday to Friday) 0191 232 6565
Ian Robinson, The Nightshift, BBC Radio Newcastle, Spital Tongues, Newcastle-upon-Tyne NE99 1RN
NOTE
Please bear in mind that the views expressed in this blog are my own and NOT the views of the BBC.
2 comments:
hi ian,it,s i.35am im a nighthawk truckshunter.
I vote for st cuthbert or st aiden in durham market.
bee dogs.? all i have to say is r.s.p.c.a. some ones sure to complain.
Here lies the body of benjamin barrat, stabbed in the neck with a rusty carrot...gran taught me that,
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