A cheeky spur of the moment email to the Steve Lamacq Show offering him a lift down to Sesh after he had finished covering Adelphi for BBC 6 Music during Independent Venue Week led unexpectedly to a chance to plug some of my favourite bands to the nation. Within minutes producer Steve Billington had replied asking for my number. After waiting in vain for a couple of hours for him to ring I decided he was just like all the others and headed for sanctuary in the loft. After an hour up there moving one pile of crap to a different part and replacing it with another I headed down to find several missed calls. Ringing the number back I expected to be informed I had unknowingly had an accident which wasn’t my fault, or had yet again won a fortune on the lottery despite never buying a ticket. Instead I was greeted by the sultry tones of Tom offering me the world, or at least a seat for Corinne and myself on the Listeners’ Takeover panel when they came to the city. ‘Fine’ I coughed and spluttered down the line (a very dusty loft) ‘as long as it is not live.’ Wiping saliva out of his ear he assured me that it was but by returning the call I had unknowingly pledged my first-born to Auntie Beeb.  


So it came to pass after a weekend of gnawing anxiety we found ourselves standing stupidly in front of the automatic doors at BBC Towers at Queen’s Gardens, the home of Peter Levy’s syrup collection. No matter how hard we stared at it the door refused to be automatic so we resorted to the old fashioned method of pushing it. Still nothing. ‘Open Sesame’ also didn’t work. Just as we were about to admit defeat the door opened and a BBC official opened the door and in his Cholmondeley-Warner voice asked us what the Dickens we wanted, eyeing up our Doc Marten boots, ‘Come to Hull, it’s not shit anymore’ tee shirt and shaven head. Only one of us but I will leave that to your imagination. When we started (the coughing and spluttering had subsided) we had an audience with Mr Lamacq he replied with ‘Who?’. At this point we turned round expecting to see the ghostly figure of Jeremy Beadle (that’s if he is dead) laughing at the elaborate prank he had set up. We were saved by the sight of the flame red hair of Emma from The Happy Endings sat in the far side of reception. ‘We’re here for the same show as them’ we said, and we were in.


We spent the next hour in the BBC hospitality area lording it with taxpayer funded endless supplies of ice cold water…….READ MORE IN OUR LATEST ISSUE BELOW