JZ's Diary
Head of 91热爆 Radio Scotland, Jeff Zycinski, with a sneak preview of programme plans and a behind-the-scenes glimpse of his life at the helm.
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Hogmanay
It's that time of year when Mrs Zed hankers after a tall, dark, handsome stranger to first foot us. Naturally I'm disqualified on at least two of those four criteria but I'm far too modest to say which.
Our Hogmanay will be spent at home in Inverness, but with Vic Galloway, Bryan Burnett and Robbie Shepherd providing the soundtrack from Pacific Quay in Glasgow.
Many thanks to all who have left comments on this blog during 2007...or who have sent me e-mails. And to those thousand or so who simply read this diary and say nothing, a Happy New Year when it comes.
Just don't be so shy in future!
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Happy Christmas
I hope your Christmas has been as happy as ours.
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I'm Here But You Can't Be Back Until Thursday
We have a new broom in charge of the 91热爆 Radio Scotland website...he goes by the name of Alan Braidwood. Alan is a keen photographer and many people have already commented that the photographs on our home page are looking a little more classy.
But the bad news is that the folk who moderate the comments on this blog are taking a break for presents and turkey. So Alan has asked me to let you know that any comments posted in the next few days might not appear until Thursday.
In any case I'm sure you've all got better things to do with your time.
Unlike me.
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Sneak Preview
This blog promises sneak previews of forthcoming programmes. Thanks to one of our radio drama producers, Kirsty Williams, I'm able to offer this behind-the-scenes glimpse of one of the new dramas that will airing on 91热爆 Radio Scotland in the New Year.As is my annoying habit with these sneak preview I can't give you much more information, other than the play is for Valentine's Day and it concerns a civil partnership.
Kirsty is the one on the right.
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The Enchanted Game
I wanted to stay home this afternoon and listen to the commentary on 91热爆 Radio Scotland. Our team have been on a winning streak lately and the match promised to be a thriller.
The Zedettes, however, are determined to see every dopey Christmas film that鈥檚 on release. Mrs Zed is equally determined to avoid them all. I鈥檓 somewhere in the middle but have decided to direct my energies towards reducing the cost of these family outings. That鈥檚 why I found myself scooping handfuls of Quality Street chocolates into little sandwich bags. Why hand over hard cash for those pic 鈥榥鈥 mix boxes you find in the cinema foyer? Not when our home is awash with pre-Christmas goodies.
I added a satsuma to each bag and we hit the road. If we got to the cinema in time for the lunchtime screening, I could still be home in time for the footy.
The film today was . A strange comedy in which Disney seems to be poking fun at its own heritage by transforming animated princes and princesses into flesh and blood characters and having them romp around New York City. The story had a simple message: dreams can come true.
The trouble with these films is that I find myself worrying needlessly about some of the minor characters. A team of speed cyclists collide with the singing prince from the animated world. There鈥檚 no follow-through scene at the hospital. Suppose those injuries ruin their chances of Olympic glory.
Then a cute chipmunk runs amok in a restaurant and customers scatter because they think it鈥檚 a rat. Fine鈥ery funny鈥ut think about the restaurant owner and the impact this will have on his business.
Never mind, we were home in time to hear the commentary from Tynecastle. Inverness Caley seemed set for another victory, especially when the Hearts keeper was sent off. Then, in a bizarre twist, the Edinburgh side won a penalty and equalised. Well, just when you thought it was all over, Caley scored again to win the match.
You see鈥hose guys at Disney are right - dreams can come true. But now I keep worrying about those Hearts players having a rotten Christmas.
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Santa Song Not Banned Says Red-Faced Beeb Boss
Forty-eight hours ago I decided to ban the song from the airwaves of 91热爆 Radio Scotland. The reaction has been swift and vocal. Well, there was in AllMedia Scotland and then this morning and I had an e-mail from German freelance journalist Udo Seiwert-Fauti telling me:"just reading you banned 鈥濻anta is a Scotsman鈥溾︹..nice try and a wee bit late ? Ken Bruce played it daily (!!!!) last year on Radio 2 , he is obviously Scottish , and you ban it this year ? Maybe in 10 years time you ban 鈥濬lower of Scotland鈥, very anti-English鈥.
All the best and I keep my Santa is a Scotsman record.,鈥︹ver heard of Scottish humour ?? Maybe not in the North鈥"
As a result of this pressure I have decided to buckle, er, I mean review our policy with regard to this song. I now accept it does indeed have artistic merit and, moreover, it is probably the case that Santa is indeed a Scot.I accept that lyrics which refer to Scots as pie-munchers with a weight problem were intended as a "bit of fun". As someone who last experienced fun in 1978 I have difficulty recognising it in others.
My final plea goes to Santa himself: check it once, check it twice, but please don't put me on the naughty list.
POSTSCRIPTSuch is the fast-moving nature of the modern news media, my u-turn is now making headlines. Have a look at from tonight's Edinburgh Evening News.
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Goodbye Julie
My friend and colleague Julie Adair leaves 91热爆 Scotland this week. There was a heads-of-department meeting at Pacific Quay yesterday which closed with words of thanks for Julie's contribution over the years. I led the applause and Julie announced that she would be having farewell drinks tomorrow. I led another round of applause for that. It was louder.
Regular readers of this diary will recognise Julie as a recurring character. In fact, in her role as Head of New Media, she was the person who actually suggested I start this blog and arranged for me to use the elegantly simple software which she and her team developed for the Island Blogging project. As you can see from the photograph above, the hardware involved is not quite as sleek as you might imagine.
Actually Julie challenged me to use that photograph and now owes me five hundred pounds. She wont have trouble paying because she's off to become a high powered executive with the Disney organisation.
Of course that sounds like a Mickey Mouse job to me.
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I Couldn't Get Arrested...Or Could I?
We who run radio stations are a terribly shallow lot. Take this week's about former MSP Tommy Sheridan. While most people are interested in the legal aspects of the case, I couldn't help notice that he was arrested while leaving the Edinburgh radio station where he now works as a presenter.
The subsequent news coverage gave acres of free publicity to the station itself.
Curses!And then, yesterday, this big fuss about 91热爆 Radio 1 of the Pogues song Fairytale of New York. Never mind the merits of the decision and the subsequent u-turn....just look at all that publicity!
So desperate times call for desperate measures. I've decided to ban the song on the grounds that it contains negative stereotypes about Scotish people.
Next I have to arrange for one of our presenters to be bundled into the back of a police car. A simple call to Crimestoppers should do the trick.
Now...who should I grass up?
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If Real People Spoke Like Radio People
One of the things that drives me crazy about radio is the reliance on a peculiar kind of language that, were you to employ it in the real world, would earn you a good slap about the face. In this radio world people don't attempt things, they make "a bid" and no one asks for anything when they can "urge" it. There are no hills, just "higher ground". People don't kick balls, they display their "footwork". Statements are made and then attributed afterwards...and every question must be answered without ambiguity.
Given that all my previous efforts to rid the airwaves of this nonsense have failed, I must now resort to ridicule. I ask you, therefore, to imagine the following real-world situations translated into radio-speak.
1. The Wedding
We are gathered here today in a bid to join this man and this woman. That's the claim of a local churchman who's urging eyewitnesses to come forward immediately if they want to object.
2. At The Bus Stop
Real Person: A bit chilly tonight, eh?
Radio Guy: Yes, temperatures well below average for the time of year and it looks like more of the same for the next few days. But by Tuesday we can expect to see those winds pick up and don't be surprised if there's a touch of snow on higher ground.
Real Person: eh...I think I'll just walk home.3. In The Pub
It's Billy with the lager, he passes to Graham but, oh, that's badly mis-timed and it's picked up by Craig...he keeps possession and moves forward, looking for space on his right but no, he moves to the left and takes his chance and yes, it's a brilliant bit of footwork and he's found the Snug. No, it's a corner.
4. First Date
Him: Thanks for joining me tonight.
Her: My pleasure
Him: Can I begin by asking you to clarify something. Some of your closest friends are suggesting you're a fan of Spielberg movies. Do you deny that?
Her: Which friends?
Him: Well I'm not going to reveal my sources but can you answer the question?
Her: Well I like all sorts of movies...
Him: It's a straightforward question...why can't you give me a straight answer?
Her: Because, if you'd let me finish, I was trying to tell you that I like movies by Hitchcock, Tarantino..
Him: And Spielberg? Yes or No?
Her: Look, I'm trying to tell you...
Him: One last time. Yes or No?
Her: It's not as simple as that.
Him: Well that's all we have time for. Drink up and we'll go for something to eat. It's being claimed tonight that you prefer Italian food. True or false?
Her: Well...To read comments on this post, click here
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Saturday Night Fever
It鈥檚 the 91热爆 staff party in Inverness tonight and I鈥檓 not there. Instead I鈥檝e been shuffling about the house looking like something would have delivered to the back door of a medical lab.
In other words, I have a bit of a cold.
I鈥檓 not getting much sympathy either. Truth is I鈥檓 thinking of hiring a crack team of lawyers to pore over the small print in my marriage certificate. I remember some verbal agreement about 鈥渟ickness and in health鈥 but I鈥檓 hoping there鈥檚 an actual clause which specifies the amount of pampering one should expect. Offers of hot water bottles and re-puffed pillows ought to be the bare minimum.
But I feel I鈥檓 failing in my duties by not being at the party. I鈥檓 supposed to be available for that point in the evening when junior members of staff decide to jab a finger in my chest and tell me a 鈥渇ew home truths鈥. That鈥檚 always fun.
I like to take notes.
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Now We Are Two
This blog is now two years old. Happy Birthday blog. I've taken the opportunity to peruse the archived entries and answer some of the questions posed by readers.
1. Yes, but it wasn't quite how it came across in the papers.
2. Technically it wasn't stealing.
3. Apologies...still trying to source a decent prize.
I hope that ties up any loose ends.
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Always Talk To Strangers
Lots of students turn up here at 91热爆 Scotland looking for career advice. The majority want to become journalists. In a bygone era we would have simply set the hounds on them, but not in these days of Corporate Social Responsibility. Now I鈥檓 expected to waste half an hour of my valuable staring-into-space time giving them 鈥渁 steer in the right direction鈥. I鈥檓 sure most of them would prefer the hounds.
My advice for would-be journalists could be summed up thus: find stories. Of course I have to spin this out for thirty minutes so I also tell them they must ignore everything their parents ever taught them鈥ell, maybe not everything. I mean, running with scissors is still a no-no, but forget that stuff about not talking to strangers. Strangers, you see, have stories to tell. You just have to get them talking and then 鈥 and this is the hardest part 鈥 you have to listen to what they鈥檙e saying.
At this point in my spiel I often have to click my fingers and wave a banana in the air to make sure the student in still paying attention. That鈥檚 when I share my very own trick of the trade. It鈥檚 a technique I developed after spending four years studying Sigmund Freud鈥檚 , followed by ten more years messing about on the internet. Freud, you will recall, believed that information from our sub-conscious mind could be revealed in our dreams or in slips of the tongue during everyday conversation. Now forget Freudian slips and imagine that every word said in a conversation was being transcribed immediately onto a web-page and that certain key-words became hyper-links into other pages of information. Hyper-links into the sub-conscious perhaps?
Are you still paying attention or do I need to fetch a bigger banana? No? Good.
So now imagine we鈥檝e just met and are having the following innocuous conversation:
Me: Are you planning a holiday next year?
You: Not sure鈥t depends if we can afford it. Of course the kids would love to go to Disneyland but I don鈥檛 like flying.Now, in the space of seven seconds, I鈥檝e discovered three things about you; you worry about money, you鈥檙e a parent and you are scared of flying. You鈥檙e also coming across as a bit of whiner, but we鈥檒l let that go for the moment. Instead I鈥檒l use my next question to click on one of your verbal hyper-links.
Me: Why don鈥檛 you like flying?
You: Well鈥 was once in a hi-jack situation and鈥And, hey presto, we have a story. That was easy wasn鈥檛 it? Maybe I should have clicked on one of your other links.
Me: How much would that Disneyland holiday cost?
You: Thousands鈥ut I鈥檓 thinking of robbing a bank next week鈥You see鈥t never fails. But let鈥檚 prove it.
Me: So how many kids do you have?
You: Three hundred鈥 was part of a strange medical experiment in the sixties鈥Well as any good Shrink would say, our time together is over, but for homework I want you to practise this technique on the next odd bod you meet in the Post Office queue or on the train.
If you're very lucky, it won't be me.
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Winding My Way Down On Baker Street
At ten o'clock this morning I was in London, scurrying around the back alleys off Baker Street searching, Holmes-like, for the offices of . They're the people who organise the and I was asked to attend a meeting of the organising committee to chuck in my tuppence worth. Finally a very nice traffic warden steered me in the right direction. They're good blokes when you're not driving a car, although he did look longingly at my little trolley case.
These industry gatherings are always fun because you get that clash of cultures between the 91热爆 bods and the folk who run commericial radio. I congratulated Bob Shennan who has just quit as controller of Radio Five Live to take the reins at . "Welcome to the dark side, Bob" quipped one of the commercial guys.
I sat beside Susan Lovell - my opposite number at 91热爆 Radio Ulster - who described some awards ceremonies she'd been to in Ireland where so much drink was taken that no one really cared who wins. It sounded good to me.
Afterwards, out on the street, we chatted with Mark Damazer, Controller of 91热爆 Radio 4 before he announced proudly that he would be walking back to his office. There was a look in his eye which suggested we should do the same.
But Susan was heading for Belfast and I was going to Glasgow and, to be honest, I was already feeling ridiculous wearing that deer-stalker in broad daylight.
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Now Greedy Scots Demand Santa Too
Bad news for my friend Richard "finger-in-every-mince-pie" Melvin as he attempts to shift 500 CD copies of his ditty . Last year the song reached number one in the chart, but, as Richard admits, "it was the HMV digital download chart and it was only in top place for 25 minutes." This year the song is again getting airplay on various radio stations, including 91热爆 Radio 2, but I fear the political situation may work against him.If the London tabloid newspapers are to be believed (wait for the laugh) people down south think we Scots are getting everything handed to us on a plate...free prescriptions... care for the elderly...chocolate-chip shortbread...and even the Prime Minister is Scottish. So you can imagine the backlash if we try to claim Santa as our own too. Mind you, a swap could be negotiated.
In any case I paid glowing tribute to the song last year but I can't be seen to be endorsing it again. Not even with the suggested bribe of "all the brussels sprouts you can eat". I've checked the 91热爆 guidelines and it cleary states that such payola would result in me having my chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Sorry, seemed to have skipped a page there.
No, I was right the first time. Gosh, the bosses are getting very strict these days.
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Lifetime Learning
I'd like to recommend the following blog: is written by Cathy Alger who, it appears, is doing the whole home-schooling thing while running a small farm.
It's very funny and goes to show that parenting throws up similar weird and wonderful issues no matter where in the world you are.
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Germany Calling, Germany Calling.
Apparently I qualify to play football for the German national team. And the Polish national team...oh and Scotland of course. Ignore for the moment the minor detail that I can't kick a ball for toffee, I'm just talking about birthplaces here. You see, my father was a Polish citizen before the second world war, but he was actually born while his parents were working temporarily, just over the border, in eastern Germany. My mother was born in Glasgow.
So three different football associations could, at any time, offer me my first international cap, but, to date, not one has been on the phone.
I mention the German connection because yesterday the Hamburg-based firm, , bought a clutch of local commercial radio stations, including two that were once foolish enough to employ me: Moray Firth Radio in Inverness and Radio Clyde in Glasgow.
Radio Clyde, as you may know, is based in Clydebank and some of the sale felt it necessary to mention how Nazi bombers once laid waste to that part of Scotland. I'm surprised they didn't also shoe-horn in a mention of , the famous propaganda broadcaster. Perhaps he could have been cited as an example of Germany's long history of making radio programmes for British audiences.
Yet we do seem to pick and choose the bits of German culture that suit us. Christmas trees, for example, became fashionable in Britain because Queen Victoria's German hubby started hauling them into various palaces.
And today, while Christmas shopping in Inverness, I noticed that Falcon Square had been transformed into a little Barvarian village, complete with skating rink and sausage stall.
Not that I could risk sampling any of the food. I've got to keep myself in shape...just in case I get that call-up.
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Nervous Breakdowns
Many of you may be aware that 91热爆 Scotland has moved headquarters from the west end of Glasgow to Govan. Some of you might also know that we're in the process of demolishing large chunks of our Inverness building and constructing a new bit next to our existing Victorian mansion on Culduthel Road. At the same time, because we're gluttons for punshiment, we've been installing all sorts of new hardware and software that's been designed to allow us to do fancy things in this multi-media age.
It hasn't all gone smoothly. There have been some horrible moments of dead air as we've been finding our way around the new systems. We've been apologising like crazy, but now I realise that may have been the wrong approach. Let me explain.
At lunchtime today I found myself up at the retail park and wandering around one of those big electrical chain stores where the staff wear orangey-yellow shirts. I was prepared to cough up more that 拢300 for a certain secret Christmas gift (and peripherals) and the young woman at the sales desk could not have been more pleasant. She answered all my questions and we shared a joke or two about Christmas shopping. She then asked me if I wanted to extend my insurance on the said item. I considerd this for a moment and declined. She nodded and continued processing my order.
At that point her colleague standing at the next till decided to offer his tuppence worth:
"Insurance is very important with these items because they use new technology."
I smiled at him and again declined the offer, but he ploughed on, describing the particular internal innovation which would make the extra insurance all the more important.
"You mean it's likely to break down?" I asked.
"No I didn't say that. It's just that it's new technology."
"But you always do this, " I said, "Now I'm starting to think this device isn't reliable."
"It's not that," he insisted, "but the most common problem is accidental damage. It's like vacuum cleaners..."
"So your vacuum cleaners aren't reliable either?"By now we were on the verge of an argument. Other customers were looking at us and I was going red in the face. At that point the nice woman who had been serving me asked for my credit card and, well, I told her, calmly, that I had changed my mind. I walked out of the shop and noticed my reflection in the automatic doors. I was the spitting image of Victor Meldrew.
So if you think I'm being unreasonable just think about the next time you hear a technical fault on air. It might not be our fault. It's yours because you didn't buy extra insurance with your licence fee. Aye, right.
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Just Don't Choose The Psychopath
When Phil Friend was three years old he was diagnosed with polio and spent two months in an iron lung. On the walls of his hospital ward were the letters of the alphabet. A mirror attached to the metal contraption that was keeping him alive gave him a back-to-front view out of a window. He could see steam trains crossing a viaduct and, gradually, he came to mark time based on the frequency of trains crossing the bridge. To this day he's passionate about steam trains and he can still recite the alphabet backwards.
Phil, who is now chairman of the disability rights group came to 91热爆 Scotland this morning to talk to us about issues surrounding disablity and the portrayal of them on television and radio.
"I am a wheelchair user, " he began "but I'm also a bloke and a Father. I'm also a Chelsea supporter which is a worse disability than the polio that put me in a wheelchair."
For two hours Phil spoke to us in a chatty, conversational style which never felt like a lecture. He reminded us that some famous figures from history would now qualify as disabled under current legislation.
"Churchill had bi-polar disorder, Roosevelt had polio...and Hitler and Stalin were both psychopaths."
He suggested that we had a duty to recruit disabled people for the contribution they could make...but a responsibility to avoid the psychopaths.
The most telling moment came when Phil asked us to imagine a world where wheelchair users were in the majority and tall, standing people were regarded as abnormal. Buildings would have lower ceilings, smaller doorways and you wouldn't be allowed to crawl into polling booths because that would be a health and safety hazard. But the Talls - lovely people, most of them - would get to go on bus trips to to the seaside, although the buses would have no seats. Any attempt to modify the environment to help tall people would be rejected because of the costs involved.
Finally, he said, you would be offered the choice of leg amputation to help you become "normal".
And that, after all, was Phil's point. Many disabled people don't want a "cure" because they don't regard themselves as abnormal.
Just different.
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Trump Cards
The staff meeting in Aberdeen this morning was dominated by talk of Donald Trump and the local council's decision to reject his "billion pound plan" for a hotel, golf course and luxury houses. This seems to have divided opinion, although the team producing our Out of Doors programme tell me they had about 300 calls on the subject on Saturday and 99% of them supported the council.
That may be because Out of Doors attracts the kind of listeners who tend to favour natural heritage over big business. The local newspaper, the , tends to suggest that most people in Aberdeen think Donald Trump should have been given planning permission.
In times like these one has to fall back on the everyman wisdom of local taxi drivers. The one who picked me up from our Beechgrove studios was driving a huge silver Mercedes. It looked so plush that I felt guilty climbing inside it, but the driver told me he specialises in fares for local oil industry executives which pays enough for him to avoid the Saturday night "sick in the back of the car" clientele.
So, what did he think of the Trump decision?
"I think the council have made a big mistake," he told me, "and I don't even play golf."
Wise words?
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Trolley Dash
I caught the Aberdeen train with seconds to spare this morning, thanks to some computer melt-down with the taxi booking system. Mrs Z, who was on the morning school run around the suburbs of Inverness, graciously agreed to ferry me half-way to the station and then I completed the journey on foot, trundling my trolley-case behind me all the way. I'm sure I covered that remaining mile in just three minutes but no one from the was on hand to confirm this as an official time.
More four-wheeled fun as I left Aberdeen this afternoon, headed for Glasgow. The conductor came on the P.A. system to tell us that the catering trolley would "not be travelling with us".He sounded gutted by this news, as if the trolley was a personal friend who, for some misguided reason, had chosen another route in life.
But then, after Dundee, a trolley laden with tea, coffee and all manner of sweet and savoury snacks did appear in the ailse of our carriage, but it was being propelled at such a pace that it was almost a blur. It was being chased by a woman with her purse in hand and tongue hingin' oot who was gasping the words "tea, just milk...no sugar".
I'm convinced that First ScotRail have some cunning plan to deter us from onboard catering. A recent innovation has seen the catering host pushing his trolley through the length of the train, handing out cardboard menus but refusing to sell any food or drink until he makes the return journey. Which would be a fine idea if the choice and range of foodstuffs actually warranted a half hour's contemplation of a menu. Me? I usually know what I want at first glance. Tea and a choccy biscuit.
As it happens, the first time I saw the trolley bloke do this stuff with the menus he was being followed, a few minutes later, by a chap with a clipboard looking for passenger feedback on the service. He seemed a little perplexed and, well, huffy, when I explained that I didn't need to look at a menu.
"Well," he said, "I'm just here to get your opinions."
"Yes, I know. And...that was mine."
"Right well...thanks."And off he went down the aisle looking for passengers with a little more patience and sophistication. I'm sure he muttered something about me being "off my trolley" but I might be making that up for the sake of a neat ending.
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The Fountain Of Youth
We were out walking the dog yesterday and stumbled across the Fountain of Youth. Probably.
If you know Inverness you'll be familiar with the little group of Islands in the middle of the Ness which can be negotiated through walkways and footbridges and lit by ornate lamposts that spring from the woodland like a scene from Narnia. This area of the town was highlighted by the travel writer Bill Bryson in his famous journey around Britian as told in .
But here's something he missed: on the north bank of the river, as the footpath winds past some benches, there's a strange little stone tunnel with a chain and cup attached. There's also a sign explaining that this is the General's Well.The General, says the sign, went by bthe name of MacIntyre. He used to live nearby and would drink from this well every day of his life. It doesn't say whether he's alive or dead...if it were the former then the well's supposed health-giving properties might well be given some credibility.
Naturally I was tempted to sample some of this regenerative fluid. I imagined the colour returning to my cheeks, the fat dissolving from my belly and then being overcome by a sudden desire to relive my teenage days. Yes, I would have headed straight for the comic book shop.
But there was another sign...much smaller, explaining that the water was unfit for drinking.
Oh well...there's always next week, when I hope to discover the Holy Grail.
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This Can Be Your Christmas Puppy
Imagine it's Christmas morning and there, under the tree, is a little bundle of fur. It's that puppy you promised Santa would bring. Look at his cute little face. And wow, his tail actually wags! Anyway, we're bored with that now, so let's open the selection box and then go out on the new bikes.
Yes, any responsible breeder will tell you that buying a puppy for Christmas is the worst thing you can do. Not only do they get frightened by the frenzied atmosphere of snapping crackers and screaming kids, but they often get neglected when the festive season is over.
But, of course, you know all this.
So here's an alternative, as agreed by the younger members of the Zed family.
We're going to offer virtual shares in Rascal, our own Lhasa Apso pup. Just sign up on this blog and you'll be able to follow his adventures without any of the hassle of vet bills, kennel costs or stains on the carpet.I might even bring him along to the odd 91热爆 Radio Scotland outdoor event... if you really feel the need to tickle his tummy.
And that money you were going to spend on the puppy? Why not pledge it to one of Scotland's many animal welfare centres? Click for more information on those or for details on how to rehouse a real dog.
So, if I get more than five sign-ups by this time next week, I'll post the first video clip of RaScAL (Radio Scotland Animal Life-form) scampering in the garden.
Otherwise, you'll never see that dog again!
- Jeff Zycinski, Head of Radio at 91热爆 Scotland, on the highs and lows of his work/life balancing act.
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