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the big call to the MOG. Apparently, the Managing Editor at BBC Radio Leicester had been impressed with my application form. Was I available for an interview?
    The BBC dream was still alive, it seemed. Without getting too carried away, I started to wonder whether a spell at BBC Radio Leicester might not in fact be a good idea. With my nose in the Corporation trough, I’d be in a decent position to sniff out a job at one of the national stations, broadcasting to the masses. I’d spent almost ten years in the hinterlands of local radio, fantasizing about a role in one of the newsrooms at Broadcasting House. Surely it was worth giving it one last shot, before riding off into the Afghan sunset?
    * * *
    I put the call to the MOG on hold, went to the interview at BBC Radio Leicester – and got the job. At the time, I thought the planets must have aligned. Only later did I learn that the Managing Editor – a bohemian turned journalist called Kate Squire – was specifically looking for a decent newsreader. The interview had gone quite badly, in fact. I had no idea, for instance, that so much emphasis would be placed on their Breakfast Show .
    “Tell us about our Breakfast Show this morning,” Kate had said. “What did you like about it, and what would you have done to improve it?”
    “I’m afraid I was quite busy this morning,” I said casually. “I didn’t get a chance to listen to it.”
    I’ve since learnt that this sort of response is normally enough to derail a BBC interview completely, but obviouslythe newsreading gods (and Kate) were smiling on me, and my slip-up was overlooked.
    I enjoyed working at BBC Radio Leicester – my colleagues in the newsroom were a good crowd, and made me feel more than welcome – but it was always just a means to an end. I read the bulletins on the Breakfast Show for six months, familiarizing myself with the BBC way of doing things, and then I applied for a placement at one of the national stations. The man I had to impress was a newsreader himself, a minor celebrity called Alan Dedicoat (aka the “Voice of the Balls” on the National Lottery). He oversaw the BBC’s top stable of radio newsreaders, and had the power to lever me into one of the national slots for a trial run. If he liked my voice, I could be reading on BBC Radio Two within days. If not, I was going nowhere. I emailed him a demo bulletin on 7th July 2010 and awaited his reply.
    He got back in touch a few days later with the following email:
    Good morning!
    Well, I’ve taken a listen… and sadly, it’s not quite what I’m after.
    – It’s a bit “sung” for my liking
    – And breathy in places
    – Each story’s read in exactly the same way
    – There’s virtually no attack at the start of each item; there’s nothing to make me listen up
    – Frankly, it sounds a bit like you’re more concerned with how you sound than what you’re reading
    – How high’s the volume on your headphones?
    Sorry, but you did ask!
    I was a little taken aback by this – I didn’t agree with any of his points – but at least he wasn’t sugar-coating it. I replied to that effect:
    OK Alan, thanks for the honesty!
    There wasn’t much else I could say. I was in no position to start arguing with him. He probably got dozens of demos from BBC staffers like me every week.
    He replied five minutes later:
    Well, it’s not a write-off, Christian – don’t think that. I’m just looking for something special. Listeners have just one shot at understanding the news. They don’t have the script or prior knowledge of the stories. We’re honour-bound to help them understand FIRST TIME. We shouldn’t “colour” it with the way we sound or how we say things.
    My real problem is everyone wants to join us.
    If you’re in town at all, call me and take me for coffee!
    Of course I was never going to call him and take him for coffee. Perhaps I could’ve sent him another demo in six months, or approached somebody else of equal