Fairy Gill's pearls of wisdom for the BBC and its chairman
The radio sprite looks to the future of audio broadcasting
Dawn’s icy fingers tap upon the frosty window pane
In hopes of waking Fairy Gill. Alas, they tap in vain.
She dined last night with Santa Claus, all too well I fear
Since many empty bottles show what quantities of cheer
Went down the hatch as, merrily, they made the rafters shake.
His work is done, of course. Hers looms. She must awake!
She stirs and yawns, preparing now to face her usual task
Of bringing folks in Radioland what they forgot to ask
When penning notes to Santa. But, dear Readers, there’s a lot
They didn’t dare to write lest it should put them on the spot
When management o’er shoulders peeped and spied hints of dissent
From humble BBC folk who half a year have spent
Observing at close quarters pay gaps that seem outrageous
(The rage their publication roused still appears contagious).
But what looms now is something to make our Fairy blench
Glimpsing all too clearly that yawning ageist trench
Where war is breaking out between broadcasting and online
Conflicts where traditionalists cannot stay supine.
All Beeb folk face a challenge, published just this year,
It’s one perturbing rivals too, a universal fear
Of not engaging listeners below age 45.
Means must be found to net them, hauling in alive
Twitterers and podcast fans and those for whom a phone
Is how they know that they’re alive or not yet quite alone.
However one thing’s certain now: battles will ensue
Twixt broadcasters and streamers for audiences who
Begin to drift alarmingly between one and the other
Causing each side in this fight quantities of bother.
The thought that haunts them all meanwhile is rather more profound
Can radio as we’ve known it last in the new world of sound?
Beeb Chair David Clementi and radio’s James Purnell,
Have come out fighting any thoughts of such a deathly knell.
Their battle cries to Beebsters who still have radio lives
“Let’s grab, retain and foster those vital 45s!
Never mind the 65s (so loyal through the years
That when there’s change in radio they just burst into tears.)
Slip some soothing words to them but be one who contrives
To conquer hearts and souls among the feisty 45s.”
But, as the Fairy knows, the problem is you can’t erase
This quandary by chopping radio’s nose to spite its face.
It’s why she urges caution on both chairman and director
When facing radio rivals, “Be polite” she says, “Don’t hector.”
Regarding older listeners, “They’re gold bars in your vault.
In other words, if they switch off, remember it’s your fault.”
Then, turning to their rivals from the commercial field,
“Cooperate, collaborate” she urges, though they will not yield
An inch, not to each other nor to BBC fat cats.
It would be good for all of them if they just swapped hats
And realised why still, in Britain, radio stays so strong
Is because along the dial are places to belong.
The 45s are special, though, since they are the portal
Into an information age where radio’s not immortal.
Sixty Fives may grumble that they like things as they are
But where the BBC’s concerned they’re wishing on a star.
Will this prospect make our Fairy sign on at the dole?
Of course not. On this battlefield she’s found a better hole!
She’ll mimic Jazz fm and offer sound that seems bespoke
The BBC’s now “personalising,” clearly it’s no joke.
See how her wand now sparkles as it writes upon the sky
Subscribe to FairyGfm, a legal audio high,
A Groucho club in sound, a Soho House on stream
And all you have to do or be to step into this dream
Is own a birth certificate dated ’72 or later
And to your every audio whim your own Fairy will cater.
Her gauzy wings spread wide she rises, steering to the sun
“Farewell, dear mortals,” comes her cry, “I’ve only just begun!”
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