young children are supposed to on working mothers. I was determined from the beginning to show her this wasn’t going to happen. But it was a close call, until
now.
She shifts some papers in front of her.
‘I’m very pleased to hear it, Dora. We were worried that you’d taken on a little too much. As you know, I’m keen for you to go for the new chat show that’s being
mooted. You really stand a very good chance with your track record. The main thing is not to let your personal views impinge on the phone-in.’
‘Have I ever . . .?’
‘Not recently, no. But there has been the odd occasion, when you were under stress. Look, I’m only saying this because I’m gunning for you, Dora. I want to see your name in
bright lights!’
I feel my heart swell at the thought that moving on up to a prime-time show is now a reality. It is, of course, what I’ve always wanted. What I’ve been working towards. The show
she’s talking about is a coveted one, involving celebrity interviews, and is more high-profile than anything I’ve done before. If I get it, I’ll be achieving a lifetime goal.
‘Dora! You’re looking fab.’ Gina, my researcher, hands me today’s agenda and runs through the callers she’s already spoken to. ‘We must go
for a drink later. How about it?’
I place a hand on her shoulder and squeeze. ‘Maybe later in the week. I’m still getting used to leaving Daddy with his carer.’
‘OK, one Friday then. Promise?’
I nod. ‘All being well.’
‘Right. Better get on with the show.’
‘Remind me who we’ve got first?’
‘The mother-in-law who feels it’s her place to comment on the way this caller runs her home. The caller feels she’s doing quite enough having her husband’s mother in the
first place.’
‘Couldn’t agree more,’ I say, accepting another coffee from Hayley.
‘It’s a popular one. Feelings are running high,’ says Gina.
‘I hope the mother-in-law isn’t listening!’ I say. It never ceases to amaze me what people are prepared to impart on National Radio, as if they were in a private sitting
room.
‘Her problem, not ours,’ says Gina, settling herself at her computer.
The adrenalin kicks in as the jingle goes out: ‘Theodora Gentleman, Voice of South-East England, here to turn your worries around.’
I’m at my happiest on air. Engaged in conversation, deep in thought, orchestrating these discussions.
I lean into the mic.
‘So, Sue, your mother-in-law has moved in. For the benefit of our listeners, can you explain the circumstances?’
‘It’s like she moved in the minute her hubby died,’ our caller Sue begins. ‘I’m all right with it – it’s like, what you do, isn’t it?’
Her face floats into my mind’s eye. Plumpish, attractive, bags under her eyes, and straightened, light brown hair. She’ll be wearing something from H&M, fashionable, a little too
young for her. Too much flesh on show. I always try to visualise my callers. It’s a way of keeping myself engaged, though from experience I know faces rarely match voices. The truth, if and
when one ever gets to see it, is always a surprise.
‘When was this, Sue?’
‘Six months ago now.’
‘Does she have her own room? Her own space in your home?’
‘Oh yes. She’s got my son’s old room – he’s moved out, is at uni. She’s got use of her own bathroom. We’ve done all we can to make her feel at home. I
didn’t have any choice. My husband insisted she couldn’t live alone after she was widowed.’
‘Can she look after herself?’ I ask. ‘Is she incapacitated in any way?’
‘Oh no. She’s very young for her age.’
Sue goes on, explaining how she has never got on with the mother-in-law but has worked all her married life to smooth over potential conflicts.
I say nothing. I’m not here to give my views, but I play the psychologist anyway, to myself. It’s always so obvious what’s going on. This time it’s a husband with an
Oedipus complex.
now.
She shifts some papers in front of her.
‘I’m very pleased to hear it, Dora. We were worried that you’d taken on a little too much. As you know, I’m keen for you to go for the new chat show that’s being
mooted. You really stand a very good chance with your track record. The main thing is not to let your personal views impinge on the phone-in.’
‘Have I ever . . .?’
‘Not recently, no. But there has been the odd occasion, when you were under stress. Look, I’m only saying this because I’m gunning for you, Dora. I want to see your name in
bright lights!’
I feel my heart swell at the thought that moving on up to a prime-time show is now a reality. It is, of course, what I’ve always wanted. What I’ve been working towards. The show
she’s talking about is a coveted one, involving celebrity interviews, and is more high-profile than anything I’ve done before. If I get it, I’ll be achieving a lifetime goal.
‘Dora! You’re looking fab.’ Gina, my researcher, hands me today’s agenda and runs through the callers she’s already spoken to. ‘We must go
for a drink later. How about it?’
I place a hand on her shoulder and squeeze. ‘Maybe later in the week. I’m still getting used to leaving Daddy with his carer.’
‘OK, one Friday then. Promise?’
I nod. ‘All being well.’
‘Right. Better get on with the show.’
‘Remind me who we’ve got first?’
‘The mother-in-law who feels it’s her place to comment on the way this caller runs her home. The caller feels she’s doing quite enough having her husband’s mother in the
first place.’
‘Couldn’t agree more,’ I say, accepting another coffee from Hayley.
‘It’s a popular one. Feelings are running high,’ says Gina.
‘I hope the mother-in-law isn’t listening!’ I say. It never ceases to amaze me what people are prepared to impart on National Radio, as if they were in a private sitting
room.
‘Her problem, not ours,’ says Gina, settling herself at her computer.
The adrenalin kicks in as the jingle goes out: ‘Theodora Gentleman, Voice of South-East England, here to turn your worries around.’
I’m at my happiest on air. Engaged in conversation, deep in thought, orchestrating these discussions.
I lean into the mic.
‘So, Sue, your mother-in-law has moved in. For the benefit of our listeners, can you explain the circumstances?’
‘It’s like she moved in the minute her hubby died,’ our caller Sue begins. ‘I’m all right with it – it’s like, what you do, isn’t it?’
Her face floats into my mind’s eye. Plumpish, attractive, bags under her eyes, and straightened, light brown hair. She’ll be wearing something from H&M, fashionable, a little too
young for her. Too much flesh on show. I always try to visualise my callers. It’s a way of keeping myself engaged, though from experience I know faces rarely match voices. The truth, if and
when one ever gets to see it, is always a surprise.
‘When was this, Sue?’
‘Six months ago now.’
‘Does she have her own room? Her own space in your home?’
‘Oh yes. She’s got my son’s old room – he’s moved out, is at uni. She’s got use of her own bathroom. We’ve done all we can to make her feel at home. I
didn’t have any choice. My husband insisted she couldn’t live alone after she was widowed.’
‘Can she look after herself?’ I ask. ‘Is she incapacitated in any way?’
‘Oh no. She’s very young for her age.’
Sue goes on, explaining how she has never got on with the mother-in-law but has worked all her married life to smooth over potential conflicts.
I say nothing. I’m not here to give my views, but I play the psychologist anyway, to myself. It’s always so obvious what’s going on. This time it’s a husband with an
Oedipus complex.
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