Getting Sync'd

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Highway To Hell

17:47. We’re late. We still have three songs to play, four minutes thirty seconds of ads with the news scheduled for exactly 18:00. That’s never going to happen, even if we drop two songs (which I think I’ll have to anyway!). We can’t stop laughing. Once again Dare The Beihr is a massive success as Mikey wears the invisible mantle of London’s Proudest Prankster with pride. He’s recently managed to convince a city business man called Randy, who’s in training for this weekend’s marathon, to buy a “new energy drink” which will keep him “topped up during Sunday’s gruelling twenty-six miles”. You’d think the name, never mind the smell of the bottle’s content would give it away.

“Congratulations sir, you are the lucky owner of the first bottle of Mikey Beihr’s You’re In!”

Randy actually sounds grateful, clearly unaware of Mikey’s immature connections and the fact that we’re taking the piss - or in this case giving it. We hear him walk in to the masses, still dishing out thanks for his purchase. “Oh God, I’d better go stop him!” I have to cut Mikey off, making the obvious comment and introduce the final song of the hour – a welcome classic from U2 – before advising of the impending news. Though judging by the look of Sasha, our news girl, it might be an idea to only ditch one song. She’s still in hysterics.

The clock clicks to 17:51 and I start gathering my things. I’m leaving Emma to run the desk for the last hour so I can leave early to catch the train. All she has to do is press some buttons for the next hour. She likes that - doesn’t like the speaking bit of radio. It’s funny, you can give her a thousand jobs a second to do, pile more pressure on her shoulders that you would find seven miles down in the ocean and she won’t buckle. But put her in front of a mic and she goes to pieces. Marcus reckons that makes her a lesbian because she can’t bear to have her mouth so close to the end of such a phallic object. Marcus is a jackass! I recorded the rest of my links earlier this afternoon. At least this way she can guarantee the show won’t overrun its 19:00 cut-off point.

I say goodnight to my small group of comrades, including a quick bye to Mikey over the radio-mic while he gets berated by Randy for taking the piss out of someone working to do some good for a charity. “I don’t think that’s true sir is it? That’s my piss you’re holding there. The fact that I gave it willingly is beside the point!” I pray Randy isn’t some kind of martial-arts fanatic as well as a long distance runner.

Emma sets up the last eight minutes of the show to run automatically up to Sasha’s news so she can grab a Diet Coke from the fridge and follows me out the studio. “Have a great week off mate” she says with a smile. “Make the most of it!”

“And you!” I respond sarcastically. I might be off but Emma will stay on, overseeing the broadcast of “Shears Best Cuts”. Darth Dullard couldn’t afford to get a swing presenter to cover next week. Nor could he afford a lull in the ratings with Dan Shears off for a week, so he ordered a compilation week going back over the last three months or so of shows. Emma kicked up a fuss saying it was unfair and illegal which landed her a one week pay rise. She actually doesn’t mind. She loves her job, and wouldn’t trust anyone else with my stuff anyway. Still, it’s the principle.

I grab my barrel bag from my locker which I’d stashed away yesterday. Past experience told me it was a good idea. I pray I packed everything, it’s too late to head home. I stroll out the office. The lift takes me down three levels to the buildings main lobby. Marcus is coming in, this time with his two kids. Presumably he’s got them for the weekend.

“Have fun in Bournemouth gay-boy!”

“Enjoy screwing your kids over jackass!”

We’re actually quite good mates. He is a jackass though!

I say goodnight to Henry on security, paying less attention to his usual less-than-jovial response and checking the ad for this week’s podcast sounds ok. Of course it does.

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