Hang The DJ

Years ago, Hospital Radio Swale were recruiting new DJ’S. I applied and was invited into the studio to “learn the ropes.”
“The ropes” included putting on headphones and cueing up easy-listening records, using faders on a small mixing desk without saying “Energise, Mr Scott” and playing the station identity cartridges in case anyone mistook me for Janice Long on Radio One.
After half hour’s tuition, the boss said: “Well, you ‘seem’ to know what you’re doing” – a phrase which has followed me around through various careers.
I’m pretty sure: “He seemed to know what he was doing” will be on my gravestone after I have died falling inside my wheelie bin.
I was given the Friday evening 8-10pm slot because everyone else had lives and were out partying.
It was based at the old Sheppey Hospital which only had a geriatric ward left and I’m guessing I was employed solely because they were short on sedatives to help the old folk sleep.
It was a great job because I was left totally unsupervised (never a good idea) and was able to script and host my own show – which included a Christmas Show in August.
Sometimes I would play a compilation album, head off to the staff canteen and come back and list the six songs that had played in my absence.
Every week I prepared a news quiz and every week nobody phoned into the studio to answer anything – maybe because 80% of my audience were partially deaf…?
Disheartened by this, on my final show I decided to ask simple questions like “What planet are we on?” and offered non-existent prizes like televisions and toasters and still nobody phoned in. If they had, I would have gone out and bought the prizes myself, in appreciation.
On reflection, maybe I should have stayed as talking to myself is what I do best but, at the time I left, “I seemed to know what I was doing.”



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