February
February is the shortest month of the year, and therefore has
literally less time in it to fit in the things you want to do. The
days are the same, but there are less of them. This has something to
do, I am told, with the agricultural industry. Of course, as I
mentioned in my Womans' View column recently, they could alter
the days so that it has the requisite number of hours therefore
elongating the month to the standard length, whilst not interfering
with chickens.
The first hurdle came on the fifth day, when I was asked to try out
for the voice of Pearsons' Rubber, a tyre company in the West
Midlands who had abandoned their normal voice after a scandal not
entirely unconnected with rubber. The studio itself was pleasant
enough, and on arriving I was amazed at the ineptitude of the
receptionist, who at best thought I was there to mend the photocopier
and then thought I was Prunella Scales. I started my audition covered
in toner, the script was the usual mix of drama, intonational
instruction and deft wordplay
“Buy All Your Rubber Products From Pearsons' Rubber”.
I spoke this line several times, emphasising different words in the
sentence, giving it a plethora of meanings from comedic to deeply
serious. One thing about voicing things is you need to take
direction. You need to be able to listen to what the director – and
ultimately the client – wants.
This is very much dependent on whether these people actually know
what they are talking about. I made changes but they weren't happy. I
suggested improvements but they weren't happy. I went out of my way
to enlarge the concept, to make it sound bigger, bolder, much more
hard hitting. They weren't happy. I did voices. They weren't happy.
Finally, in a bid to make them happy I decided to use the premise of
the mystic east, and did the whole thing in a mock Chinese accent.
They definitely weren't happy. “What we want” said Robert, the
newly graduated head of whatever it is he does “is for you to sit
there, and read the words, as written, without the silly voices,
intonations or sounding grumpy.”
On my way out of the building I asked if there were any presentation
jobs going. I've always thought radio was a communication device, a
bolt which the spanner of the presenter would slowly turn to a point
where maximum grip (attention) was attained, and I, with my
communication skills and training, could really become something of a
big spanner. “What are you interested in?” said Robert, his eyes
glinting like a child with a new sticklebrick. “I was thinking,
Rob, we forget all the pomp and faux celeb of these pop and skiffle
types, and have a show where I talk about issues and intersperse it
with late 17th century baroque.”.
My next job was around the 14th. Thorntons Chocolate had a
big promotion on, and I was in town to help out. All hands on the
sticky deck, one might say, although this particular stickiness was
due to chocolate and nothing to do with the recent revelations
regarding the dancefloor in a gentlemens' club I may or may not have
been frequenting that night. “Get your fingers sticky!” I shouted
through the megaphone. “Oooo, get your mouth around my truffles”.
This was manna from heaven, I could double entendre all day long and
no one would notice. “swallow my nougat surprise”, “Take my
Belgian nob” and other double entendres followed, until the Police
arrived and I was told to calm down. Sales were good, especially
during my lunch hour apparently, so everyone went home pleased and
with their sweets. I disputed with the manager though, who stated
quite clearly they hadn't actually asked me to be there, and
therefore my asking for money for the days' work was 'completely out
of ******* order, mate'. An argument ensued, but you can't win an
argument with an unarmed man, especially if he has a crowbar, so I
left it at that. I shall not be going there again, so their
injunction is a waste of time.
The 22nd was my Sisters' birthday, and I invited her and
her 'partner' to dinner, but apparently they were watching television
that night.
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