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Showing posts with label tv news. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tv news. Show all posts

Friday, October 23, 2015

113. Yawn....

In July 2012 I wrote about some changes I have noticed in my life since Caroline and I moved from the suburbs of north London to rural Buckinghamshire (Rural Stress). In that post I wrote about the difficulties I find in obtaining the services of local tradesmen. 
I have stopped worrying about all that now.   I’ve either lowered my expectations or maybe I have adjusted my pace of life to that of the people I come into contact with around here.
My life is not stress free, however.  There is something else about living here, 45 miles north of central London, that irritates me daily and it is something that I can do nothing about.  The thing that irritates and is driving me mad is the BBC regional news.
When we lived in London, the BBC “London News” followed the BBC “News at Six” and every story in that local news programme was interesting and significant, not just to me but I am sure to everyone in London. 
Even a story about the opening of a new shopping centre in Streatham, which is on the far side of London, diametrically opposite from where we lived in Winchmore Hill, seemed relevant and germane.
Most evenings when I watch the east of England local news programme,  “Look East”, I usually feel that it is really nothing to do with me at all.  
Why we are classified as being in the Eastern region and not the Midlands, when we are only forty miles from the geographic centre of England is beyond me.
The first time I realised that “Look East” is a programme that had very little to offer, was the evening when the lead story was about an argument in Wellingborough to do with the Christmas lights.  I didn’t even know where Wellingborough was and I, along with probably 99% of the programme’s viewers, was completely uninterested in what sort of bloody lights were hanging in their High Street that Christmas.
Last week, the first story one day was about an upgrade of the railway line from Norwich to London and the main thrust of the story was that it wouldn’t be completed for ten years.  A topical story?
The next story was about the new Northampton railway station.  I’m sure that may have been of some interest to people living in Northampton but not to anybody else in the huge region that is the BBC’s definition of the East of England.
Another feature recently was about a doctor who had treated sufferers from Ebola in West Africa.  The only relevance it had to us in the East of England was that the doctor came from Norfolk.  I expect his friends were interested.
A series of stories was titled “Unsung Sporting Heroes”.  The first ‘hero’ was a diving coach from Letchworth in Hertfordshire.  He and other people in the series are ‘unsung’ because they are not very important or interesting and probably not particularly good at what they do.
Another story in our local news was about a stunt involving a racing car that drove underneath a lorry and out the other side.  Its only relevance to viewers in the East of England was that it was filmed at a disused airfield in Suffolk. 
If a story in the national news has any connection whatsoever with Norfolk, Suffolk, Essex, Hertfordshire, Buckinghamshire, Bedfordshire, Cambridgeshire or Northamptonshire, it will be repeated within half an hour on the local news.  Usually it is just a repeat of everything, including the same film and interviews that we have already seen in the main news.
Anything that Greg Rutherford, the Olympic gold medallist, achieves that is worth a mention on the national news, is blown up for all its worth on “Look East” because Greg Rutherford is from Bletchley in Buckinghamshire.
Sometimes, the producers at “Look East” are so desperate to fill 30 minutes every evening that what they tell us is risible. 
When John Hurt was knighted, it was a lead story for us because he owned a holiday home somewhere in the region.
The death of Roger Lloyd-Pack was newsworthy apparently, because some years previously he had owned a house in Norfolk.
The lead item one day in March 2014 in the East of England news was about the funeral in Newry, Northern Ireland, of Lord Ballyedmond, a Northern Irish peer.  It was the most important story for us in the east because he had been killed in a helicopter crash near Beccles in Suffolk ten days earlier.
You may wonder, as I did in January 2014, why “Look East” featured a story about a couple who were murdered on their yacht in St Lucia, 4200 miles away in the West Indies.  Perhaps they were from one of the region’s counties? 
No, they were from Cannock in Staffordshire, in the west of the country. The somewhat tenuous link the story had to the east of England and therefore to us in Buckinghamshire, was that when they had started on their yearlong voyage, they had set sail from Lowestoft in Suffolk.
That association was both absurd and ridiculous!
The lead stories in “Look East” tend to fall into one of three categories.  The headline story is always either about transport, schools, or health and hospitals.   It is so dull.  The “London News” programme has its own Arts Correspondent!  
A new low point came when the entire “Look East” programme came live from a sheep farm near Ipswich.  All afternoon the trails told us that we would be seeing lambs being born.  You may imagine what happened – absolutely nothing!  Thirty minutes of tedious anticlimax, listening to an overawed, inarticulate farmer telling us what we could be seeing if we were there at another time.
If the BBC needs to save money, one of the first things they could do is terminate “Look East” and all other local programmes around the country that have to scrape the barrel in order to find content.  I’ve had enough of it.  I feel sorry for the hotel owner in Overstrand, Norfolk whose hotel is at risk of slipping over the edge of the cliff, but Overstrand is as far from me as Wrexham in Wales. 

I am not bleedin' interested!!

Sunday, March 28, 2010

11. Too Exciting!


We made the big decision a few weeks ago to return to the UK, permanently. We will probably be returning in July but it rather depends upon whether we can sell our cottage.
If we do manage to sell, it means that I have to post my Cayman experiences before we leave.  It would seem a little strange to sit in the cold and gloom of Winchmore Hill, North London and write about incidents that took place on a tropical island.

*************

In September 2004, Grand Cayman was hit with the full force of Hurricane Ivan and it was devastated.  Since then, nothing of interest has occurred other than the arrival of Mr and Mrs Wilton or, Mr and Mrs Dawes as most people here think we are. 
What happened when I arrived at the school I help out at one morning last December was quite interesting.  I couldn’t get in to park my car.  Police, paramedics and a film crew from the news station, plus about thirty onlookers surrounded the building.
There was a man up on the roof.  He was screaming obscenities at the police and threatening to jump.
The news reporter got hold of a police loud hailer and called up to the man.  She asked him, very nicely and politely, I thought, if he would stop using the ‘f’ word while screaming at the police negotiator.  She explained to him in calm, measured tones, that the news went out at 6:00 pm and there would certainly be children watching.  She went on to tell him that unless something quite extraordinary happened, like someone is caught with more than the daily quota of conch, this would definitely be the lead story.
The “news” programme that we have here is a bit of a misnomer.  It is aired at 6:00 pm Monday to Friday.  There is no news programme at the weekends or on public holidays because of course, nothing ever happens then.  The BBC could learn from this, save a fortune and cut licence fees.  Rarely is anything that happens on that day featured on the same evening’s news. 
Saturday’s football results and film footage from one game will be shown on the following Tuesday.  As filming the entire game is expensive, the cameraman appears to only begin filming when the ball gets into a penalty area.  Consequently, we see many sequences of anticlimactic missed opportunities but rarely a goal.  The best example of this was last season when every goal in a “nine goal thriller” was missed.
The radio news is not a lot better.  “THESE ARE THE STORIES THAT ARE MAKING HEADLINES” is bellowed over the airwaves by the deep, urgent, breathless, tones of an American-accented continuity announcer, on the hour, every hour.  Last Friday I pulled over in the car and stopped to prepare myself for the bombshell story to follow.
“Today is ‘Dressdown Day’ at many Caymanian businesses to raise money for the animal shelter,” said the sweet, melodic voice of the female newsreader.
‘On the hour, every hour’ is not strictly true.  We work on, ‘Island Time’.  On the phone-in show the other morning, the host announced, “It’s eight twenty-three and time to go to the eight o’clock news.”  A couple of months ago there was no radio news at all because the newsreader was ill.
Anyway, back to the man on the roof.  Sadly, the reporter’s polite request had no effect at all on him and he shouted that both she and everyone else should “F” off.  All of us watching were shocked.  Children were arriving and they were asked to go to the adjacent church and wait until they were called.  Some of them were very slow to respond and I hope they didn’t hear any of the very rude things the man was still shouting.
The crowd was growing and was mainly women.  Most of them had brought folding chairs and a parasol or umbrella to keep the direct sun off and they were really making a day of it.  Many were talking into their cell phones telling friends of the unfolding drama and suggesting that they come and join them.  By 9:10 the ‘audience’ had grown to more than 100. 
The harmonised, “Oooos” and “Aaaahs” that followed closely after every obscenity yelled from the roof, sounded too rehearsed to me to be spontaneous but perhaps they were.  A van pulled up and parked on the road and began selling ice cream.  I went over to the TV reporter whom I know as she has the cottage near us and asked her what she knew. 
“Nothing,” she said, “I was given a choice.  It was this, or the start of the lobster season.  I wish I’d chosen the lobsters now.  You always know where you are with a lobster.  This is getting boring.  I wish he’d hurry up and jump.” She looked at her watch.  “I’ve got a hair appointment at ten.  Do you like it like this, or should I have it shorter?”
I was flattered that she valued my opinion and began to tell her that my personal preference was for shorter hair but perhaps the opinion of someone more than thirty years older than her was not likely to be what she needed to hear. 
My wise advice was interrupted by the arrival of a group of American tourists from a cruise ship who had been told that she was with CNN.  Julie, the reporter, said nothing to enlighten them but set about signing autographs on any scrap of paper that came to hand. 
The pastor from the church arrived, full of self-importance, wise saws and modern instances. He immediately tried to take control.  He got hold of the hailer and suggested that we all join him in prayer.
After about five seconds of prayer the guy next to me shouted, “Stop!” and he pointed at the man on the roof.  “He hasn’t got his eyes closed.”
I couldn’t see how this was ever going to be resolved.  It was about 30°C but there was a large air conditioning unit beside him to give him shade so he would never get too hot.  He wasn’t going to come down for water, as he seemed to have several bottles up there with him.  I was getting very hot though and I looked for the headteacher to tell her that I was going home but that if the situation was resolved, she could give me a ring and I’d be back in five minutes. 
I stopped looking for her when I heard the police negotiator calling to the man through the loud hailer.  He was clearly getting impatient and was responding at last to the numerous calls coming from the crowd and the constant chant of, “jump jump jump.” 
The negotiator’s style, technique and approach was novel.  “Well go on then, you moron - jump!”
The crowd cheered.  The man jumped. 
The school is only one storey high and his fall was about 10 feet.  As soon as he hit the ground he got up and tried to run off but he was apprehended immediately.

An interesting start to the day.