​Unlike similar breakfast news shows on television, WT presenters turned up in those days many hours before transmission, working say from 19:30 at night until 07:30 the next morning.  We’d study our briefs, think of tricky questions, record interviews, write headlines and trails - take lunch at 2am - and then anchor and interview some more, live, for the remaining three or four hours.
​

Max is a fit man - he coached tennis, for goodness sake - and it’s for that reason that he’s alive today. 
​He really wanted to go back to anchoring The World Today.  Such is the pull of great programmes.  Fortunately his doctors forbade him, and I think he’d be dead otherwise.

Max told me his family doctor laid down some rules immediately after his emergency treatment.  His liver and kidneys had been compromised, I think, and so he had to decide to keep his diet as ‘regular’ as possible.  Not bland necessarily : just predictable.  For example he had to choose either to cut out alcohol altogether - or always to have a particular tipple every day.

Max chose a daily glass of red wine - doctor’s orders. 

​I’ll raise a glass to him, tonight.  And to Komla.  And to Mark.  And to Julian too.


Photos : BBC
Graphic : NHS

​If a nearby alien has been watching us across the millennia, and could see all the frequencies of the electromagnetic spectrum, this planet would very recently have burst into light - a fireworks display of wavelengths newly exploited by humankind.  

After all, we only began to understand that radio existed about 160 years ago - compared with this planet’s life so far of about five billion years!

Earth is just going to look more and more spectacular, as we use more and more of the Spectrum to do useful things like control robots on the factory floor, deliver movies to your phone in microseconds, envelop ourselves in Virtual Reality - and get your fridge to order more milk from the supermarket!…

​The list could be as big as our imagination.
​

​Those telecom companies have been spending lots of money on those parts of the Spectrum assigned to mobile phones and internet.  To make 5G happen they’ve been spending about $50 billion in Europe, and $120 billion in the US, to buy spectrum licences.  

It’s debatable whether mobile phone companies are making enough profit to justify that investment.  But they almost can’t help themselves.  If one company doesn’t buy up Spectrum at auction, their rival will.  And who knows : maybe VR, over a mobile network, will be a vast money-spinner in the next five years.  
​

​The series is a basic guide to something that’s mostly invisible, but more and more essential in our lives. 

​I help tell the story of how we exploited the electromagnetic spectrum in the first place, and how quickly personal commercial interests got in the way.  

But also how buying and selling Spectrum freed us from government sluggishness and led to the explosion in uses we have today, for increasingly reasonable prices.

​

​
​Jan was a prolific author and traveller - a pioneer in many ways.  Not least in having a gender-reassignment operation and transitioning from James to Jan - a long time before such things were part of any mainstream discussion, much less acceptance.

​​
​It’s not an authorised biography as we define them - a son of Jan is the literary executor of her estate, and says there’ll be an official book in due course.  It has been suggested that it will contain excerpts from Jan’s diaries.  Which would be news to many : it’s been thought that Jan didn’t keep diaries!  She probably didn’t waste writing-time and writing-material for a private diary.  For her journals - look to her books.​

​Paul has always admired Jan’s life and her writing.  But his book doesn’t flinch from telling uncomfortable truths about her.  Jan was single-minded.  Self-centred.  A precious quote from one of her sons is “I was introduced to Jan Morris, but I didn’t know her.”  Cold, eh?

​Paul remembers Elizabeth fondly too.  On his visits to their home in Llanystumdwy, North Wales, she made marvellous “bara brith” fruit loaf and Welsh Cakes for tea.  A kindly and welcoming woman.
​

​
​You can order Paul’s book here :   from the Publisher   |   from Amazon
​

Salman said there would be a fight ahead on this.  A law wouldn’t change the conservative (with a small ‘c’) habits of pubic servants overnight, he said.  Carl suggested that “letting in the light” should help governments avoid coming to egregious decisions, knowing that they might be exposed later.  “Help” them, that is, but not eliminate bad behaviour.

Over drinks, Salman relaxed into his preferred role : raconteur and philosopher.  He listened, and made us think and laugh.  Not least when he described his days in advertising, in Pakistan.
​

Of course the death threat came up in conversation.  I think he brought it up.  Perhaps we were too polite, or hoping not to be predictable by mentioning it.  Maybe he was being a showman, pleasing his crowd.

In the context of Freedom of Information he moved on to Freedom of Speech, saying “I have often considered whether it was, and is, freedom of speech to call for me to be murdered.  And I know there are laws against incitement to violence.  But I keep coming to the conclusion that people must have that right.  That freedom of speech means allowing someone to call for a man to be killed.”

I don’t know for certain whether his view varied later.  But on the surface at least this was a man who had made his peace with that idea, which he linked with his right to write what he wanted to, as well.

​

He’s safe... He lives in London with his Dad and Mum. But her family are still in Ukraine, and know that life could be short. Or could be lived long under a new dictatorship.

Almost all of Vlod’s immediate family were wiped out by the Nazis, and then the Soviets.
One of the BBC’s best studio managers, for decades he’s helped chronicle the lows of life under Soviet control, and then the hope that emerged since 1991 and the end of old-style Communism in his homeland.

Progress in Ukraine has been hampered by Moscow’s interference, and by the selfish conniving of home-grown oligarchs. But information is freer now. A large, able and enquiring middle class has grown. And their expectations are greater. My friend’s thesis is that this is what Putin fears from Ukraine : a progressive next-door neighbour. An example to his own subjects.
​

​The funds are being raised by the Association of Ukrainians in Great Britain, who are working with accredited charities in Ukraine to provide practical help. You could help buy woollen blankets, medical supplies, a month’s food for a family - even trauma counselling and children’s services.

There are other appeals - but it’s done us good, in my family, to take the advice of my old chum, and think of his folks back in Ukraine.
​
Vlod’s been busy this week, as you can see from the photos he’s sent me…
​

Here's a bit of fun for the holidays...  

​
​I still get a warm feeling getting through airport baggage reclaim and seeing someone with my name on a piece of card, waiting to whisk me off to the hotel.  Mostly it’s just a warm feeling of relief - someone’s turned up, and I don’t have to hustle for a taxi.  It’s nice when it happens.

And sometimes there’s a little warm laugh to be had too. 
​Keep an eye out for those chauffeurs' signs the next time you're able to travel - you might spot a treat.  


Here are my favourite three picks : in reverse order.
​
​

 

​I could have been talking to a young British, American or Aussie guy in the early 2000s, the things he said were so familiar to me : exactly the same aspirations - and frustrations.  Just a couple of years ago this is what David, a Chinese producer, said to me…

“My folks have bought a house in Hainan (the equivalent of Florida or Hawaii, I’d say) and the property value doubled inside a year!”  David was up to date on the per-square-metre real estate values across China and was breathless with incredulity.  “Ordinary South City* apartments are beyond me now - $2,400 a month”.

“My folks have done well, but so well that I don’t think I can ever catch up!”
David was then about 28 years of age.

​
As it stands, millennials (folks born between the mid-1980s and mid-1990s) in China are twice as likely as Britons or Americans to own their own property.  However, that’s a proportion likely to fall.

I think this is going to prove a big stumbling block for China’s newly announced policy of allowing parents to have three children per family.  Up from two.  And up from the One Child Policy which ended in 2016.

Even just marrying is an increasingly expensive business.  Chinese families often still pay dowries - payments from groom to bride to prove their suitability and in token of her financial independence after marrying. 

In Eric’s rural village, it had become customary to pay $12,000 to his sweetheart.  He was lucky.  In a neighbouring town the figure was $21,000.   There’s supply and demand as a factor here too : China has an average of 114 men vying for the attention of every 100 women.
​

​And you can’t walk along the Bund in Shanghai without bumping into photographers and film crews capturing the magic moment of matrimony - weeks before the event - accompanied by make-up artist and a lighting rig. 

​Watch out for the groom on the left in one of these snaps - he’s clearly had enough of his shoot outside the Chanel shop!  Take a closer look, and there's a third couple just along the pavement from him...

​Here’s a revealing quote seen on the social media service Weibo : “Don’t you know most young people already find it so exhausting to take care of themselves?”

​
* I'm not mentioning the home towns of David and Eric, one in the South West, and one in the North West, in order to avoid embarrassing them.

** University fees are about the European continental level - $700 a term.
​

​The experts came up with a simple model…  Devise a scale, 1-5, describing how significant a monument is.  Then multiply that by the footfall of visitors to the local area generally.  You end up with a figure which suggests which temples should be fought for, and which could, maybe, be flooded.  

​The conclusions of scientists are most of the time perfectly honest, but can have been established on less than solid ground at the outset... The result of a best guess.  An abundance of caution.  Or a philosophy or mindset.
​ 

And right now, of course, just when we would like science to be certain, we sometimes feel adrift, or even misled.  In essence, the difference between rival models for the growth of Covid-19 is one group playing it safe just a wee bit more than another group.  But the projections can end up vastly divergent.
​

​In an era when Big Data is promising to reveal so many secrets which will lead to breakthroughs in research, development, scholarship, production and profit, it would be worthwhile bearing in mind that a lot will still depend on human interpretation at the end point, and on what data you chose - right at the beginning.
​

​Chris was one of the BBC’s editors in charge of implementing something called “bimedialism” - reporters working for both TV and radio.  We were structurally separate in those days.  In fact, in Belfast I was working for Current Affairs, another unit.  And that word, bi-medialism, indicates another historical curiosity : no internet journalism so far!

At one press conference called by the European Commission, to boast about new farming subsidies for Northern Ireland,  I found myself there for our daily radio programmes.  A Radio bulletins reporter was there.  A TV reporter was there.  A Business correspondent was there.  And the Agriculture correspondent was there too.  All wanting their interview.  Imagine!

​Some worried, fair enough, about being overburdened, serving so many outlets. 
​And some took their trenchant complaints to Chris Cramer.

To one upright journo, Chris simply stood up from behind his desk, walked to the window overlooking the ancient bomb site opposite Television Centre, and pretended to shiver. 

​“Brrrrr - it’s cold out there, isn’t it?”, he said.  That was the end of the discussion.

I’m also told he coined the acronym “FIFO” 
- from his phrase “Fit in, or Fuck Off”.

The truth is he was terse and determined.  He was also loyal and cared hugely about his colleagues’ safety in the field.  And now I realise I felt his effects on my working practices around that time.

Within weeks of being engaged as a reporter in 1989 I was parking my car near a riot, not too near, not too far, and with its nose aimed at the escape route.  I walked slowly and kept my eyes open.  It would be a decade before I was sent on a course with the Metropolitan Police Service of London called “Riot Control”.

​
​My first stint at BBC Northern Ireland was on work experience - and I remember a fellow student, not even out of college, returning from reporting on a riot - bleeding from a scalp wound.  Bernie had been hit with half a brick, caught up in the melee.  She was shaken.  That wouldn’t be allowed now, and it shouldn’t have been allowed then.

In radio, you don't have a camera operator (and in those days sound recordist) to mind your back. 
​- That could make a big difference.

Journalists sometimes need to be protected from themselves - from their ambition and courage.  Not that I subscribe to the idea that some stories cannot be covered because they are too dangerous.

And I was royally fed up with safety assessment forms when they came in - although there was one funny aspect to them.   The default online form had a bug, which meant that “Armorer must be present” was always ticked by default.  Which unless you unticked it, could mean an expert in guns and explosives would be present in the studio when you invited Mrs Miggins to come in and chat about her pedigree cats.

The week-long course was excellent.  Fun.  Serious.  Practical.  I value the (rusty, by now) First Aid skills I picked up there.  An important lesson I took away was how wrong the movies are about bullet wounds to the shoulder (lucky fellas).  If you’re shot, you really need to be in a hospital in ten minutes for a decent outcome.  All the bandaging in the world won’t get over that fact.

​The SAS medic who taught me had been recruited from the National Health Service - a regular nurse.  “I used to be nice, really sweet...” she told me, and her eyes betrayed some of the horrors she must have seen.

I enjoyed being “kidnapped” by former marines and SAS soldiers to be interrogated, knowing I wasn’t really going to be shot in the head.  I spoiled the effect a little when roared at to “Get the fuck on the floor!”…
​...I replied with a jaunty “Right-oh, old boy!” instinctively.

But I did take it seriously.  We learned how to drive defensively, read maps, search for landmines.  We were told about a former colleague from Northern Ireland attending this course, who had been discovered cradling a mannequin - a dummy with injuries which had been placed at the site of a fake explosion to make it seem real.  He was comforting this dummy.  And later he was discovered, barricaded in his room.  Some awful memory had been triggered.  PTSD, doubtless.

Chris exaggerated an illness he had, to get out and give information to the police. 
​The SAS used that knowledge when they assaulted the embassy and successfully ended the siege.  

​He felt lucky only being held hostage for 24 hours.  But had been terrified.  It gave him huge sympathy for journalists in the field.  And a determination to make conditions better for them.
​

​But years later I do remember going to a series of long-drawn out violent demonstrations with a new red rucksack containing things like safety goggles, knee pads and a set of flame-proof disposable paper underpants.

​“Tim - take this…” said colleague Mervyn. He handed me a pencil eraser. “It’s for rubbing clean your paper pants when you shit yourself!” Brilliant.

The kit was actually useful in two ways, and the second was that it got you to think about your safety.

Even covering more token anti-austerity riots in Europe years later, ducking petrol bombs, that mental preparedness was handy. I have Chris to thank for that.
​

Sometimes I really miss being fussed over by people, I admit it!
Especially when they have skills that take me an age to try to copy.

Like many of us, I’ve moved my work almost completely online - learning along the way how to make glittering events look smart on your laptop.  Learning about live platforms, upload speeds, efficient clip sharing, microphone placing and lighting.  All those things that used to be done for me by clever people who knew their jobs inside-out.

It’s been a chance to buy some toys - now that I don’t have to carry them all the way around the world with me.  Snug where I am for the foreseeable, I now have lights, mic stands, wireless keyboards and the rest.  Even a collapsible green screen…

Any piece of green cloth will do - smoothing out the wrinkles will help.  I chose a collapsible screen which takes seconds to assemble and then take down after presenting.  You have to sit far enough away in front of it so the green of the screen isn’t reflecting onto your skin, and therefore the screen needs to be wide enough to allow that to happen without your hands or head disappearing off the edges of the screen.

My green screen was perfect for sitting-down work : standard video conferences, interviews, media training and webinars.  But what about awards ceremonies, where normally the idea is to be on stage surrounded by a spectacular set, a couple of podiums, a large display showing the nominees and winners - a sense of scale, grandeur, celebration?

It’s taken a lot of tinkering on my part though…

Standing-up meant my camera needed to be further away.  So the lights needed to be far away not to be in shot.  Which meant they weren’t strong enough to reach me.  More lights then.  But with every light, you make a shadow.  More lights to defeat the shadows.  Then the weather closes in and you lose daylight.  Bah!

Another innovation for me, was my home-made autocue / teleprompter! 
​

​I’ll be honest.  I enjoyed solving that particular problem... 
​It felt like I was playing with a construction set again.  And building a den with the tables!

Now, with a tie mic for those distant shots, I feel I’m ready for anything. 
​And sadly, I might have to be - as we wait for enough of us to be vaccinated to make our governments comfortable with again allowing unfettered travel.

Stay safe.  And try to have fun doing things differently.