91Èȱ¬

In Aberdeen today, having driven up last night through the kind of rainstorm where you begin to imagine that someone is actually throwing buckets of water on your windscreen. Well, don't look at me like that, it could happen. Deranged circus clowns perhaps.

In the office bright and early, but not as early as Robbie Shepherd who was already hard at work preparing his next programme. We got to talking about the repeat pattern for Take The Floor. No one could quite remember why we started repeating so many programmes during the summer. It's been happening since the nineteen eighties, apparently, and this season's archive had to be sourced from the University of Aberdeen where they had been placed in storage. Robbie tells me these repeats are very popular with listeners because they often feature dance bands that are no longer in existence.

At the staff meeting we talk about some of the recent programmes from Aberdeen, including Magnetic Memories and the late-night music shows. Then I join our Senior Producer Fiona Aitken and her team as we brainstorm the new Bryan Burnett show which will be introduced when Summer of Song comes to and end. Bryan makes a strong case for calling the new show Get It On, which certainly sounds a little more upbeat than Autumn of Song.

Frieda Morrison then chats to me about her idea for a new food programme. She makes a good case but I remain to be convinced and suggest we produce a pilot edition.

Then I meet Nancy Nicholson and producer Sam Thom to talk about the current series of Countryside Conversations.

Driving back to Glasgow tonight I resist the tempatation to pull in at a drive-thru fast-food place in Dundee. I plough on past Perth and then, as I pass the junction for Findo Gask, I do something a little crazy. I double-back and decide to investigate this oddly-named little village.

You see, I must have passed the sign for Findo Gask a thousand times and I've always been curious about it. So tonight I find myself driving up a narrow country road which snakes into a forest. I realise I've gone too far, but I still can't find Findo Gask. Then, on the return journey, I comes across a Church and, a few hundred yards down the hill, a delapidated building which looks like a village school.

Is that all there is to Findo Gask. Surely not, but it's too late to investigate further. Another time, perhaps.

Regular readers will recall that one of our producers was recently trying to persuade me to don a chicken suit to help publicise our comedy programmes at this year's Edinburgh fringe. Well, I turned down that tempting offer. InsteadFred MacAulay and two of the young performers from All The Milkman's Children, were taken to a secret location to recreate the famous Beatles' Abbey Road album cover. I'm told there was a narrow escape involving a bus. No one seems to understand how zebra crossings work these days.

I can assure you....I am not the one in the chicken suit. Honestly.

We've been analysing the recent audience figures and looking at the World Cup effect. You may remember that Scotland forgot to qualify for Germany this year and, as a result, we had weeks and weeks with no Scottish football on the radio. Well, yes, I know many people were delighted with that, but lots more switched off their radios and camped out in front of their TV sets for the whole tournament. It illustrates one of the challenges we have as a radio station. One the one hand we often get criticised for having too much football, but when we cover other sports (as we have this summer ) we see audiences numbers dip.

There was some good news in the data, mind you. Our new music programmes such as The Jazz House and Summer of Song seem to have captured the imagination of the audience.

Perhaps we ought to combine the two and have golf commentary with a saxophone backing track.

I had to drive up to Inverness on Wednesday night so miised the chance to have a sneaky peek inside the 91Èȱ¬'s new headquarters at Pacific Quay in Glasgow.
The building has just been handed over to us from the contruction company and work now beings to install all the technical equipment and furnishings. That should be finished by Spring next year.

A group of 91Èȱ¬ staff were given just an hour or two to have a look around the empty shell of the building before the next phase of work begins and then health and safety rules prevent people from wandering around.

In Inverness, meanwhile, I got the chance to look at the plans for the redevelopment of our building on Culduthel Road. It's not quite on the scale of Pacific Quay but it should make the the place feel a little more 21st Century than 19th century.

I spent the day there interviewing for my new P.A. It was a tough job. More than seventy people applied for the job and we shortlisted that down to just eight candidates. They were all very good.

I hope the person who takes the job realises what they;re letting themselves in for!

So I was clambering through the attic this afternoon trying to find more stuff to take to the dump before we move house next week. I found the Moses' basket that we bought when the first Zedette was born eleven years ago. Of course this prompted a huge bout of nostalgia and it was an hour before we made the decision to toss it out. Sniff.

I drove to the dump listening to Sportsound and then with Jim Traynor. I loved Jim's opening to the programme when he performed a wonderful spoof of Tommy Sheridan's victory speech after winning his defamation case against the News of the World.

At this point I should own up and admit that Tommy once spotted me coming out of a back-street club in a seedy part of Glasgow and, truth be told, I was in the company of a woman who was not my wife. I'd interviewed Tommy a few times, mainly because of his anti-poll-tax demonstrations, and he gave me a knowing look as I walked past. I just went red in the face.

Mind you it was lunchtime and it all happened two years before I was married.
And was the name of this seedy establishment? The Club in Parnie Street.

At least I kept my anorak on.

I have to confess to being a bit of a cry-baby. The strangest things will cause my eyes to leak like an Alaskan oil pipe. Today, for instance, I was wandering around Glasgow city centre when I cames across the vandalised hulk of the in Renfield Street. It earlier this year, evidently unable to complete with the big Cineworld tower just up the hill. But it was the sign over the graffiti-splashed doorway that brought a lump to my throat.

31 DEC 34 - 7 JAN 06 THANKYOU AND GOODNIGHT

Hogmanay 1934 - what kind of world was that? What kind of films did Glaswegians go to see? How many of back-row romances? How many of them survived the second world war?

And there were personal memories too. I rememeber going to see Bambi in that very cinema and, in my teenage years, all the James Bond movies. It brought to mind all the other lost cinemas that were such a big part of my youth. There was the State in Shettleston when I saw Funny Girl and the Parade in Dennistoun where I saw Kelly's Heroes. So many memories. Sniff.

Of course you have to understand that, as a family, we're at the start of a very emotional week. Four days from now we'll be following the big removal truck up to Inverness and starting a new chapter in the north. Tonight we concluded a bit of a family ritual when the children stood against the kitchen door so I could mark their heights. We do this every few months or so but tonight it dawned on us that this would be the last time we'd be able to compare the marks with those of the past few years. Not unless we take the kitchen door with us to Inverness.

More watery eyes later as we gathered around the TV to watch a DVD copy of Finding Neverland. Mrs Z is on a bit of a Johnny Depp kick at the moment and I had been sent into town earlier in the day to find a copy of Sleepy Hollow. I failed but brought home Finding Neverland instead. It's the one where Johnny plays J.M. Barrie , the Scottish author of Peter Pan. It's a real tear-jerker with it's theme of love, death and lost childhoods.

Excuse me while I open another box of tissues. Meanwhile, does anyone have a spare copy of Sleepy Hollow?

Today I feel a bit like one of those poor souls with clipboards who try to stop you in the street. You know, the ones who ask if you can spare a few minutes and then spend a full half-hour asking you about different brands of ketchup?

Anyway, the 91Èȱ¬ bosses at Blog H.Q. are looking for some feedback on the that have been launched over the past seix months or so. I have been given a list of questions to put to you. I'm afraid there's no offer of a free badge or toothbrush for taking part, but your responses will be appreciated.

Here we go....as sent by head office!

It’s Your Chance to tell us what you think About This Blog… So, Don’t Miss Out!!

We’ve been running this blog for some time, and we would like your feedback so we can understand what you think about this blog.

We are also asking for feedback across all of our blogs over the next few weeks.

The feedback will be used to helps us understand if there are any things you wish us to change, so this is YOUR chance to help us shape the future of this blog.

In order to help you provide feedback, we’ve listed a few questions below for you to think about when posting your comments. You don’t need to answer all of these questions; it’s purely there as a guide, to what we are looking for in your feedback!

So, please help us and let us know what you think about this blog….

What 5 words would you use to describe this blog and what it means to you?

What are the best bits about this blog?

Anything you’re not so keen on? If yes, then do give any suggestions you may have to improve it!

What do you think about the frequency of our posts and the length. Do we have a right balance here?

Thank you all, for your comments they will be really useful to us!

I resigned from the radio station on Friday. Not this one, mind you. Instead I stepped down from my role as a board member with , the digital station which makes programmes for listeners who are blind or partially sighted.

I've been involved with Vip on Air for more than two years, but the station is based in the Partick area of Glasgow and my move to Inverness tomorrow made me decide it was time to step back. I've written to the suggesting I support a branch of the station in the north of Scotland.

There are things I wont miss about Glasgow and that includes the daily drive into work through Canniesburn Toll and along Maryhill Road. There were days when it would take me an hour to reach the office. I'd leave the house listening to and get to the office with . And I have to tell you there must be gold or diamonds under those roads. Why else would they dig up the same spot every month or so? They must be looking for buried treasure.

No so bad when the workmen know how to operate the stop-go boards. This weekend, however, I found myself driving in to oncoming traffic which had also been signalled to go forward. I'm lucky to be here to moan about it.

So, a strange day in the office today. I've just been handed a lovely leaving card and a bottle of Malt Whisky. I do feel a bit of a fraud. I'm not really leaving and, in fact, I'll probably be back in Glasgow every Wednesday for various meetings.

Still, the removal truck arrives at home tomorrow morning. This must really be happening.

So I'm sitting here at home watching our life-time collection of cheap self-assembly furniture being loaded into the back of a huge furniture van. You forget that these things are made of nothing more than thick cardboard until two big guys in overalls start knocking it about. Then there's the stuff you put together inside a bedroom, not realising it wont go back out the door unless you turn it back into flatpack form.

Still, I've hit it off with one of the removal men. A young guy called Jacob who is Polish and who tells me he wants to get to Greenock tonight because his Father is working on the Waverly Paddle Steamer.

I didn't realise these removal crews actually sleep inside their trucks when they are working. Apparently there are spaces for two beds at the back of the driver's cabin. The foreman tells me he used to be a journalist with The Scotsman newspaper but gave it up because he "couldn't be bothered with the hassle".

He tells me he loves his job because "you never know where you'll be the next day"

Given that he is supposed to be transporting our furniture to Inverness the next day, this statement is a wee bit worrying.

I might go out and buy him a map.

I feel like the new boy at school today. I've been wandering about the 91Èȱ¬ building in Inverness looking for a place to sit, a radio that works and the key to the stationery cupboard. I think I'm supposed to have my own office, but no one will tell me where it is. They're just mean. They also sent me for a tin of tartan paint and a long stand.

One of the advantages of listening to 91Èȱ¬ Radio Scotland in Inverness, though, is that you get four times a day. That's why there are those time checks at five to seven and ten to eight in the morning. It causes all sort of problems if that time-check is late or the Good Morning Scotland presenter gives it in the wrong tone of voice. This morning, for example, Gillian Marles sounded as if she was about to tell us a juicy secret when she was cut off by the music sting for the local news.

It was refreshing to hear the local sports bulletin lead with news about shinty and then game at the weekend. Rangers, Celtic and Hearts all
seem forgotten.

Meanwhile the production team in Inverness tell me I'm in the bad books for publishing such rotten photographs from the finale in Elgin recently.
So, to make up for that, here is an image that will give you an idea of the kind of
dodgy characters I now have to work with.

I've spent most of today hunched over a hot keyboard hammeing out a three year strategy for 91Èȱ¬ Radio Scotland. This has been requested by the 91Èȱ¬'s Director of Nations & Regions and it certainly does focus the mind. Short of a crystal ball and a really good set of Tarot cards, I have been forced to make predictions based on current trends, demographic data and good old-fashioned guesswork.

If, as seems likely, Scoland's population will get decline and age in the coming years, what will that mean for radio listening? Indeed, some of the 91Èȱ¬'s top thinkers suggest the word ' radio' may eventually disappear as we all go searching for different kinds of 'audio' on various digital devices.

Well, call me perverse, but I predict people will still want live news programmes and live football commentary. Perhaps, in a world of on-demand archive material, live programmes will seem like a bit of a novelty. Live music - remember that?

And what will happen to commercial radio stations? Most of them seem to be chasing an ever-vanishing younger audience who seem to prefer listening to music on MP3 players.

And will people always want local or even Scottish programming? Do people in Glasgow not have more in common with people in Manchester or Barcelona than they do with the good folk of Dingwall?

In any case, people are already making their own radio and television programmes and sending them to each other through broadband internet links.

Three year strategy? Who know what will happen in three months?

Please feel free to make your own predictions. Your guess is as good as mine.

Back in Glasgow today - the first of my regular Wednesday visits here - and I pop into the studio to...well, to prove that I'm up early enough to do that. Later I meet Stewart Easton, the programme's Editor, in the corridor outside the canteen.
"Do you still know your way around?" he jokes in his usual Perrier award- winning style and a few moments later we're joined by presenter Bill Whiteford who gives me a vague look of recognition and asks "aren't you that bloke that moved to Inverness?". Ho, ho, ho.

I seemed to have spent the day having a series of corridor conversations. This afternoon I ran into Donald MacInnes, a senior television producer with C91Èȱ¬. He had previously asked if he could meet me in Edinburgh tomorrow to discuss a programme idea and, because of that, he wont now tell me what the idea is about. Clearly he wants to keep his powder dry for the next day. Clearly,also, this is madness.

Not as mad, however, as Jennifer Allan our events producer who has been telling me about the plastering problem in her tenement flat. Apparently she pulled the tiles off her bathroom and made stonking great holes in the wall. It's an old flat and the original plasterwork was a combination of limestone and horse-hair.
"I love horses, " said Jennifer, "so I've been pulling the hairs out gently, one-by-one and talking to them. I even gave some of them names."

Funny how being away for a week gives you a new perspective. Seven days ago I would have thought this kind of stuff was normal.

I arrived in Edinburgh late last night and walked down to the Spiegelgarden at George Square. The place was mobbed with boozing fanatics but I don't think I spotted anyone over the age of thirty. There comes a point when you have to ask yourself if you are getting too old for this Festival lark. In the garden there was a girl juggling illuminated balls. One of them escaped from her clutches and rolled toward my feet. As I stooped to pick it up I could see she was amazed that a man of my years could still manage to bend that far. I considered showing off a little by doing a few press-ups or telling her that I still had half a dozen of my own teeth, but I thought better off it and sauntered back to my hotel for some cocoa.

Up bright and early this morning and back to the to say hello to and Sue Perkins. Fred greeted me with the words, "hey, tell the producer we've now got someone who can wear the chicken suit."

As the audience filed in there was not a seat left in the house and Sue got a loud cheer when she congratulated Scots tennis star Andy Murray on his yesterday. She also congratulated the England football team on their four-nil win over Greece. I'm glad she did this because a small pin had just slipped out of my hand and I was able to hear where it fell.



I had to leave early and make my way across to the Queen's Hall where our music department are recording a series of performances for 91Èȱ¬ Radio 3.
This morning the young French pianist Cedric Tiberghien was perfoming works by Schumann. I squeezed myself into a seat at the back row of the upper gallery where I had a great view of the stage and the rest of the audience. The latter proved to be a bit of a distraction, especially when the woman along the row started rustling a small piece of paper from her handbag, causing several heads to swivel round in disapproval. Then my eye was caught by a very thin woman in the stallls wearing a bright yellow top who was obviously trying to supress a coughing fit. At first she covered her mouth with a tissue, but when I looked again a few minutes later she was stuffing an entire cardigan down her throat. By the end of the first movement she was just about doubled in two and her face was turning purple. Who says classical music isn't challenging?

Anway, I write this from a strange little electrical shop/internet cafe and I'm just about to head back to the Spiegeltent for the and then, later this afternoon, All The Milkman's Children.

I think it's going to be a long day in Edinburgh. I'll update this entry tomorrow and may even have some photographs too.

In Edinburgh yesterday afternoon I finally came face-to-face with 91Èȱ¬ Radio Scotland groupie Les Logan. He had promised to buy me a coffee but conveniently waited until I walked back from the counter in the Speigeltent cafe before introducing himself. So we discovered we shared an interest in the east end of Glasgow - where Les used to work - and he gave me his frank views on our morning schedule. It got me thinking we should arrange a little get-together with all the regulars who post comments on this blog.

Then it was back into the tent for The Radio Cafe where Janice Forsyth was asking three American guests if the United States should come with a health warning. It was sad to hear how they all felt there was much more anti American feeling in Scotland these days and and that sometimes people would blame them personally for their President's foreign policy.



Light relief later in the afternon as I watched a recording of All The Milkman's Children, written and performed by four brilliant teenagers. There was a great sketch involving a very trendy Dad who tried to muscle in on his son's friendships. Also a funny sequence involving a scout leader talking to a class of Paisley kids and trying not to talk about homosexuality.

You'll hear it on 91Èȱ¬ Radio Scotland during the October school holidays.

I arrived back in the office in Inverness yesterday afteroon to discover that our producer Suzy Beaumont had been on the phone for most of the day to talk about sex. Suzy is producing our new five part series on female sexuality, The Blusher's Guide to Sex, which will run at ten o'clock every night next week. As you can imagine the content can be quite explicit at times and has been laced with suitable warnings so that listeners tuning in early for are not caught off guard.

Suzy was discussing all this with our Editor of Speech Programmes, Jane Fowler. Suzy was sittting in a soundproof editing suite in Inverness, but poor Jane was on the phone in the back of an Edinburgh taxi. Suzy was able to speak quite openly but I'm told Jane had to reply in a kind of alphabetic code, just in case the taxi-driver got the wrong idea.

"So we'll include a warning just before the section on A.S. but we'll leave out the section on G.S. OK?"

The series is presented by freelance journalist Joan McFadden who has also written for The Guardian newspaper.

The trouble with moving house is that you have to tell so many people about your new address. The upside, mind you, is that it's a chance to jettison those people with whom you really want to lose contact. You know, that couple you met on holiday last year, the very persistent Jehovah's Witness and Big Tam the money-lender.

The law dictates that you have to let all sorts of agencies know about your whereabouts. The , for example, demand that your address is accurate on your driving licence. Oh, and if you send them your old paper licence they wont replace it. Instead you must apply for one of those new cards with your photograph on it. This may sound very like a compulsory I.D. card scheme, but don't be silly. Those haven't been introduced yet. This is a democracy after all.

So, anyway, all this meant that myself and Mrs Z had to troop off to one of those coin-operated photo-booths in the supermarket. We also had to study the about acceptable photographs. Just as with passport photos, you're not allowed to wear a hat, sunglasses, false moustache or even a smile. It's sad to think that a cheesy grin would make us unrecognisable to immigration officials or traffic cops. Apparently we only look like ourselves when we're miserable. If we had a smiley face in our passport they'd have to tickle us to confirm our identity. The security staff at airports might have to be stand-up comedians. No, let's not go there.

Still, the trip to the photo-booth brought back some memories. Remember those carefree teenage years where you'd go into town with your mates, spend a fortune on a pic 'n' mix from Woolies and then see how many of you could cram into the photo-booth? And then you'd wait outside the booth for ages until your little strip of pictures came sliding down the dispensing chute. Even then you had to wait for the fan to dry the photographs before you could pick them up. And all the while you were trying to sheild them from the gaze of passers-by.

It's all changed now, of course. It's all digital. Quick as aflash. You even get the chance to retake your photograph again and again until your happy with the result (I was in there for three days). You can also add a few hilarious effects, such as a mohican hairstyle.

I considered this for a moment but then imagined the impact that might have on those poor officials at the DVLA.

They might just snap.

We drove down to Loch Ness this morning - a twenty-five minute trip from home - and, by spooky coincidence, turned on the car radio in time to hear this week's edition of in which presenter Claire White was mining the archive of Loch Ness Monster encounters.

The Loch itself is 23 miles long and a mile wide. According to one expert interviewed on the programme, it's large enough to contain the entire population of the world. Six billion people. Which would be an interesting sight but had me wondering if the local bed & breakfast establishments could cope with the sudden demand.

I'm afraid I'm not much of a Nessie enthusiast. One of the first programmes I ever made for 91Èȱ¬ Radio Scotland was about the number of Loch Ness hoaxes there had been since the nineteen thirties. I an intrigued, however, by those people who are prepared to spend large parts of their lives studying the mysteries of the loch.

Among those I've met are Adrian Shine and Steve Feltham. Steve came to Scotland and set up camp at Dores more than ten years ago. I was pleased to see that his van is still parked near the shoreline.

There was no sign of Nessie, mind you. Unless....no, it was probably just a log floating in the water. Probably.

I arrived in the Inverness office this morning to be told that a cameraman was waiting to film me in one of the radio studios. Had I remembered this was going to happen I might have taken just a little more care in front of the bathroom mirror. In fact, had I been given just a little more notice I would have arranged for plastic surgery or put in a call to Hollywood to secure the services of a body double. As it was I barely had time to straighten my tie. Luckily I was wearing a shirt that I can actually manage to button at the collar. Yes, that one shirt.

The filming is all part of our internal communication process as we roll out new technology throughout 91Èȱ¬ Scotland. My colleague Sharon Mair is the one who is actually managing those changes and, three months ago, we made our first little film to let staff know anout the timetable for training on new editing systems and so forth. That first film was so cheesy it almost gained cult status within the organisation. It also confirmed me in my choice of radio as a career.

Being a glutton for punishment, Sharon suggested we make a follow-up film...a sequel if you like...telling everyone what had happened in the last few months.
She drove up from Glasgow this morning for the filming and given that she must have crawled out of bed at five in the morning she looked a lot more fresh-faced and camera-ready than I could ever be. I have the kind of face that still looks squeezed in widescreen.

Of course they do say the camera puts five pounds on you. Now, what can I blame for the other six stone?

In Aberdeen this morning I spent a wasted hour trying to log in to my 91Èȱ¬ e-mails, but I kept getting those frustrating little computer-jargon messages about server faults and fatal system errors.

I tried the usual high-tech solution. I hit the hard-drive with the side of my foot and switched the whole thing on and off.

It worked, but as I perused my inbox I realised what might have been causing the problem. Listener Scott McFarlane had sent me a photograph of himself and claims this is the one he uses to scare the kids away from his door at Halloween.

That can't be true....

Les Logan's photograph seems to have started a trend. I've just arrived in the Glasgow office to find an e-mail from another regular listener - Tracy Stevenson - with her photograph attached.

I have to tell you, this has caught the imagination of our production teams. I know that audiences often wonder what the Radio Scotland presenters look like, but seldom do we get the chance to get a glimpse of our listeners.

You all seem quite nice, really.

Bobbi Lamb, an Orkney-based listener, has sent me this photograph of herself. Now, I've met Bobbie. I've even offered her advice on her stand-up comedy ambitions. I can tell you she looks nothing like this.

Either this was taken when she was very young, or someone is trying to pull the wool over my eyes.

So there I was, rushing down to Hillhead Underground Station, laden with overnight bag and laptop and desperate to make it to Queen Street station in time to catch the half past five train to Inverness. It's always the same when you're in a hurry. You meet lots of people you know. Especially on Byres Road.

There, for example, was Craig Williams, the Editor of Newsnight Scotland. He had a big smile on his face and was keen to chat about all these photographs of 91Èȱ¬ Radio Scotland listeners that have appeared on this website recently. I wanted to make some witty remark and swish past him. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I closed it again. He game me a sympathetic nod and let me get on my way.

I'd gone but a few steps when I encountered - former 91Èȱ¬ Radio Scotland presenter and now columnist for the News of the World. She recently gave evidence in the Tommy Sheridan and the last time I saw her she was pictured on the front page of her newspaper strapped to a lie detector machine. I mentioned this and she joked that the photograph resembled someone engaged in a weird fetish.

"Yes, " I said, "it did."

Razor-sharp wit once again. Nevetheless, I made it to Queen Street with minutes to spare. Should have used the spare time to buy a book of witty retorts. Bought biscuits instead.

The second series of the was scheduled to got out on 91Èȱ¬ Radio Scotland next week but when I heard the programmes I thought some of the sketches needed a little more work. Normally you can do this on a programme by programme basis but because I'd decided to schedule all five programmes over consecutive nights, there wasn't time to do that.

So I've postponed the second series to give the production company - - enough time to make some changes. Instead we'll repeat the first series. To my mind, the "Kafkas" have real and original talent and the production values of the programme are sky-high. It's surreal, black humour and certainly not to everyone's taste.

That's the story really, but you might not know that from the way it's being reported in some quarters. Thenewspaper had a slightly more interesting take on the matter and it looks like other newspapers might follow that up today.

But I thought this controversy might be a good opportunity to invite your opinions on the limits of comedy. Should some things be off-limits or can we forgive anything so long as it's funny?

And if you get a chance to listen to the repeat of the first series, do let me know what you think. That's what this page is for.

You know, when I moved to Inverness, I never imagined that the boss would follow me here. I don't mean my immediate boss, or even the two bosses above that, but the big boss. The Director General of the 91Èȱ¬,

Yet this very morning who should turn up at our office on Culduthel Road but the man himself. The first time any DG had been to Inverness*, in fact. He'd flown in from Stornoway where he'd been on a similar flesh-pressing, fact-gathering mission with my colleagues in the .

Well, I didn't know where to put myself - literally. Should I sit casually in my office until reception called up to say that he had arrived? (Too laid-back.) Or should I hang about at the front door waiting to help him with his luggage as het got out of the taxi? (Too eager.) I decided on a compromise and waited for him inside the building, at the reception desk, but didn't try to grab the bags out of hand. I guided him upstairs, offered him a cup of tea and let him wander into one of the production offices to chat with the team

Later he had a meeting with all the staff and, later still, I joined him for lunch in a local hotel where we met representatives of various cultural organisations in the Highlands. Some criticised the changes we'd made on 91Èȱ¬ Radio Scotland, others said they enjoyed the programmes. I was keeping a mental tally on both so I could work out if I'd be out of a job before they served the coffee.

Mark is clearly a very good listener and, in both meetings, responded openly and honestly to a wide range of questions. He was quizzed about the salaries paid to
top television personalities, about the 91Èȱ¬'s response to devolved government in Scotland and, at a more detailed level, about the 91Èȱ¬'s procurement policies when it came to booking taxis and ordering sandwiches for meetings.

He left with a promise to return to Inverness next year when the 91Èȱ¬ building here has been refurbished.

Next time I might wait for him in the car park.

*POSTSCRIPT

In the interests of accuracy my current boss Maggie Cunningham has e-mailed me to say that two former D.Gs (Alasdair Milne and John Birt) visted Inverness during their time in the job. So that's me told.

OK, so this little snapshot is unlikely to impress the 91Èȱ¬'s , but at least I can now boast that I've seen the with my very own eyes. All thanks to a last-minute family decision to drive across the Kessock Bridge this morning and explore the coastline of the Black Isle.

This photograph was taken at Chanonry Point at Fortrose where we jostled with other dolphin watchers. Some people obviously take this pursuit very seriously. There were guys with telescopic lenses so big that, had they been pointing in the right direction, they would be able peer into the window of our house in Inverness and tell me where I'd left my binoculars. There were lots of families on the shoreline too, but you kind of sense that dolphins in their natural habitat don't hold the same appeal for children as those you see cooped up in one of those marine life centres. These dolphins were content to leap about in the water looking for fish. Had they come swimming past backwards with a plastic hoop on their nose we would have applauded. That's showbiz.



After that we headed toward Dingwall for lunch, but were diverted by a huge sign on the A9 directing us to the San Francisco Music Box coffee house. We turned off the main dual carriageway and, two miles later, were we driving up a single-track road towards some farm buildings. Then, as is almost inevitable on a Sunday in Scotland, we came to a big, black wrought iron gate and could go no further. It turns out, in any case, this is the franchise of some big American company that sells such essentials as "glitter-filled water globes" and reproduction Faberge eggs. All we wanted was a cuppa and a scone.

Back to Dingwall then where it was so quiet that we found ourselves wandering around a branch of Woolworths as the only customers in the shop. It was like we had won some kind of prize. We had the eyes of every shop assistant upon us. One girl, keenly aware that this wasn't the biggest branch of Woolies in the world, came to tell us that if we couldn't find what we were looking for she would gladly order it for us. How nice is that? Alas the customer service only went so far and we weren't able to help ourselves to as much pic 'n' mix sweets as we could carry, although the Zedettes cleary thought this was the case.

Our community series, has a new presenter: none other than Michelle McManus. Michelle takes over from Bryan Burnett but is no stranger to the production team. She was the celebrity guest in she show staged in Wick last year. I remember Michelle describing how moved she was to hear about the death and devastation caused by a German bombing raid in World War II. The show was staged to raise funds for a memorial garden on the bomb site which, after all these years, had not been cleared away.

There's another new dimension to the series this year in the form of a for Michelle and the various community leaders taking part. You'll be able to follow their progress as they arrange venues, books acts and sell tickets. It should be fun.

I've been at a good many of the actual show nights myself and am always impressed by the spirit of a community coming together to make things happen. Most vividly I recall a bitterly cold night in Stonehaven where the community staged a show at the outdoor swimming pool.

Talking about making a splash!

From time to time readers of this diary suggest programme ideas for 91Èȱ¬ Radio Scotland. I'm aware that some of these ideas often seem to disappear into a bit of a black hole. That's not deliberate, but it's a consequence of our commissioning process which has to have a degree of formality about it so that independent production companies are treated as fairly as those submitting ideas from within the 91Èȱ¬. We can't really commission too many programmes on an ad hoc basis, although it's easier to incorporate a listener's suggestion into an existing strand of programming.

The formal commissioning round for 91Èȱ¬ Radio Scotland will open next month and that's when we make decisions about the programmes you'll start to hear on our airwaves from April next year. We make those decisions based on audience research and, of course, the amount of money we have to spend.

I'd like to invite listeners and diary readers to suggest the kind of programming you feel is missing from the airwaves. In a month or so I'll be able to tell you if we've commissioned any programmes that fill that gap.

Please don't use this site to submit formal programme offers, but please do tell us what you, as a listener, would like to hear. A good many of our programme makers already read this page, but I'll compile any comments and distribute them to all the teams.

So tell us what you want....