JZ's Diary
Head of 大象传媒 Radio Scotland, Jeff Zycinski, with a sneak preview of programme plans and a behind-the-scenes glimpse of his life at the helm.
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Inverness Ghost Seeks New Home
I've been sitting listening to Tom Morton rubbish the whole idea of ghosts and goblins. There was similar scepticism from Gary Robertson on Good Morning Scotland this morning. With this kind of hard-nosed broadcasting pouring across the airwaves, what chance is there for any of us to get in to the Halloween spirt?
At home, our front room has been decorated in a variety of black & orange banners, battery-powered pumpkins and fake cobwebs with suitably scary, hairy spiders. I even found one of those under my pillow last night. Once they had peeled me off the ceiling I was fine.
But these are bad times for ghosts. Here at the 大象传媒 in Inverness we're just about to demolish a back stairwell which has long been home to a famous phantom who is said to annoy newsroom staff when they are working late. A few years ago a psychic investigator was brought in to check things out. As I recall, she confirmed that a certain part of the stairwell was "very cold" and that the phantom was that of a woman who had experienced some kind of emotional trauma.
Perhaps she had tried the 大象传媒 coffee.
Well every old 大象传媒 building seems to have its own ghost. They tend to materialise in the run-up to Christmas when news is a bit thin on the ground, which is helpful. I'm going back to Glasgow soon to record a programme about the history of the 大象传媒 building in Queen Margaret Drive. I wrote some months ago about the ghost that is supposed to haunt the basement under my old office.
A listener asked me recently what had become of that particular spook.Who knows? She never phones, she never writes....
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White (And Red And Green) Van Man
An ice-cream van parked outside our house this afternoon and its chimes sent the Zedettes into the kind of frenzy you usually see on those Channel Five documentaries about dysfunctional families. They flew from the house clutching their pocket-money and returned a few minutes later with small paper bags bulging with about a dozen dayglow, sugary horrors.
Of course that was my cue to make all sorts of dire predictions a future life of dental pain and obesity, but I let them off with one of those Fatherly head-shaking looks intended to convey weary disappointment while still alllowing them enough personal responsibility to make their own choices. On relfection, it probably came off as indigestion.
Yet I have a nostalgic affection for ice-cream vans. They remind me of my own childhood in Easterhouse. Glasgow's city planners had neglected to build things like shops and workplaces and so a small fleet of those mobile sweet-shops serviced a population the size of Perth. I can still remember the names of those vans and the differences between them. Bert's Van was a long blue monster about the size of a small bus. You stepped up into the back of it and were served at an enclosed counter. Bert sold milk, bread, tea and all the boring groceries your Mother thought provided more nourishment than you own preference of smokey bacon crisps.
There was also a small fish van that was parked permanently a few steets away. It sold white fillets a luminous yellow breadcrumbs to fry them them in. Then there was the Askit van, so-called because there was a logo for those famous headache powders on the side. It sold cream cakes and applie pie.
As children, however, we lived for the half-hourly evening visits of three different ice-cream vans. There was Tommy (a bluey-green van) that was always stocked with the latest TV-advertised sweeties. Who now remembers Stroodles - tiny pieces of chocolate-covered apple in a huge paper bag shaped like an apple?
Tommy stocked them, alongside Aztec bars and Chelsea Whoppers.The red van was owned by the Marchetti Bros. and was the only van that stocked Garvie's soft drinks. The third van looked exactly like the Marchetti's van except it was white, so we called it The White Marchetti. It sold Solripe drinks.
This was important information when you were a child because you had to know which van would refund the sixpence deposit on your bottles. Too many times I watched a tiny boy struggling to the van with a carrier bag full of clinking empties only to be told "sorry son...we don't take them." It was heartbreaking.
So fast forward to the present day and I'm living in an estate perched high on the outskirts of Inverness. The nearest shop is over a mile away and so the ice-cream van has a captive market.
I'd write more, but can't do that and hold a double-nougat at the same time.
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Sean Connery Exposed
I was in Edinburgh yesterday for a meeting between 大象传媒 Radio Scotland programme makers and delegates suggested by the Scottish Arts Council. This was a follow-up to the speed-dating session we'd organised in Glasgow earlier this year.
Morag Arnott from the SAC had arranged a great venue for the meeting: the Royal Scottish Academy on Princes Street. We talked through the areas where we'd made progress, how we could improve collaboration between 大象传媒 Scotland and the wider arts community and even talked through some specific ideas for the future.
I have to say, though, that my attention was distracted by a portrait of Sean Connery that was hanging on the wall straight ahead of me. It had been painted in 1952s when Sean had posed as a life-model for students at the Edinburgh College of Art.
Believe me, it's hard to concentrate with a near-naked Jame Bond looming over you. I was shaken, not stirred.
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Strangers On A Train
We heard a rattle against the windows of the train. It was like hail, but then came a churning, grinding sound as tree branches were being pulled under the carriage. That's when the engine stopped and, twenty minutes later, the lights went off and so did the heating. I phoned the 大象传媒 newsroom in Inverness and was asked to record my description of the scene. When I'd finished some of the other passengers pointed out that I'd missed a few details. Eveyone's a critic these days.
This was somewhere in that wilderness between Carrbridge and Inverness . Apparently the branches has severed some kind of pipe or cable under the train and the driver couldn't restart the engine. We sat in the darkness for almost two hours and as the tempearture fell people began to pull extra clothes from their suitcases. The supply of free tea and coffee from the catering trolley ran out quickly and the steward busied himself by counting the passengers and finding out who would need taxis because of missed connections in Inverness. In the darkness a woman raided his abandoned trolley and made off with some beers.
I made a loud comment about how quickly the niceties of civil society can break down in an emergency. If the looting had started already, how long before we began to eat each other?To prevent cannibalism, I shared out my packet of fruit gums and joined in a lively discussion about the mechanics of train toilets. Passengers were using the illuminated screens of their mobile phones to light their way to the loo. One couple produced a candle. It all created an eerie atmosphere. All we needed was someone to start telling ghost stories.
Then the rescue train arrived an towed us, slowly, to Inverness. I'd set off from Edinburgh at half past three and it was now after ten o'clock. It was the end of the line for me, but I was lucky. Others had said they were trying to go further north. They may still be trying.
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That Figures
A day of back-to-back meetings in Glasgow which culminated with that anxious moment at half past five in which I'm sent the latest Rajar for 大象传媒 Radio Scotland.
Like every other radio station in Britain we're not allowed to reveal these figures until seven o'clock the following morning so that's about all I can say at the moment.
We get this report four times a year and it's a bit like getting a statistical snapshot of what the audience was doing three months ago. That forces you to remember what was happening during the long, hot Scottish summer. Does warm weather mean that people listen to more radio... or less? You can drive yourself mad trying to second guess this kind of thing.
Luckily I managed to escape from it all when our sports presenter Annie McGuire knocked on my office door and invited me to a bar across the road for a glass of wine. We were deep in conversation about the future of Scottish football when a man slapped a brochure on our table and tried to persuade me to join some kind of fantasy car club which offered the chance to drive any one of fifteen luxury cars.
"拢2000 pounds a year, " the man explained, "plus Vat of course."
I immeditately rushed to the toilet and checked the mirror to ensure that my head did not button up at the back.
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Planes, Trains, Chefs and Politicians.
It's funny how your brain solves problems for you when you're asleep. I woke up at five o'clock this morning and immediately realised it was a bad idea to drive to Inverness airport. Why? Because I'll be returning to Inverness on Thursday by train from Edinburgh and would then have had to hike out to the airport to collect my car. My brain worked that out during the night and sent me a sort of cerebral text message as soon as I opened my eyes.
I got a taxi to the airport, plane to Gatwick, transit thingy to the train station, Gatwick Express to Victoria, tube to Notting Hill Gate and then another to White City. I arrived at half past ten - or actually a few minutes late. It would all have gone like clockwork had there not been delays on the tube because of a "passenger incident". This, I'm led to believe, is a euphemism for someone throwing themselves on the line. It puts things into perspective.
I was at the 大象传媒 Media Centre in London for my regular meeting with my colleagues from England, Wales and Northern Ireland. I tend to treat these meetings as a group therapy session. I share my problems and frustrations and everyone chips in with possible solutions. Of course when they try the same thing on me I fire up my laptop and have a quick game of solitaire. No, only joking. I really do care about others.
The meeting ended at three o'clock and my counterpart in Belfast, , kindly suggested I could share the cab she and her colleagues had booked to take them to Paddington station. Then she realised there wasn't enough room in the car. I believe this was a reference to my weight so I sulked off to the tube station, changed at Notting Hill Gate, caught the Heathrow Express in time to make the half past five flight to Glasgow.
There was the usual queue at the airport security desk as we all took off our jackets and shoes . A young Asian girl was being led back through the metal detector because she'd been caught in possesion of a bottle of hand lotion. Then, as I turned round, I caught sight of celebrity chef with his trademark beard and lumberjack's shirt. I was pleased to see there was no favouritsim shown to celebrities and that he, too, was having his shoes zapped by x-rays. Suede shoes, I might add.
Finally got to Glasgow airport about half past seven tonight and just because I didn't want this magical journey to end, I boarded the shuttle bus into Glasgow city centre and then caught the tube at Queen Street. And there, just at the turnstiles was wearing a very nice suit and deep in conversation with a friend.
I was going to hide round the corner and tape what he was saying, but then I got another text message from my brain telling me he might not see the funny side.
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Joan Alone
Freelance journalist Joan McFadden came to see me today. She recently presented The Blusher's Guide to Sex and we met to talk about a follow-up series. What other topics required a "blusher's guide"? God, perhaps?
Joan has a great knack of asking the kind of questions that the rest of us might shy away from for fear of being punched in the mouth. Somehow her natural curiosity seems to unlock all kinds of psychological doors. People tell her all sorts of things. You spend five minutes in her company and then realise you've revealed your childhood fears, your adult anxieties and your PIN number for the bank.
So we got to wondering if religion would be a suitable topic for her next series. Many of us seem afraid to ask questions about other people's beliefs in case we cause offence. Yet the time has never been better for us to learn more.
Joan also suggested that obesity was another issue worth tackling. She felt that not enough of us take responsibilty for our own poor diets or those of our children. She came out with this theory over lunch, just after she'd demolished three scoops of ice cream and I was trying to sneak a huge chunk of tablet from her side plate without her noticing.
I was going to argue with her suggestion, but that's a difficult thing to do when your mouth is full.
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I Almost Lost My Bottle
We had our bags searched on the way into the Caley match this afternoon there was a bit of a fuss about the little plastic bottles of fruit juice that we'd brought for the Zedettes. We had to pour the contents into paper cups before we could go through the turnstiles.
I felt like a stronger drink as we got into the second half of the game and Inverness Caledonian Thistle were two-down to Falkirk. But then they staged the most remarkable comeback and ended up winning the game by three goals to two. We were all hoarse with cheering by the time we got into the car and listened to Jim Spence give the match report on Sportsound. He sounded as surprised by the final result as we were.
I was also surprised that there wasn't a bigger turnout of home suporters. Inverness are on good form at the moment, they beat Rangers last week and the weather is fairly good. The club work so hard to create a family-friendly atmosphere at the games, you wonder why there are still so many empty seats.
Of course, when you see the coaches heading down the A9 full of Rangers and Celtic fans, you begin to understand.
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A Hitman For The Gaelic Mafia
Out on to the rain-soaked streets of Edinburgh this afternoon, squelching towards a restaurant on Jeffrey Street for a lunch with Magnus Linklater. He鈥檚 writing for this week鈥檚 edition of Scotland on Sunday and had contacted the 大象传媒 Scotland press office saying he wanted to ask me about 大象传媒 Radio Scotland鈥檚 market position, the commissioning process and 鈥渄umbing down鈥. Magnus has been critical of the station in the past, but having never yet refused a request for an interview, I agreed to meet him. I felt like a condemned man who decides to have his final meal with his executioner.
As it happens, Magnus is one of Penny Junor's guests in our series on former newspaper editors, and, truth be told, I would much rather have spent the time talking to him about his own career in journalism. He did, in fact, share a few funny stories about his experiences at the Sunday Times and his editorship of The Scotsman. I could have listened to this all afternoon, but then he produced his little tape recorder and started quizzing me about radio.
In these situations you quickly begin to be bored with the sound of your own voice and really have no idea if what you are saying is making any sense. He asked me about my plans for radio drama, about the amount of football on the station, my views on phone-in programmes, the "over-chirpy" nature of our presenters and why I had recently asked listeners to give me their views on our programming. I was only taken aback when he asked me if I was part of the 大象传媒鈥檚 鈥淕aelic Mafia鈥 . I tried to laugh this off by saying I was a hitman for the Gaels but then I realised he was serious. I had to 'fess up that I spoke no Gaelic at all and, indeed, was planning to improve my Polish. When I later revealed that I was the youngest of seven sons he gave a knowing look and said that explained everything. Of course.
After an hour or so he switched off his machine, put away his notebook and paid the bill. I asked him if I should avoid reading Scotland on Sunday this week and he made reassuring noises while saying 鈥渨ell it will be a critical piece.鈥
That鈥檚 good to know! I think I'll just buy the Sunday Post this weekend. I only hope Oor Wullie hasn't got some kind of grudge against me.
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...And With The Scars To Prove It
I'm back from a week's leave which included a fight with a four-seater sofa. I came off rather badly, despite being armed with a Stanley knife, electric saw and a hammer.
I had to remove the sofa from the house we're just about to sell in Glasgow. When we bought it ten years ago we discovered that it wouldn't fit through the front door and we'd had to take a window out to get it into the house. This time I decided to save the cost of a glazier and simply saw the sofa in half and man-handle the pieces out the door. That was easier said that done. I started at 6pm and by midnight I was still wrestling with a huge hunk of wood and foam rubber and trying to avoid dozens of nails and open staples that were sticking out of it. That's when the sofa decided to fight back. It lunged at me and two fang-like nails went straight into my chin. It was like something from a novel.
Anyway, I share this tale of everyday life because, as you may have heard on Good Morning Scotland today, it's and we're all being encouraged to go online and record details of our daily routines so that future generations can laugh at us. Fisticuffs with furniture. How primitive!
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The House That Jack Built
I was walking through the car park of Great Glen House at nine o'clock this morning when a car slowed down beside me and a man with a beard poked his head through the window and made serious accusations about my reputation.
"So you must now be one of the great and the good of Inverness," said the man who, it turned out was our news reporter Iain MacDonald. He'd just finished a live report for Good Morning Scotland about the opening of the new Headquarters of . Relocating the agency from Edinburgh to Inverness has been a in these parts and the cost of the move has attracted criticism.Today I was among over a hundred people in suits who'd been invited to watch First Minister Jack McConnell perform the opening ceremony. In his speech he touched on the personal issues faced by memebers of staff who'd had to decide whether or not to move their families to the north of Scotland. He also said that locating public organisations in places like Inverness gave school-leavers more job opportunities and meant they wouldn't have to head south to establish a career.
The building itself is an impressive structure with commanding views over the city and, apparently, had been built with "sustainable" matetials and designed to be energy-efficient. It also has one of the biggest bike-sheds I've ever seen. A local schoolgirl presented the First Minister with a seedling pine tree to take back to Edinburgh. This was meant to symbolise the work of SNH in maintaining Scotland's natural resources in rural areas and allowing them to flourish in the central belt of Scotland too.
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The Hole Truth
Here at 大象传媒 Radio Scotland's Inverness H.Q. we're preparing ourselves for several months of disruption. The refurbishment of the building is due to begin next month and, if all goes to plan, we'll be living in a small temporary office block that will be built on the car park.
Today, some men in hard hats arrived to drill a number of holes around the building and check that the ground wont open up and swallow us when we move into our new home next summer.
Of course the rig they set up looked very much like they were drilling for oil. I think that was only mentioned to them about twenty times today, but to give credit where it's due, they still managed a weak smile when I made the same joke about five o'clock tonight.
Sorry guys.
- Jeff Zycinski, Head of Radio at 大象传媒 Scotland, on the highs and lows of his work/life balancing act.
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