Radio
Too old, too posh
Michael Vestey
Frank Muir is to Radio Four what a decibel is to sound. His comedy writing and performing for the network and its prede- cessors goes back half a century. 'If Frank Muir isn't suitable for Radio Four,' said his literary agent, 'I can't think who is.' She'd been told his autobiography A Kentish Lad had been rejected for serialisation by Radio Four's controller James Boyle because it was too 'literary'.
Boyle is conducting a review of all Radio Four programmes to see how they can be improved in his eyes — or ears — and to weed out those that have outlived their time. Does this mean that anything slightly literary, which applies to many books seri- alised on the network, has had it in future? I don't think so because, as it happens, the real reason Muir has been dropped is his age, he's 77, and his posh voice.
My BBC mole, who came in so useful at Christmas, has re-emerged after a tense silence of some months, fearful of expo- sure, with some useful intelligence of recent top-level meetings at Broadcasting House. He reveals the existence of two highly secret committees that meet regular- ly to advise controllers on incorrect broad- casting, everything from unsuitable contributors to deviationist forms of speech. The committees are called, respec- tively, the Culling of Old Gits, COG; and EPV, Eradication of the Posh Voice.
Interestingly, my mole notes, COG and EPV held a joint meeting, such was the urgency of the situation: Frank Muir was to have his memoirs serialised and it was felt that the controller should be aware of this. Not only was it an outrage that someone of his age should be allowed on the radio but his voice was sure to offend many listeners. Head of COG agreed but he was privately concerned at the size of the meeting: 20 members, appropriately dressed in Armani T-shirts and trainers, were present and everyone seemed to have a different view of what constituted `old'.
The Chief Assistant to the Deputy Head of COG, CADHCOG, thought anyone over 50 was definitely ready for the embalming fluid, but HCOG had to remind him sharply that the Director-General him- self was 55, at least. There were gasps of horror until HCOG quickly revised upwards to a threshold of 60. CADHCOG took a calming swig from this alcopop car- ton to steady his nerves, and couldn't imag- ine how anyone could be 60 and still moving his limbs, let alone speaking on the radio. Chief Assistant to Head of EPV, CAHEPV, wanted to know if politicians over 60 should be banned. He had recently received complaints from factory works in Sunderland, glued to Analysis on Radio Four as is their wont, that they had heard Lord Jenkins of Hillhead.
There were gasps of `Nah! Get real!' around the table; Roy Jenkins surely fell into both categories, old and posh; but CAHEPV continued, 'What was most wor- rying was how traumatised they were by hearing such a voice. Some had to receive counselling they were so spaced out that anyone could speak like that."Shame, grunge,' murmured the gathering. `Jesus!' shuddered the Head of Northern Region, EPV, HNREPV, `I hope they weren't lis- tening in Moss Side or Knowsley North, they dig Analysis.' It was generally agreed that an exception would have to be made for prehistoric but still living politicians as there were too many of them to cull but their appearances would be rationed.
Deputy Chief Assistant to Head of COG, Western Region, DCAHCOGWR, had some disturbing news of possible appear- ances later in the year of a writer called Anthony Powell who lived in Somerset, he believed. 'Didn't he write Come Dancing to the Time of Music?' someone known for his bookish tastes interjected. HCOG bright- ened, `Man, music, dance?"Nah, it's not quite like that,' replied DCAHCOGWR. `It's a sequence of novels. What really gets me is that television is to dramatise them and the old geezer might have to appear on Kaleidoscope or something to discuss them.' `How old is he, then?' In his nineties.' `Nineties!' roared the meeting. 'Oh God, he's in his nineties, he's in his nineties, Oh God, he's in his nineties . .' spread around the table like an operatic chorus. `And he's got a posh voice,' chimed HEPV.
This was almost too much for them and the alcopop cartons were quickly drained. `What shall we tell the controller?' they wailed. But then came some good news, from HCOG: `We will ban Powell, of course. But I have a solution: sex and foot- ball.' Wow!' exclaimed CAHCOG. `Yeah, there's a book called Fever Pitch by Nick Homby. We'll get that in the Late Book slot. They'll love it in Islington, too.'
`Great, man,' cried his boss, HCOG.
tell Jimmy baby, the controller.'
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