|
A LONG YET NOT-SO-LONG TIME AGO...
… a strange and modest thought festered behind the broad forehead of a man named Buzz Hawkins as he sat lonely as a nightbeat musician slipping in and out of conciousness whilst delicately balanced on a radio station stool supping a number 8 (white coffee with sugar) and waiting for DJ Gary Davis to remember he was there. |
|
This thought, given wings by the knowledge that due to the extremely late hour none of the bosses would be listening, soon became the joined-up writing on a blank piece of A4-size yellow paper nicked from the copy machine in an unlocked unmanned office, fashioned by that same nightbeat musician using the communal Bic Biro with a chewed end which for hygienic reasons he had to remember himself not to chew. |
|
This modest thought in joined-up writing begat vocal utterings in rhyme and metre and three octaves and spewed into the late hour as radio waves, with the aid of some serious technical jiggery pokery involving transducers transistors and transmitters and invisible to the naked eye except as a bouncing VU metre needle. |
|
This thought in radio waves meandered unheard and unseen through dark streets seeking the attention of the many until, squeezing under doors and through keyholes and part-open windows, it snook into the ears of security guards in draughty wooden huts, and sidled into the ears of night-working bakery staff who kneaded the dough, and breathed into the ears of all the lonely people with no-one to go to bed with, and whispered into the ears of nightbeat musicians' mothers with pillow speakers to keep them company through the small hours, wooing them each personally and intimately one-to-one as if they were the only ones. And they were for such is radio. |
|
That thought begat more thoughts which were duly jotted and uttered and spluttered as radio waves into the sleeping nights finding ears anew and awake that had previously slept, and soon the word was on the street and the word was preceded by the definite article and the word was Bradshaws, and the nightbeat musician's nightbeats grew from one to five, and the title of producer was heaped upon the nightbeat musician by the great unlistening bosses for crafty accounting reasons that we won't go into here, and still more the word grew and so too did the bags under his eyes. |
|
And so for more than two long years the family Bradshaw lent their light to the night while day remained in the dark, and while sliding presenters and climbing apprentices played musical chairs before moving up or down to greater or lesser things, and while loyal night owls and fruit bats put away their vallium barmcakes and demanded an extra dose of the family Bradshaw on little tape cassette thingies which they were willing to and did pay for, and until the great unlistening bosses heard the promise of tinkling coins and heaped the title of daytime producer upon the nightbeat musician on condition he brought the family Bradshaw with him to lend their light to the day and their tinkle to the till, and he did, and he put more Wood On The Wireless too, which warmed things up a lot.
Buzz will be continuing his meanderings soon... |
|
BACK TO TOP
BACK TO ORIGINAL BRADSHAWS 
|
NEW CORNER SHOP OPENS
