There’s a radio futurologist out there who hates me. Well, ‘hate’ is probably a strong word. Or maybe it isn’t. Well, whatever his emotions are, they are negative when it comes to me spouting off about offshore radio related things. See, he’s too young to have known the sad infliction of offshore radio anoraksia. His love of radio is cemented in the 1980s, well after offshore radio was gone and well into the era when local radio disc jockeys all had lisps and had just discovered the segue.
Now, I’m not being negative about this radio futurologist, there’s a lot about him that I admire and am very jealous of (not just him winning a free Chromebook whilst I had to pay for mine), and almost all of what he says is very sensible, easy to understand and right. Well, except for anything I disagree with of course. That’s when he’s wrong.
Recently, in an act of kindness he shouted ‘BOAT!’ at me. Not once. Not twice. But multiple times. I knew what he meant. I had been haemorrhaging bile and gushing orgasmically in alternative moments about things with the name ‘Radio Caroline’ in them. I knew I had to get it out of my system, lest he actually ring me up and shout ‘BOAT!’ and put the phone down. Or knock on my door, shout ‘BOAT!’ through the letterbox and run away. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful for him keeping me on an even keel down the path of righteousness and not allowing me to stray into, erm, deep waters.
But, how to remove all the ‘Radio Caroline’ stuff from my blood. Sigh.
So, I tuned in to the pop-up Radio Caroline North and decided to try to overdose on the immersive experience. I took it upon myself to visit all of their advertisers. Can there be anything more boring? It might at least help as a kind of aversion therapy.
The first advertiser I found was the Epstein hotel. This was just around the corner from where I work, so I strolled to it and stayed the night. Strangely, it seemed to be a shrine to some popular beat combo called The Beatles. Apparently, the family that once owned and lived here included a lad called Brian who managed the popular beat combo. It looked onto a park, Stanley Park, which appears to be where the locals congregate to buy, sell and smoke skunk. That horrible wee-wee smell of skunk drifting in through the window kept me sneezing all night. And just as I drifted off to sleep, the stolen motorbikes running up and down churning up the grass (the green stuff on the ground), woke me again. By the morning I was delirious and felt very strange.
With an extreme case of the munchies, I found myself at the Rococo Coffee House. This is a cafe that’s up some very steep stairs and occupies the space above an EE store around the corner from the Cavern Club.
It’s quite a large area that used to be individual offices. I found the bit that back in the 1960s was used by Radio Caroline North (the real one) as their office. As I sat there I became aware that I was actually perched on Ronan O’Rahilly’s lap. Totally Amazing. Ronan was the brains behind the rebellion that was Radio Caroline.
I found myself under a rebellious influence and pretty soon was visiting a shop also advertised on pop-up Caroline North. It sold dragons. I tried to steal one. And some magic crystals. The lady looked at me all weirdly and got out her witch’s broom. She said some strange incantation and I found myself floating away like in a Beatles song they sung about drugs or on drugs or after learning about drugs. Or something.
I touched down at a place advertised every hour just before the news on pop-up Radio Caroline North. It sells cars or does something with cars for £159 a month I think. I didn’t have any money so I borrowed one. Yep, I took one of the cars for a joyride. Heck, I’m a Liverpudlian after all, so it’s only fair. I drove up the road really fast and beeped continuously, yelled and screamed at the lightship the pop-up Radio Caroline North is occupying as I passed it pursued by the local police (we call them the ‘bizzies’ by the way) with their sirens blaring. I hope those on the ship appreciated all this fuss just for them.
I dumped the car outside some Tea Rooms in Crosby. They are also advertised on pop-up Caroline North. I ran in and I am currently hiding inside a really old fashioned looking teapot. I do feel a bit weird, so I hope I’m safe here for now.
Actually, to be fair this has all just been a bit of performance art at the Bluecoat. The Bluecoat is a creative hub that advertises on pop-up Radio Caroline North and their name rhymes with ‘BOAT!’.
I might have cracked it.