Good Morning Nantwich: Adventures in Breakfast Radio
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Phill Jupitus. Good Morning Nantwich: Adventures in Breakfast Radio
Good Morning Nantwich. Adventures in Breaklast Radio. Phill Jupitus
Table of Contents
Foreword by Lauren Laverne
Introduction The Life Pursuit
Chapter 1 Workers’ Playtime
Workers’ Playlist
Chapter 2 The Boy in the Corner
Corner Sounds
Chapter 3 The Golden Age of Wireless
Bournemouth Mix
Chapter 4 London Calling
OMG GLR
Chapter 5 Employment
Monkey Music
Chapter 6 Equally Cursed and Blessed
Wilding’s Things
Chapter 7 Now We Are Six
Up Late
Chapter 8 Waiting
On the Blocks
Chapter 9 We’re Not Happy Till You’re Not Happy
Anger Mismanagement
Chapter 10 New Morning
Six in the City
Chapter 11 What Once Were Vices Now Are Habits
Tasty Treats
Chapter 12 Pleased to Meet You
RB Shot JR
Chapter 13 Impossible Broadcasting
Roadkillers
Chapter 14 Odds and Sods
Nantwich Skyline
Chapter 15 Closing Time
Dartford Bridge Burners
Epilogue. Maintaining Radio Silence
Appendix. Do It Yourself
The Good Morning Nantwich Guide to Making Your Own Breakfast Radio Show
Acknowledgements
Copyright
About the Publisher
Отрывок из книги
Cover Page
Title Page
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A large and lightly perspiring man sat on the opposite side of the counter in the standard security guard uniform of white shirt with epaulettes and dark blue tie. We nervously gave our names and our reason for being there, just in case the names alone weren’t enough. He jotted them down in a book and handed us each a yellow sticker stamped with the day’s date and the familiar BBC logo. He barely looked at us while picking up a telephone and mumbling into it before pointing in the direction of a nearby cheap sofa. ‘They’ll be down for you in a minute. Take a seat please…’
The reception area could best be described as ‘utilitarian’. I felt like a character marooned in some backwater of the Eastern Bloc in a Cold War spy novel. This thought had me muttering ‘Yes we have no bananas’ under my breath in Russian. You couldn’t fault my tradecraft. Presenters of the day grinned forlornly from framed photos on walls, which clearly looked embarrassed about having to display them, and by the doors a rack groaned with cheesy postcards of the same faces and a few others. I wandered over and took out a John Peel postcard for myself, simply because he looked so deliciously uncomfortable at having his picture taken. Dave Lee Travis, on the other hand, appeared to be over the moon. He had opted for ‘wacky’ from his extensive catalogue of looks.
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