No Business Like Dog Business

I want to reassure anyone who might still be unsure that there are many aspects of media work that are far from glamorous.

I was never more mindful of this fact than at 3pm yesterday afternoon when I found myself wheeling two suitcases full of broadcast equipment up the road towards Waterloo station. One of my many jobs at work is to be the person in charge of our year long assocation with Love The Dogs, promoting the running of our very own radio station greyhound and organising the regular outside broadcasts from Wimbledon stadium as we bring a night of dog racing live to the nation. So it was as combined producer, engineer and runner (this isn't the BBC you know) I was transporting my radio station in a box onto the train to Wimbledon to set up for the evening broadcast.

There are certain things you should never really see in daylight, for fear of spoiling the magic. Girls you meet a student nights for one thing, nightclubs for another. The same can possibly be said for greyhound stadiums. What seems a thrilling, glamorous place under floodlights and packed with excited diners, drinkers, owners, trainers and fans seems almost folorn in daylight. Greyhound tracks are like bingo halls in a way, vast social venues with an inbuilt yearning for the days only a generation before when they were packed to the rafters and the very essence of a great night out. These days they limp along, a shadow of what they used to be and still endlessly searching for that magical formula that will show how relevant and how much fun they still are. This is where we come in of course, talking up the fantastic sense of occasion that you get at a night at the dogs and reminding people that these events still take place and are still incredibly worthwhile.

So it was that I arrived at what in the light seems a sad, cavernous and dare I say it suspiciously orange balcony above the track. I arranged the tables to my liking and nervously broke the seal on the cases, ready for the half an hour of untangling cables, plugging in microphones and discovering just what had not survived the journey intact. This is actually why we turn up at venues for OBs anything up to three hours beforehand. You never know what is going to not work, whether it is one of the ISDN boxes or worse still, the ISDN lines themselves. This time around I discovered that the dead equipment included the secondary ISDN box which would enable me to talk to the studio whilst the presenters were on air. Without it I would end up a mute observer to the proceedings and although this wasn't fatal to the project, was still an extra headache.

Aside from that though everything plugged in and worked. Shortly after I was joined by Jason Cundy who would be anchor for the night. We went in search of a cup of tea and as you can see from the picture, settled down to wait for showtime.

The second picture is taken not long after we went on air at 7pm, with the arena yet to fill up with merry punters. Pictured is a pensive looking Alvin Martin, alongside Mark who was our resident tipping expert for the night. I told you the walls were suspiciously orange:

The next shot was taken on my phone later in the evening, with Jason and Alvin deep in coversation about the upcoming race. In the background you can see the crowds milling around at the bars and tote windows with the floodlight track itself down below to the left. Having done two of these events now I'm always surprised at how well the crowds tend to leave you alone when you are clearly hard at work. Ever wondered why the TV reporters doing pieces to camera in the street seem to be ignored by the passers by milling around them? It seems to be the same for radio. We are surrounded by so many cables and so much techical stuff that it is almost as if people are scared to even look in our direction for fear of disturbing something that they shouldn't. Needless to say a chaperone is always stationed discreetly a few feet away but so far I've never had to manhandle someone away from the broadcast position and tell them to do some slinging of hooks.

Finally this was me, stood attempting to look in control and sporting a very exciting looking headset which didn't actually do anything as my box to the studio was broken. I made my peace with the fact that having dragged it all to the venue, set everything up in record time (a process which also involved running an extension cable over the balcony and along the back of a wall until I could share a power socket with the restaurant tills) my reward was to stand and watch over the whole thing for the night, fuelled by an endless stream of free drinks and the knowledge that at 10pm I had to dismantle everything and carry it back to the studio again.

No of course it isn't glamorous, but it is enormous fun at the same time. Best of all I get to do it all over again in Cardiff at the end of next week.