I’ve decided to obtain a Radio 4 voice.
And I’m not even going to steal it.
I will WARBLE my way into the soothing simperings of Kirsty Young.
I plan on swallowing a small sponge, lodging it in my throat somewhere and then sticking my head down a smoking chimney. It’ll fix me right up.
I fancied, after a rather hectic newsday, that I had a relatively decent radio voice which quite suited sports reporting (of all things).
When I spent some time at my local BBC radio station they encouraged me to spend time in one of the suits recording and re-recording a news bulletin. I did it so many times. And the feedback from the pros was “actually, you’re not bad! Now go practice more.”
I shall become AWESOME.
I’m such a telly-visual person who day-dreams in pans and jump cuts and shifts in focus that I startle myself when I switch on the radio and really enjoy it. Not because I think badly of radio, but because I idiotically forget that it really has the power to construct images- only in ones mind, rather than ones eyes. Like how well crafted words on a page can paint a bright and vivid picture.
Radio, you beauty. I will never forget you again.