North / South divide

What’s wrong with Salford Quays? Well, I suppose it doesn’t really help if the entry in Wikipedia describes the location as “next to some of the most socially deprived and violent areas in England.”

Let’s imagine I’m Sarah Lancashire. Oh come on, this isn’t going to work if you don’t take it seriously. Imagine I’m Sarah Lancashire, a working actress and director, and (crucially) with three sons. I have West End theatre experience, and I hope to get back on the London stage when my youngest is a little older.

One day, my husband, Peter Salmon, comes home (this imagining thing isn’t working is it?) and says, “Lancs! (he calls me that; it’s a sort of pet name) Terrific news – I’ve moved up another rung; Director, BBC North! And onto the Executive Board, my fair, blonde, Lancastrian lass!”

The decision, as part of the Charter Review in the mid 2000s, to conjure up a vision of a less London biased future for the BBC, was made during that twitchy midlife New Labour period, when value and common sense were of less importance than visceral nods to inclusion. It may not be too much of a leap into the socially deprived and violent dark to propose that if the decision were being taken in the second half of 2010, a completely different perspective and outcome would be considered.

Hindsight, of course, so often overcomes the need for spectacles, or at the very least presents us with some pretty, rose-tinted contact lenses, but looking back, the announcement of the movement of the BBC Children's Department, Children's Learning, Future Media & Technology, 5 Live, and Sport, was made rather too swiftly.

Now, uniquely, we can’t blame the BBC Trust (we can for everything else: Ross/Brand, Clarkson, global warming, potholes on the A40, England’s World Cup failure...) as it didn’t exist at the time, but the Board of Governors was made up of members responsible for regions away from the south east corner of England, and others whose background, birthplace, or work, left them looking longingly away from the capital.

A move to a brownfield site on two hundred acres of reclaimed docks may have been nodded through with amusement, glee and a big puff of righteousness.

Now it gets a bit complicated. The Peel Group is a land/real estate infrastructure investment company. Their first investment into MediaCityUK is worth half a billion quid. They set up Peel Media to look after the public relations aspect of the development, and whilst there is no evidence at all of spin, we do need to remember that information is delivered by Peel from this background.

This month, Peel was asked to announce the migration of the BBC Breakfast programme to Salford, along with confirmation that two thousand and five hundred BBC staff will move to the Quays from 2011. Naturally key words such as ‘delighted’, ‘pleased’, and ‘success’, pop up in the press release.

So we can say with reasonable certainty that it’s too late to turn back down the M6 now, and an about-face would be too damaging in terms of credibility of management, cost, and the weight of contracted agreements. A betting man or woman may though, if the political wind blows in helpful directions, speculate a pound or two on the BBC buildings being transformed into bijou apartments or designer outlets by (let us guess) 2020, with the whole mini-corporation hiring the removal vans and returning to a slimmed down White City.

Perhaps, caught up in the rush of the BIG IDEA, in 2004, nobody considered that however committed to the BBC, their role, and the future, many of their employees have partners, families; and children placed in schools, where they have established roots and friendships. Hoofing children from a London school to an area “next to some of the most socially deprived and violent areas in England,” may not have quite the earthy appeal that we might find in a BBC drama (“Our Friends in the North West”?) where the new kid in town, with his London accent, overcomes the odds, becomes head boy, and signs for Manchester City.

For BBC staff undertaking the less glamorous roles at Salford, and thus on less glamorous salaries, the advantage of retaining property in Whitton or Isleworth may not be an option. However, an increasing number of the executives are becoming a little coy about any plans to relocate permanently, and word seeps out about taking “the rental option at this stage” which may be both prudent in terms of long term viability, and in keeping harmony in the family home.

So perhaps now we have a greater insight into Sarah Lancashire’s response when husband Peter Salmon came home with that news. Could it have been along the lines of, “Delighted for you darling, but we’re not moving an inch north of Twickenham."

Terence Dackombe, July 2010

Radio Times

It wouldn’t be a surprise if there are days when Tim Davie wakes up and, for a fraction of a second, wonders if he is still the Marketing Manager for PepsiCo.

hen as the alarm continues its call, and the reassuring warmth of the duvet is pushed aside, we couldn’t blame him if he uttered a low moan as he realises he is in fact the Director of Audio and Music at the BBC.

Now, if he were here, Davie would dispute any notion of regret. He’s a ‘get-up-and-go’ sort of fellow, running marathons hither and thither, and in rather breathtaking times to boot. It’s hard though, not to feel some sort of sympathy for the man. He’s been in post for just over two years, and has already had to deal with a multiplicity of woes, all beginning with the letter ‘S’. Sachs, Six Music, Salford, Sarah K, and Moyles... (yes, I know).

Those last three have emerged (or re-emerged in the Salford case) this week as significant issues in the Davie in-box. But can we hold this former marketing man to account? Is he a loose cannon like Pete Campbell, or a reassuring Bert Cooper?

Sachsgate is history, and we assessed the sorrows and strife of Salford a couple of months ago.

So let’s deal with the herd of elephants in the studio. BBC 6 Music. Tim Davie and Mark Thompson wanted to be shot of it. The BBC Trust listened to the few dozen high profile protestors and enforced a re-think. This subject has been discussed until its entrails have been restored to life and then discussed all over again. It is arguable that a manager needs to manage and a reasoned decision was made. If 6 Music had shut down three months ago, would there still be weeping outside Broadcasting House? (The answer is almost certainly ‘no’).

At an initial glance, there may not appear to be much in common between the former head girl of Radio Two, and the blustering Yorkshire lad from Radio One. Yet under the radio microscope that I employ on such occasions, we can find a very clear link that takes us to the heart of the challenge that has faced almost every manager or controller of a radio station since Lord Reith first began hiring the talent.

In her valedictory address to the nation, via the unquestioning pages of the Mail and Telegraph, Sarah Kennedy (once she had established the conspiracy plot), laid the blame, firmly, with her producer, for not telling her she was “slurring.”

“What’s the point of a producer if he allows you to do a bad show and go home thinking it was OK?” she told the Telegraph.

On Tuesday, Chris Moyles used the first thirty minutes of his show on Radio One to ramble (it wasn’t really a ‘rant’ as most reports have indicated), rather unconvincingly, about the reliability of the BBC pay and accounting team. It may be a much fairer question to ask of this situation, where the hell was his producer? Why didn’t ‘someone’ tell him to shut up, go home, or get on with it?

When presenters or disc jockeys begin their careers, they are compliant. They want the gig so badly, that they will follow the rules, listen to the guidance and advice offered by the producer, and do anything not to rock the boat so that their (often three monthly) contract is renewed.

Time passes, and for the few, success follows success. Listeners email, text, and phone in. They tell you that you’re great. You make their day special. The station controller takes you out to lunch, but you still take the offer of the breakfast show at a bigger station.

More people tell you how fantastic you are; there are more lunches; there’s more money and then the BBC in London comes a-calling.

You’re network news! You’re featured in Heat Magazine. ITV want you to appear on the Xtra Factor. Everyone laughs along with you, including your million Twitter followers.

By this time, the tipping point has been well and truly passed, and you didn’t notice it tip. It’s like that waving listener you barely acknowledge from the back seat of the Addison Lee chauffeured car taking you to the studio. You’re bigger than any producer. They have become a junior (very junior) part of YOUR show. They laugh at your jokes because they are now dependent on you. They know you have the power. Management will dump them at your say-so. Management no longer listen to the producer, and neither do you. You’re the star.

We can’t blame the producers. If the BBC had concerns about Sarah Kennedy, they hid them

well despite a number of, shall we say, unfortunate incidents. The ‘slurring’ programme was

simply another one to chalk up on the rather large board.

It may have been a very difficult decision to take on the day. A presenter taken off air midway through her programme would have been front page news. Would Ms Kennedy have handed a bouquet to the producer in grateful thanks? It is not an easy picture to frame.

Moyles is a hundred times more powerful than any of his large cohort of junior zookeepers. They know their place. A producer dashing in to the studio and firing up a Lady Gaga track? It’s not going to happen.

The role of producer on the Moyles show is a nominal one. One could even argue that the role of producer does not exist, as the show is not produced. Chris Moyles arrives, and does as he wishes, ill advised or otherwise.

This situation is not unique to radio. Actors, musicians, performers of many kinds, sportsmen and sportswomen, start their journey on a similar, submissive, path. They become bigger than the paymasters, the producers, the directors, the managers; they buy some ‘yes men’ and it often unravels just as it has with Chris Moyles and Sarah Kennedy.

We’re all to blame, or rather, we’re all responsible. We join in with the myth of specialness, because we want to be entertained. We need to believe that the actor, singer, or disc jockey is an outlier, a rarity, unique.

When we notice the feet of clay, we gain nothing by contriving a shocked pose and tapping out an indignant comment on a Guardian blog page.

Looking for an answer? There isn’t one. It’s human nature. It may not be very reassuring, but it will happen again. And then again.

Is Tim Davie responsible for all of this? No, of course not; but he may start wishing his luck would change at the temple of the arts and muses. It must have been a lot easier at Pepsi.

Terence Dackombe, September 2010

Station to station: is the future of media local?

It’s rare in life that we find a group of people, many of them experts in their field, agreeing wholeheartedly on a subject woven into their lives. The agreement amongst media professionals, particularly when pondering upon broadcast media, is, as far as I can tell, universal.

Everyone agrees that they don’t know what is going to happen.

Secretary of State for Culture, Jeremy Hunt, used his first speech on media matters to confirm many of the ideas he spoke of when in opposition over the last couple of years. Indeed, such was the similarity that he dusted off and re-used his favourite anecdote (I’ve heard him knock this one out at least twice before) about how Birmingham, Alabama has eight local television stations, yet Birmingham, England has none. As both cities have a population of just over one million, this, Mr Hunt feels, exemplifies the opportunities that await the citizens of Central England.

Earlier this week, I had a discussion with Alex Connock, chief executive of the multimedia company, Ten Alps. Alex has a strong view that local is the way forward, and he envisages television stations presenting local news every thirty minutes, with chat shows, infomercials, and perhaps blockbusters such as Lost, holding the network together. This station would form only part of a multimedia mix, including web, print, radio and video.

I differ in view from Alex on two aspects of the push towards ‘local’; on the grounds of geography and potential quality (or lack thereof).

I live in Berkshire, about thirty miles from London, yet my default television stations for local news are ‘South’, and thus I get the latest news from Southampton and Bognor, at the expense of my closer neighbourhoods of Acton and Kensington. To which I say, “Bugger Bognor.”

With due apologies to our friends from the south, there generally isn’t a great deal of news that will keep me entranced for five minutes, never mind the longer time grab demanded by advertisers. Of course, I haven’t conducted a survey, but I sense that interest in localisation is diminishing rather than expanding, and as we grow ever closer throughout the world and shrink even more into the global village, we show as much awareness of the oil spilling out into the Gulf of Mexico as we do with the news from the South Of England Show at Ardingley (dominating the website at BBC Sussex as I write this piece).

I wonder if I am in a significant minority in having a great deal more interest in the wider news, than that taking place within my county. The latest score from the 20/20 cricket match between Sussex and Gloucestershire has its place, but I should not wish to know about it at the expense of breaking news from the conflict in Afghanistan.

Equally, our desire to follow the American model is blinding us with the light of opportunity and ignores the unavoidable reality that US television is, in the main, terrible.

Cheap, relentless and over-cheerful commercials – with the owners of car sales businesses shouting their wares, as they attempt to achieve their fix of low level fame. Hours of game shows, “Let’s spin that wheel!” and apparently never ending soaps, “But Grace, Luke can’t be the father because he was born a woman!"

Any visitor to the United States, whether to Birmingham, Alabama, or Prescott, Arizona, swiftly finds the novelty of ‘different’ television wearing as thin as the plot to ‘All My Children.’

Putting aside the ‘quality issue’ (and I do so with metaphorical alarm bells ringing), can this localisation (localistation?) of television create profits for potential investors? The possibilities gain more credibility when we acknowledge that OFCOM are musing upon relaxing the currently rather tight limits on how many local stations (or newspapers) can be owned by a single company or investor.

It is believed that Jeremy Hunt is of the view that the controls should be reviewed or even removed altogether.

Yet it remains speculative. In the last six months I have attended dozens of seminars, debates, talks and presentations on ‘the future of the media’. The overwhelmingly clear message has remained the same. Nobody knows.

Meanwhile, in the South of England Show today, Mr D McPherson won the 600 class in the Show Jumping Area Trial.

Terence Dackombe June 2010

All talk

Dum-di-dum-di-dum-di-dum-di. Sigh. Them were the days. You knew where you were with the John Peel theme music. Hairy Cornflakes, afternoon boy posses and bits in the middle had all finished for the day. David 'Kid' Jensen had warmed you up with a session from The Jags and now it was time for two hours programmed just for you by Peely himself. Maybe he'd even read out your letter in praise of Crispy Ambulance.

Well, that was then and this is now. Your obsession with all things rockular is still intact (just a little less seemly) but you just can't face music radio any longer. Which is ironic because there are about a thousand more stations these days and they're all broadcasting in crispy, crisp digital. But when you tune in (if indeed you do tune a DAB) and the second half of 'The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonight' comes burbling out, your heart sinks. And what do you do? Huh? That's right, you tune away to Radio 4, or 5Live or even Radio 7.

So what in Stipe's name is going on here? You're loving the music, the radio is playing the music, so why don't you listen to the music radio? I'm not a doctor, but I'm offering a dual diagnosis. Control and contemplation. No clearer? Let me explain.

The genuine music fan has been very fortunate in the last decade. The i-pod, i-tunes, Spotify - all gift wrapped and ready to be loaded with old Slaughter and the Dogs albums and rare Isley Brothers b-sides. Almost any tune you desire is sitting on a searchable server somewhere, simply waiting for you to invite it into your bijou home and modern life. The thrill of some jock on a pop station spinning your favourite platter may have been sweet but, like getting excited by the underwear section in the Freeman's catalogue, it's a joy confined to the distant past - and it 'aint coming back. You want to hear some Throwing Muses? They're right there on your laptop. Some Thelonius Monk? Bingo - your 'late night jazz' playlist online. There isn't a DJ on the planet able to keep up with your wandering tastes. You have the control now, so when it comes to music, the wireless is as much use as a cheese motorcycle.

Which only leaves the talking bits between the tunes to stimulate your massive intelect. Now, this isn't completely unlikely - unless you listen to 'local' radio. Radcliffe and Maconie aren't idiots by any means - and you quite enjoy some of the nice folk beThese are the talk stations - and we're really talking about soothing Radio 4 and its more adrenalised cousin 5Live. They are far from perfect, of course. But you struggle to remember when you last heard a compelling play on Ken Bruce's show or an interview with Werner Hertzog on Dale's Pick of the Pops.

Sure, you're glad Dermot has Amy MacDonald in this weekend, but it clashes with a report on the SETI project and they're re-running On The Hour on BBC7. And, gosh darnit, you have a rapier like mind and it needs stimulating. What's more Amy's entire collected recordings are sitting like MP3 flavoured sweeties on more devices than you really have any need for.

It's okay. Your anxiety is needless. Relax. Music radio will get along just fine without you. There are thousands of punters out there who are genuinely happy for Steve Wright's producer to select their afternoon entertainment. Their hackles are in no way elevated when their radio set spews Simply Red's 'New Flame', because they're quite normal and for them, music is just a background ambience. For you, however, music is your mistress with a hotline to your heart and you just can't bear the experience of a media graduate taking responsibility for your listening pleasure. So radio is now a source of comment, opinion, current affairs, humour and news.

It just no longer cuts it as a music machine.

Magnus Shaw 2010

Walls come tumbling down ...

Denis Diderot has a name resonant of The Beano, but was actually an eighteenth century French bloke, who got himself into various spots of bother with his tendency to be outspoken about such diverse areas of thought as free will and shopping.

Denis (and this is what attracts our attention to him here) pondered, in his philosophical way, about the ‘fourth wall’ that is figuratively in place between stage performers and their audience. The invisible yet tangible division betwixt us ‘down here’ and them ‘up there’, and vice-versa of course, if we wish to plant ourselves amongst the talent.

The fourth wall needs to both exist and not exist. If we place ourselves back into the audience again, we outnumber the actors, singers or dancers, often by several thousand to one, so it’s important that there is an unseen barrier, beyond which, we don’t venture. Otherwise, there would have to be a moat, or an electrified fence, at the Royal Opera House.

However, as an audience, we equally have to forget that wall, because the performers are doing all they can to pull us into the action; to suspend belief, and engineer our thoughts to the point of acceptance in our minds, that we are involved; that we believe in what we see.

Unforeseen events – a piece of scenery falls, a prop fails, a mobile phone rings – can shatter the fragile crystal of illusion, but, in the arts, and thus in life, we are in an age of change (as politicians are keen to remind us), and so, both those ‘up there’ and us ‘down here’ are transforming the way we react to a performance.

In the Independent this week, Victoria Summerley reviewed ‘Love Never Dies', the new Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. Despite sitting in the most expensive (an eye-popping sixty quid each) seats, she spent much of her time, craning her neck sideways, to try and see what was happening on the higher areas of the stage. At The Adelphi, the dress circle stretches itself out over half of the stalls, so denying the top price seats any sort of view of the top half of the stage. Now you and I might assume, that someone ‘up there’ would have checked that we ‘down here’ could actually see the Phantom’s fairground in Coney Island, but perhaps we have moved into a RyanAir age of performance. A ‘What You See Is What You Get’, and don’t slam the door as you leave.

For Victoria Summerley and her daughter, the fourth wall was not so much an illusion, more the floor of the dress circle.

In our rocky/poppy world of music, the rules have been written on the hoof, a joint effort between us (in the manège) and them (in the saddle). Between us, we may have got it wrong.

If I pop along to see Love’s Labour’s Lost, I certainly don’t expect the King of Navarre to turn to us ‘down here’, and exhort us to join in with his oath to forswear the company of ladies. I think I speak for all of us if I say we wouldn’t know where to look for awkwardness. The fourth wall exists here, for Shakespearean actors to maintain their place, and us to know ours.

Equally, if I toddle along to see Lady Gaga, N-Dubz or Mott The Hoople, I want them to leave that element, those bricks of the fourth wall, right in place.

Prince gets it right. When he took over the O2 Arena for a season, a couple of years ago, he performed; we watched, listened, and applauded enthusiastically. The wall was there in a good way.

Paul McCartney gets it wrong. ‘Hey Jude’ is, for my generation, as much an iconic piece of music as was Beethoven’s Fifth, Mozart’s Fortieth, and Spem in Alium, for those of earlier ages. I won’t sing-a-long-a Thomas Tallis, and I don’t want Paul to be adopting a pantomime approach to my

Beatle hymns.

“Now just the girls!” says Paul at the ‘na na na na na na na’ bit, “Now just the fellas – now all together!”

No, Paul. The wall has come down in a bad way.

We share the blame. We treat the process of going to see live entertainment as an extension of lolling on the sofa at home, and nipping out to the kitchen for a quick raid on the fridge.

At the same Paul McCartney and Prince gigs (both at the O2 Arena), I was stunned by the constant flow of people up and down the stairs, not before, but during the shows. Instead of being accompanied by rapt attention, Paul’s sensitive treatment of ‘Let It Be’ was overshadowed by the sight of dozens and dozens of gig-goers scuttling away, and then returning with heavy loads of burritos, and cardboard trays of iced Southern Comfort.

We’re only a drumbeat away from Springsteen’s ‘Tenth Avenue Freeze Out’ being drowned by the sound of bullhorn carrying waitresses yelling out “Who ordered the Buffalo wings?”

Maybe we have already gone too far down the (Thunder) road. It’s possible that there’s no way back now. Or maybe it’s time for change. Time for a coalition of understanding between performers and audience. Entertain me; don’t expect me to provide my own amusement; don’t ask me to join in. You’re up there. I’m down here. Ask Denis Diderot. He knew.

Terence Dackombe, April 2010

Go compare: ITV and pay TV

Micropayments. It has a cute sort of ring to it doesn’t it?

“Mommy, look at that sweet little micropayment! Can we have one Mommy, can we? I promise to look after it, and take good care, and not let it die a terrifying, lonely death like the parrot Daddy brought home last Christmas.”

“Oh darling, try and forget about the parrot now. It’s been weeks since we heard any sound from the chimney breast, and I’m sure Polly Parrot has gone to a better place by now...”

“Like Center Parcs, Mommy?”

“Yes darling, the Center Parcs afterlife for parrots...”

Drifted off into a Stephen King world there, for a moment...

This week, ITV didn’t so much launch, as nudge an announcement that they would be placing their channels behind (sorry to mention the ‘P’ word again) paywalls, and asking you to pay for individual programmes through micropayments. Except they didn’t say that, it just made life more convenient for some newspapers and journals to report it that way.

If we study the detail of what Adam Crozier (Chief Executive, ITV) actually said on Wednesday, it becomes clear that ITV 1,2,3, & 4 will remain ‘free’ to the viewer, whilst they take the interesting step of placing the high definition versions of 2,3 and 4 onto the SKY HD package. That isn’t a paywall. It’s consolidation.

ITV executives will be fully aware that the attraction for placing those channels behind a pay per view barrier, on their own merit, will attract subscription rates struggling to achieve double figures, never mind the number of sign-ups to make them self supporting or even viable loss leaders. However, by positioning them in a banded link up with a (growing) series of high def brother channels, ITV will be far better placed to develop and blend income.

The Holy Grail, the cash cow if you will, for SKY, remains the Premier League and Champions League football. The House of Murdoch is built upon the desire of the nation to watch live coverage of Wayne, Fernando and Didier. For any of the less desirable channels, any link with the golden goose is welcomed, both in terms of building credibility, and more importantly, to snatch the financial crumbs falling from the goose’s lips (do geese have lips?).

SKY’s football coverage is now fully immersed into the pitch of high definition. Getting any foot under the same table is a comfort to fellow broadcasters in these challenging times, but to present an opportunity to play a delicate game of football footsie under that same table, is too much of a temptation to decline.

In these changing times, today’s clear sighted vision of the future for media becomes tomorrow’s hangover, which is about as far as ITV dare look. If we strain our vision to the horizon, where all television is presented in high definition and in three dimensions, then those same ITV executives’ shudder of doom can be felt along the entire south bank of the Thames. That package would no longer hold its niche appeal, and (nightmare scenario) all ITV channels would have to support themselves through advertising; and advertising on television is going through a bigger crisis of confidence than the world’s most neurotic teenager.

So step forward micropayments. As with the reporting of the plans for the high definition channels, there have been misunderstandings in the reporting of these ‘one-off’ payments. Although the merits of attempting to milk even more viewer money from the Simon Cowell talent shows must have been considered, ITV have no plans to present the viewer with pay and display programming. They can’t afford the risk. Shows such as ‘X Factor’ and ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ need to engage with the biggest possible audience to maximise emotional buy-in and the concomitant ‘need’ to vote (and by default, pay) for that emotional choice. A ninety per cent loss of viewers, despite the revenue from the remaining percentage, would be catastrophic for the business plan.

So what exactly do ITV mean by micropayments? How strong is your devotion to those ‘Go Compare’ commercials? The Iggy Pop insurance ad? Those ‘send us your gold teeth and we’ll send you a cheque in return’ ones? Micropayments will give you the option to watch (for example) Coronation Street without the usual accompaniment of the jarring, clattering parade of salesmen knocking on your screen.

No announcement yet about the envisaged fee, but let us undertake a touch of surmising, and continue with the example of Corrie, which airs five times each week.

We’ll pretend to be ITV executives, so dress down a bit, and hang your legs over the side of the chair.

Let’s give the viewer three options for watching Coronation Street: firstly, we’ll let them carry on as they are, everything remains the same; they will get the sponsorship stingers and the commercials for the most dumbed down products we can shove at them, and we won’t charge them anything at all for the ‘privilege’.

Secondly, we’ll offer them the choice of paying for individual episodes during the week. Let’s charge them fifty pence per show. For this, we may still show them the ‘sponsored by’ logos, but absolutely no commercials will spoil their enjoyment of Kevin, Tyrone and Molly’s Shakespearean love triangle.

Thirdly, we’ll offer packages; a pound for a week and five episodes; three pounds for a month, twenty five pounds for a commercial free year. Did we mention that for the packages we’ll make it easy for you by setting up a direct debit agreement with your bank? So, don’t worry about forgetting when your payment time is completed, we’ll automatically renew your payments for you (and guarantee our income).

OK, that’s our time for pretending to be high powered executives over with. Now let’s go back to our usual place as consumers. Will we buy into it? Maybe you hesitated. That’s the problem ITV, and every other media outlet faces at the moment. Nothing is clear. Nobody knows.

Just as Mr Murdoch is gambling that sufficient readers of The Times will pay for viewing their output online, so Mr Crozier is stepping into the unknown with his HD and micropayment plans. And just as newspaper proprietors watch anxiously for the outcome of Mr Murdoch’s leap of faith, so any number of audio and visual providers will keep a very close watch on the strategy being developed at ITV headquarters.

Meanwhile, “Go Compare, Go Compare; you can be sure when you insure with Go Compare you get the lowdown and costs can go down; and you'll thank you're stars that you went to Go Compare”

Terence Dackombe, August 2010