Memoirs of a Fruitcake

by Chris Evans

  Following Radio Radio, our paths had crossed several times since, as I had now become a recognisable face in my own right and had appeared as a guest on his Saturday Zoo show, as well as attempting to collaborate with him in an effort to get him back on television when he’d lost his way a bit.

  [Adopt Michael Caine voice here] Now not a lot of people know this but I actually wrote TFI Friday for Jonathan. I was going to produce it with him as the presenter.

  I’d asked him over to my flat in north London for a cup of tea, where the two of us lay on the grass in my garden, chewing the television fat. I remember it vividly, second only to the day I asked Jools Holland (my ultimate TV hero) to be musical director on Don’t Forget Your Toothbrush, another red-letter day for the Evans boy.

  My initial idea for Jonathan was for a Sunday show based in a church, with Jonathan as the preacher/host, the congregation/audience in the pews, guests in the confessional and music from the choir area.

  The Sunday Joint, as I had titled it, slowly evolved into TFI Friday after I came to the conclusion it was probably better to piggyback on the natural positive energy of a Friday evening than try to manufacture similar energy on a Sunday.

  The main man at Channel 4 at the time liked the idea for the show but when I declared Jonathan as my first-choice host, replied with these exact words:

  ‘Everyone knows Jonathan is yesterday’s man.’

  This didn’t stop the same exec trying to rehire him a few years later when he was back on top.

  As Jonathan’s brother Paul always says, ‘Form is temporary – class is permanent.’ Bravo Paul and bravo Jonathan, for now at least.

  After I eventually took up the mantle of TFI Friday, Jonathan’s career continued to founder but I was always wondering how I could get to work with him. Now I owned my own radio station I could simply offer him a job.

  Our Saturday line-up was becoming an unexpected highlight of the week, with Terry at lunchtime, Rock and Roll Football in the afternoon, and Johnny Boy Revell and his Wheels of Steel ushering us into Saturday night. If Wossy was at a loose end, he could do a lot worse than kick off our Saturdays with a mid-morning music/interview show…

  For me he is the most natural talker in British broadcasting. He isn’t just blessed with a sharp mind and a quick jaw; it’s almost as if Jonathan needs to talk to stay alive.

  The only other person I’ve seen blessed/blighted with this condition is the great Danny Baker, who runs JR pretty close when it comes to the art of rabbiting. I once went out for lunch with both of them. I don’t think I said more than fifteen words for the duration of the whole meal, as Jonathan and Danny went head to head in a conversational clash of the titans. They talked continuously and – for the most part – at the same time. I was sure that neither of them listened to a single word the other one had to say.

  When I made the call to JR about coming to work for me it was a really big deal. I felt almost audacious as I sat in my recently purchased, stupidly big, green Bentley parked spookily enough in Great Portland Street, right outside what is now Radio 2. Of course little did any of us know at the time how important that building would become to both our stories in a decade’s time.

  As I dialled his number on my car phone, I continued to rehearse my pitch to him as to why he might want to join the wonderful world of the wireless. After no more than a couple of rings he picked up and I launched straight in.

  ‘What do you have to lose?’ I concluded after I was done.

  ‘Chris, I’m not so sure you know, radio’s what you do, I’m a telly man, always have been, and that’s where I want to be.’

  I suspected this was how the conversation might go and I could understand Jonathan’s concerns. Some television people – in those days, especially – may have seen radio as a step down, but I had prepared my little spiel. I told Jonathan that radio was the best ‘shop window’ in our business bar none; the perfect advert for a broadcaster’s talent. I explained to him that because he was so natural he had nothing to fear. I added that radio also has a knack of easing a broadcaster back into people’s consciousness, whilst also affording them a more intimate relationship with a much more discerning and receptive audience.

  This – and whatever else I said during the course of our brief chat – must have struck a chord, as Jonathan called me back a couple of days later, saying he was up for it. He was on air within a fortnight and quickly settled in to become another quality cannon to add to our weekend arsenal of radio fire power.

  We gave him a show that ran from ten till one on a Saturday morning. It was precisely the time my old Greater London Radio show had aired almost a decade before, not the only thing the two shows had in common. I called in my old colleague Andy Davies to produce Jonathan. Andy had done exactly the same for me at GLR, so I thought he would be the perfect person to hold Jonathan’s hand – and I’m glad to say I was right.

  The happy couple were still together ten years later, doing an almost identical show for the mighty Radio 2 and winning countless awards in the process. The shop-window theory worked a treat; within a year of joining us, the BBC came for Jonathan in a big way, transferring his show lock, stock and barrel to Saturday mornings on their national FM network.

  With the power of Radio 2 behind him, Jonathan was firmly back on the entertainment map and it was only a matter of time before the clarion call of television could be heard. The birth of his Friday night BBC 1 talk show followed in 2001 and in no time at all Jonathan was back on top, where he would remain for the best part of the next decade.

  The irony was that Jonathan wrote to me asking if I would be a guest on that first series of his talk show, some three years after I had employed him at the radio station and approximately a year after I had gone slightly cuckoo and off into my wilderness years. In many ways, Jonathan and I had effectively swapped places, but the last thing I wanted to do at that point was jump back on the bus. I replied to him by letter saying, ‘Thanks old boy, deeply flattered, good luck with your new venture but I’m not really “at it” anymore.’

  I meant every word at the time and in truth never expected to be ‘at it’ again – least of all with him, on the very same show, nine years later, which is exactly what happened.

  I did eventually appear on Friday Night with Jonathan Ross in October 2009 to promote my first book, It’s Not What You Think.

  However, as you will come to learn, this was a book that only came about as a result of Jonathan’s infamous appearance on Russell Brand’s radio show. I can assure you that if Jonathan and Russell had not made that phone call to Andrew Sachs, neither of my two books would ever have come into being, but that is a story I will return to later on.

  TOP

  10

  THINGS A PROPRIETOR SHOULD NEVER DO

  10 Get drunk with the staff

  9 Think an employee is ever having a natural conversation with them

  8 Park a big posh car right outside the building

  7 Have more meetings

  6 Become involved in personal issues

  5 Trust anyone

  4 Be swayed from your core beliefs

  3 Employ pals

  2 Employ beautiful secretaries

  1 Incentivise the workforce: reward – yes; dangle carrot – no. One day you will run out of carrots

  WITH THE PURCHASE OF VIRGIN RADIO, unbeknown to me, the seeds of what was to become a lonely and almost fatal madness had also been sown. The aforementioned artistic freedom was there, for sure, but this came hand in hand with corporate responsibility, and these two components, yoked together, were never going to happily coexist. Something I would unfortunately have to discover the hard way.

  I should have spotted the signs. I remember turning up for work at Golden Square in Soho one morning, no more than a month into my tenure. It was the middle of winter, when early mornings are painful to the touch. No sooner had I entered the building than I was confronted with what must have been fifty or sixty boxes piled on the groun
d floor, taking up so much room they almost made the corridor impassable. Upon inspection I discovered that inside each of these boxes was a brand new computer.

  ‘What do we need all these computers for?’ I remember asking myself. ‘What’s wrong with the ones we already have? Who is cleared to sign cheques for such large orders and shouldn’t I know about purchases of such bulk?’

  Not the most colourful of thoughts with which to start one’s day.

  For ownership – see headaches. Lord, why did I not realise? Lots of people (OK, men, mostly) like the idea of owning their local pub, or golf course, or restaurant, but it’s far better just to go there, have some fun, pay the bill and leave the mowing of the fairways and cleaning of the dirty pots to someone else.

  Worse than managing things, though, is managing people.

  I will never forget my first encounter with a group of my new employees, when I organised for all the DJs to meet up at the local pub for a bonding session. I thought they would be a like-minded bunch to start with; my fellow presenters in a world full of padded walls, soundproof glass and overblown egos. In contrast to other stations – where off air, the DJs barely ever see or speak to each other – I was determined that at my radio station things would be different. We would be one big happy family, like the Monkees on telly, or the Beatles in A Hard Day’s Night. I thought a regular get together would give my guys a voice, a feeling of inclusiveness – nothing too cute or touchy-feely, merely a line of communication to each other and to me, their boss. I thought the best plan would be to organise a lunchtime meeting in a pub round the corner from the studio.

  Wrong!

  The morning meeting I had across town that day overran and, as a result, I found myself having to sprint the mile or so back to base to make it on time for our DJ summit. I eventually arrived at the pub a few minutes after one o’clock, puffed out and red in the face but nonetheless excited about the prospect of meeting my elite guard all together for the first time. I was looking forward to a few beers and getting down to the business of encouraging the guys to spring forth their opinions and visions for our future together.

  Wrong! Again.

  There they were, my all-star line-up, stood somewhat lacklustre to say the least, at the bar, barely saying a word to each other.

  What on earth were they thinking? Did they have it in their minds that I was going to fire them on the spot?

  Looking back, perhaps they did. Perhaps it was exactly that, their lack of cheery chat may well have been terror-induced, but they were not to know my motive was one of unification, not suppression.

  Already I could sense that this wasn’t going to plan and they were getting the wrong end of the stick. I was definitely one of them but in danger now of being perceived as a potential enemy – as having crossed over to the dark side.

  Sure DJs did fall by the wayside as a result of my proprietorship. The management of people is a huge and complicated task and one that takes a very special talent, a talent not to be underrated.

  ‘Show me the money,’ Tom Cruise famously said in Jerry Maguire. Tom, you were wrong.

  ‘Show me the manager,’ any day of the week.

  TOP

  10

  CRAZY THINGS TO DO

  WITH YOUR MONEY

  10 Spend it on people you have never met before

  9 Spend it on people you don’t like

  8 Spend it on people you suspect don’t like you

  7 Spend it on really expensive wine, when everyone is too far gone to appreciate it

  6 Spend it on holidays you don’t want to go on

  5 Lend it to idiots

  4 Invest in businesses run by idiots

  3 Play the stock market (the big boys have the rest of us by the balls)

  2 Think for one second it can ever buy you happiness

  1 Forget how hard you worked to earn it

  ULTIMATELY, MY OWNERSHIP OF THE GINGER MEDIA GROUP (GMG) would last no longer than two years, thank God, after which my brief and bizarre run as a rookie media mogul would morph into my becoming a multi-millionaire part-time DJ, with too much time on his hands and a bank account burning a hole in his pocket. Sounds fabulous, doesn’t it?

  So why, then, is such coveted good fortune all too often the downfall of the people who come to experience it?

  Perhaps it’s something to do with the paradise syndrome – a recognised psychological condition in which people imagine things are too good to be true, and so end up sabotaging them until they return once again to the shitty bad old days.

  Was this what happened to me? I suspect it was. But before I get to the part where it all went wrong, let me cut to the chase and tell you how all this money ended up coming my way in the first place.

  It was my job as proprietor of GMG, along with my CEO, David Campbell – DC, as I’ve always known him – and my agent Michael, to grow our new business from day one, just as we had promised our investors we would do. We had claimed to be able to at least double the £87 million we had originally paid, within three to five years. If and when this was achieved, we had agreed to sell it again and all retire to the Bahamas – or as it turned out in my case, Guildford.

  Our initial plan for the ‘growing’ part was based around building up our already established television and radio business, whilst at the same time diversifying into becoming a more broad-based media company. The internet had just been born, and digital television and radio-broadcast platforms were taking their first steps as toddlers. In short, we were witnessing the beginnings of a communications and technological revolution, and rarely, if ever, had there been a better time for expansion.

  GMG’s growth was, however, about to be stunted.

  There was a problem, you see, a very simple problem – we were too successful, too quickly, without really doing very much at all. The ratings and revenue from the radio station increased at such an unexpected rate after we had taken over that the business almost immediately doubled and then almost tripled in value. Suddenly there was very little for us to do, over and above turning up for work every day. There was no need to push ourselves, there was no need to look for new opportunities and, most importantly of all, there was no need for us to take any risks.

  So what was the problem, you may ask?

  Well, it was like this. I had a very ambitious management team consisting of several natural entrepreneurs whose very DNA dictated they had to take any money-making heat they could get their hands on and turn it into a full-blown volcano – whether it was needed or not. Unfortunately at this juncture, because of our premature success in reaching and exceeding all our financial targets, these same guys soon found themselves at direct loggerheads with the boys and girls in our boardroom.

  The management wanted to stick to the original brief of expansion, whereas our investors only cared about extracting the added value. As this point had already been reached, the investors understandably didn’t want any further and unnecessary throws of the dice.

  Here’s what happened next:

  Everyone knew we were worth millions more than just a few months before, maybe even as much as a hundred million more, maybe even more than that. In short, we were very good for credit, almost fireproof. Not surprisingly the management team decided the time was ripe for taking on bigger challenges – like buying a national newspaper for example, specifically the Daily Star.

  If you want to make money, never buy a gleaming champion for sale at the top of the market, go instead for a leaky old boat that no one wants or cares about anymore.

  The Daily Star was that boat; it was losing money hand over fist, had problems with its printing and distribution, and had become a predictable one-trick pony of gossip, girls and sport done on the cheap. However it was still also enjoying half-decent circulation figures and, with a little love and affection both behind the scenes and on the page, my trusty CEO, DC, reckoned it could be polished up and be back in the black within a year. He had investigated alternative ways of printing and th
e sharing of distribution facilities to help cut costs, and he and I had even had a clandestine lunch with Piers Morgan who, in principle, had agreed to be our editor.

  Our thinking was something along the lines of radio stations being very similar to newspapers in so many ways. Why couldn’t our millions of new listeners become millions of new readers, and vice versa?

  As momentum around Project Star gathered pace, the frisson of our second big deal was well and truly in the air – especially when we discovered we could snap up this ailing daily for the knock-down price of just £25 million, a snip at the time for a UK national newspaper title.

  Alas, though, it was not to be.

  The board rejected our request for permission to buy the Daily Star hands down. We had the deal in the bag, but they were insistent we didn’t need it. Their exact phrase was ‘Why do we need to bet the ranch anymore?’

  The board left us in no doubt that they were more than happy with things as they stood. My management team, on the other hand, could not have been less satisfied with the situation. In fact they were about to throw their toys, along with their immense talent, right out of our company pram.

  As soon as they were informed of the board’s decision, all three of them – the chief executive officer, the financial officer and the managing director – walked straight out of the building.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  Here was I, a radio DJ, former newsagent, kiss-o-gram and forklift-truck driver, now alone at the head of a £200 million company with close to two hundred employees and hundreds of thousands of pounds flowing in and out of our accounts on a daily basis.

  I needed my boys back and I needed them back bloody quickly. I summoned the board to an emergency meeting scheduled for the second I came off the air the next day.