It’s been quite a week for racism, with two people on opposite ends of the BBC’s scale of stardom in trouble for incidents involving an inflammatory insult aimed at black people. Jeremy Clarkson appeared to use that word in an unbroadcast outtake of Top Gear, which a gutter press tabloid (hardly the holders of the moral high ground) vindictively posted on their website after they had edited it, slowed it down, and tinkered with it, so that it might appear that he did use that word. Having watched the clip, (thankfully not on the Daily Mirror’s website as I wouldn’t be able to live with myself for adding to their traffic), it seems that to my ears he recited the said nursery rhyme ‘Eeenie Meenie Miney Mo’ and affected a deliberate mumble over the space where that word was supposed to go. If you listen hard enough, (which is exactly what you are supposed to do), it does sound a little bit like he used that word. That could of course be because you have been told that the word was used and you can’t hear anything else, similar to my enjoyment of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ being ruined by singing the line “spare him his life from these pork sausages”, (perhaps we should ban ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ in case it offends Muslims). What Clarkson actually said, and I am not an apologist for him by any means, was some sort of “ner ner” noise, or at least that is what I heard, even when watched on a slowed down loop thanks to the efforts of a so-called newspaper that just happens to be a rival to the equally cuntish rag that Jeremy Clarkson writes a column for, (which might be a factor in this witch hunt).

Clarkson posted a video explanation online, in which he seemed to have adhered to the old showbiz maxim if you can fake sincerity, you’ve got it made. In the video he offered the standard apologies and quoted a note he had written to the production team about how horrified he was that he might have been misinterpreted and asked if they could go with the take in which he replaced that word with teacher. When I was a kid that particular rhyme, used to make a decision between two things, had the more acceptable line “grab a baby by the toe”. I was however aware of the older racist version, as I’m sure a lot of people are, including Jeremy Clarkson. The outcome of this debacle is that Clarkson is now on a final warning from the BBC. This basically means that the next time he says something even vaguely offensive, he will leave the BBC and sign a lucrative contract with another channel, write a book about the whole experience, and leave the BBC without its major cash source. Another outcome is that the people who hate Clarkson will carry on hating him, the people who love him will carry on loving him, and the people in the middle, the couldn’t-give-a-shit-either-way crowd will continue to not give a shit either way.

Top Gear is apparently the world’s biggest factual entertainment programme, and of course makes billions of pounds every year for the BBC. Jeremy Clarkson the brand is part of the reason for that, and as such is worth a lot more to the BBC than a local radio presenter with a popular show on Sunday teatime. This is perhaps why they were so quick to sack BBC Devon broadcaster David Lowe for an innocent mistake, in order to look as if they are clamping down on racial language and following up on an offended email from ONE listener.

The sun has got his hat on,
hip hip hip hooray,
the sun has got his hat on
and he’s coming out to play
(Noel Gay/Ralph Butler)

The vast majorities of people know the four lines above but don’t know the rest of the song. A similar phenomenon struck ‘I’ll Be There For You’ by The Rembrandts; once the opening theme tune to Friends is over, there’s the small matter of the most famous song in the world, that gets played on British television maybe six times a day, having more words that nobody in the world, (not even The Rembrandts or the cast of Friends) has a clue about. My knowledge of the song is thanks to my liking of musicals so I am aware of the rest of the song. However, in every cast rendition of the song that I have heard the line that dropped David Lowe in the shit was replaced by the less offensive but no less nonsensical “he’s been roasting peanuts in Timbuktu”. As far as I was aware, they were the words, so Mr. Lowe can be forgiven (can’t he?) for this error. When The Sunday Alternative started, you will recall that I used to start every show with a music hall song, and start the second hour with a comedy song of old. I once decided to play ‘My Boomerang Won’t Come Back’, as in my memory it was an innocent song about a toy. It wasn’t until I listened to my copy of it that I realised that the ‘comedy’ aborigine voice alongside Charlie Drake’s was borderline Jim Davidson’s ‘Chalky’ character and decided I shouldn’t play it. You might argue that David Lowe could have done the same thing and listened to ‘The Sun Has Got His Hat On’ before playing it on live radio.

I have occasionally played a song on the radio with an errant ‘fuck’ in it, when the show started at 9pm I wasn’t bothered, an episode of Steve’s LP Box once went out on Trent Sound about the eponymous debut album by Rage Against The Machine and nobody complained. When the show moved to Sunday lunchtime I was a lot more careful, although I did once play the wrong version of the two versions I had of a particular song and apologised straight away afterwards, mindful of the families gathered round listening from baby to granny. A live session guest once swore several times during his performance but of course I couldn’t bring the session to an abrupt end so I had no choice but to let him continue. Thankfully there were no complaints, although to be fair Internet radio is covered by slightly different regulations, having said that even I was amazed that Sleaford Mods were allowed to fuck and cunt their way through a live session for Nottingham LACE one Saturday afternoon.

To return to the argument that Mr. Lowe should have checked the song first, it is a preposterous suggestion. Singers and Swingers is a show that plays gentle requests on a Sunday evening, and although I’ve never listened to it (despite the ability to listen online I have never felt the need as local radio should be just that), it sounds like a great idea and the sort of thing that local radio should be doing. If I had been asked to play ‘The Sun Has Got His Hat On’, I would have eschewed the more up to date stage cast recordings of Me And My Girl and deliberately found a version from 1932 as that would have been the suitable version for that particular type of radio show, (which incidentally if any radio bosses are reading this, is the sort of show I want to do when I reach that age). I would have played it in all innocence and good faith, and I too would have been horrified to have received a complaint when that word was broadcast. Without even a chance to say goodbye to his no doubt loyal fan base, he was shown the door for a mistake that anyone could have made. Even though I knew the song I didn’t know about the ‘original’ version and its choice of lyrics. I’m not saying that a DJ should knowingly and deliberately broadcast that word and don’t condone the use of it anywhere in today’s society, but neither do I condemn a song written in 1932 by judging it against modern day standards. BBC Devon received one solitary complaint for a mistake and sacked a popular broadcaster, whereas Clarkson received bucketfuls for his faux pas, (although Clarkson usually knows what he’s doing, evident in his recent ‘slope’ controversy) albeit engineered complaints via a tabloid vendetta and got off with nothing more than a slapped wrist.

The BBC have been paranoid about complaints and compliance ever since the Sachs-A-Phone scandal, engineered by The Daily Mail who made sure that although two weeks passed by without event, enough people complained about it once they had pushed the point home. It must have been hard for The Mail on Sunday to support this ‘The Sun Has Got His Hat On’ case given their hatred of the BBC fighting against their love of racism. That BBC paranoia has now increased in the wake of let’s call it Eenie Meeny Miney Mo-Gate, so the slightest potentially racist comment will be severely dealt with. I doubt that The Tweenies will ever sing ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep’ again, and the financial reports will have to find an alternative expression for the opposite of being in the red.

When my daughter was little I used to sing to her the song ‘You Are My Sunshine’, but again it is the sort of song you (or maybe it’s just me) only knows the first bit of. Actually to be fair there aren’t many songs I know all the words to, and ‘You Are My Sunshine’ is one of the ones I have no clue about beyond the first bit:

You are my sunshine
My only Sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are grey
You’ll never know dear
How much I love you
So don’t take my sunshine away.
(Oliver Hood)

If I presented an oldies radio show and a listener contacted the show to request it, I would play it without checking the words to it. My reason is that although I don’t know the rest of the song, I assume it to be as charmingly innocent as the opening verse. For all I know (and I haven’t checked for this blog) the second verse might be about Chinese people all looking alike, or Indians opening corner shops, by which time it would be too late. Of course I’d be upset and shocked that I’d committed such a radio sin, but radio stations simply don’t employ anyone to listen to every single song in the world on the off chance that it might be broadcast. Actually, the BBC is probably advertising for such a role right now.

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Love The Show Steve!

As a child with a keen interest in radio, one of the nicest things about being off sick from school was being able to listen to Steve Wright on Radio 1. Even then I knew the difference between the two sides of the radio presenter fence, and it was obvious that Steve Wright, and his 'posse' of co-presenters and comedy characters, were on the same side of said fence as DLT, Noel Edmunds, 'oooh' Gary Davies and the rest of the so-called 'Smashie and Nicey' jocks. On the other, more serious side, were Tommy Vance and John Peel, who cared not for the supermarket openings and wacky phone ins, but allowed the music to speak for itself. You knew that on the serious side of the fence, that the presenters genuinely cared about the music. This is the side of the fence that I came to settle on when I started doing a radio show. Only Alan Freeman managed to have a foot on both sides.

Steve Wright In The Afternoon however, was a show that the vast majority of the country made an appointment to listen to. I even used to tape segments of it and wish I still had those tapes now, Mr Mad, the fish filleter, Sid the manager, Mick and Keith, were all the comedy staples of a two and a half hour experience that brought the nation ever closer to home time. Steve Wright had the respect of the comedy world, even the sweary, late night, 'alternative' comedians knew the market value of a five minute chat with someone who understood the business of laughter. He was never destined to be a serious music DJ, you can leave that sort of thing to the late night guys.

Steve Wright's show on BBC Radio Two, in almost the same time slot as his Radio One show, remains popular with the listeners who feel compelled to tell him that they love the show. Or he may add that bit to the emails. The 'love the show Steve' bit became a 6Music gag last year, when Richard Herring and Andrew Collins started ending all their correspondence with the same message.

So was there any point in this bizarre non-story in the Daily Mirror today?

No. There wasn't.

An expose of the 'weird world' of Steve Wright? Some of the weird things from Steve Wright's bizarre world:

Yet aside from his three-hour Steve Wright In The Afternoon on Radio 2 show, he remains an enigma – even to his closest colleagues.

I once worked in an office for about a year and hated everybody bar three people who I used to go outside to smoke with. Once it was time to go home, I left without saying goodbye to anyone. We've all had jobs like that. I like to keep myself to myself, and can't think of anything worse than talking to people you don't want to, so I don't.

His one obsession is radio and he studiously listens to other shows, seeking to pick up tips and ideas. One friend recalls bumping into him at London’s Paddington station about to board a shuttle train to Heathrow Airport.

“He told me he was off to New York,” he remembers. “I asked where his luggage was and he just waved his passport at me. ‘I buy essentials like toothbrush, underwear and socks while I’m there and throw them away at the end,’ he told me.

“Wrightie was literally going to sit in a hotel room for a few days to listen to local stations. He is obsessed by the medium, which is why he’s stayed at the top for so long.”

First of all, this can't have been a very good friend to go blabbing to the gutter press, so the chances are weighed very heavily towards this whole thing being bollocks. There is nothing wrong with being interested in radio. However, if Steve Wright or anyone else wanted to listen to American radio stations, they can do it from home by listening to it online. So the chances are, he was just going away for the weekend. I also think his travelling arrangements sound very sensible.

He has a team of assistants who get his meals, and sort out his travelling arrangements. The clue here is the word ASSISTANT. This is what assistants do.

They are making out that Steve Wright is leaving a sad and lonely life, but this 'article' has disjointed everything so much that this basically means that he lives on his own. It is reported that the sudden upset of his divorce led to him putting on weight and losing his hair, because men in their late fifties would otherwise be unaffected by this wouldn't they?

It is likely that Steve Wright didn't cooperate with the paper on a story, and now they want to get their revenge.

“The one thing that dominates ­Wrightie’s life is his radio show,” said a colleague. “It really is the only thing that gets him up in the morning.

“But we all worry about him because it can’t go on forever.”

I'm sure it will last longer than Ryan Parry's career pretending to be a journalist.