Hadley's experience with London radio...
JLord
Posts: 35MI6 Agent
“Hello, is that Arnold Harley?”
“No it’s not.”
There was a pause. “I’m sorry, this is Eric from Camden Radio in London. We are trying to trace Arnold Harley.”
“He’s not here.”
“Oh.”
“I am Hadley Arnold. Can I help?”
“I do apologise. They told us you were still up.”
“I’m still up, yes. Who told you? How did you get this number?”
“I’m not quite sure actually.”
“Well, what do you want?”
“We were wondering if you could spare us a couple of minutes on our Asia Focus programme. We could take you there live in a few minutes. Sorry for such short notice, but you know how it is.”
“How is it?”
“We heard about some trouble near where you are.”
“Nearby. But I haven’t heard any news for hours. You’ll have to make the questions general.”
“Okay. No problem. Thanks for helping us out. Let me get the pronunciation right. Hadley Arnold.”
“That’s right.”
“And you’re in the middle of the war zone, near Tarragona.”
“Tarragona?”
“Please hold on.”
Hadley heard a scuffle of voices and a hand put across the phone and then Eric was back on the line.
“Sorry, you’re not the Hadley Arnold?”
“I am Hadley Arnold. I’m not sure what you mean. I’m not in Spain.”
“You’re the guy that saved Chris Torment’s life, right?”
“Not exactly.”
Hadley heard Eric put his hand over the phone again and say: “What a ****.” He came back on the line but not as friendly as before. “Okay, tell me if you can hear me clearly.”
“I can hear you. I’m not in Tarragona.”
“I don’t care where you are. Don’t mess around, okay? I’m going to leave you with the show. You will hear Susan sign off a guest, there will be a time check and a bit of the jingle. He’ll introduce you, and then you’ll be on live. Is that clear?”
“Susan’s a he? I’m not in Spain.”
“I’m leaving you with the show.”
Hadley listened and waited. Familiar night-time British commercial radio sounds. He imagined deserted motorways and people smoking cigarettes and stamping their feet in the cold outside service stations. He envisioned West End streets after all the bars had closed and dodgy people standing in shop doorways, near casinos, waiting for fun. When fun didn’t arrive, they stood in shop doorways waiting for mini-cabs. They didn’t arrive either. Hadley thought about Torment’s power to bonk and wondered what line the ******* had used on his sister. His sister! And he wasn’t even famous then. Hadley wanted a gin and tonic. Then he heard Susan.
“And now we are going over live to the South Pacific Macho Island where the ethnic war has been raging for donkeys with all sorts of mayhem. On the line from the war front in Tamaranda is Shrubs’s man in deep doo-doo, Harley Armwood. Harley, are you there?”
Hadley allowed a long pause.
“Hello, mum?”
“Hello, is that Harley Armwood?”
“Hello, mum?”
“Hello Harley. Good to have you Cool on Camden. Harley, tell us, we’ve been hearing dreadful stories about bombs in Colombia, tourists pulling out in droves, the economy in tatters. But I hear there’s a light side to all this. What’s it all about?”
Hadley thought a while. A light side to all this? In Colombia? He took a deep breath.
“Hello, mum?”
“Oh dear, we seem to have a crossed line...”
“Hello. This is Hadley Arnold.”
“Hadley. Welcome. We have you Cool on Camden. I don’t know whether you caught the question.”
“Not a word.”
“It’s just that we here in London have been hearing awful things about the fighting in Sri Lanka in recent years, but thankfully we hear there is a lighter side.”
“I’m sorry, Susan, but can’t think of one actually. There has been some sporadic violence here in Macho, but that is nothing out of the ordinary for this sun-baked archipelago where violence is pretty much, though not so much, endemic and entrenched after years of ethnic and civil unrest. As it is on the mainland.”
“Wow. Well, we hear that while some people may have been having a tough time of it, it’s onion soup on the house in all the top hotels.”
Hadley frowned and looked into the receiver. He banged it against a palm tree.
“Hello, Hadley. Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. Could you repeat the question?”
“Yes. The papers here have picked up on the story that while some people may have been having a tough time of it in, um, near you, it’s onion soup on the house in all the top hotels.”
The penny dropped. The onion story. Hadley tried to remember his intro. “Well, you’re not far wrong there, Susan. It appears a ship carrying a load of red onions was barred entry from one of the islands and the skipper decided to dump his load overboard and look for trade elsewhere.”
“Oh no. What happened?”
“Oh yes. Well, put it this way, Susan, the British tourists are not the only things lying on the beaches turning red and peeling.”
“Ha, ha, ha. Wow, what a story. You mean the onions are being
washed up on the beaches?”
“That’s right, Susan. In their hundreds. What a load of... onions. All along the golden beaches of this tropical paradise.”
“And they’re peeling?”
“Well, I expect so.”
“You said they were.”
“They are.”
“So you saw them. And I hear that the locals are showing some pretty amazing entrepreneurial spirit?”
“That’s right, Susan. They’ve been gathering up the onions and selling them at roadside stores, and making a hefty profit into the bargain.”
“And it’s onion soup on all the hotel menus tonight, right?”
“I expect so, but I’d plump for the melon for starters. The soup could be a tad salty.”
“Ha ha ha. Okay, that sounds like good advice from the tropics. But swap me some of that equatorial sunshine for some salty soup any time.”
“Yes, but the onions are really ‘Macho ado about nothing’ as there has been a war raging on the mainland and only last night...”
“I also see Hadley, from a piece of paper just handed to me, that you’re the Hadley Arnold who saved Chris Torment’s life in Hong Kong a few weeks back.”
“Well, that’s not strictly...”
“And now we are hearing rumours he’s been kidnapped near you?”
Where did they get that from? “Kidnapped? I haven’t heard that. But I am here. I mean, I will find out what’s going on.”
“Our man in deep doo-doo and he hasn’t got a clue. Extraordinary. But there we have to leave the tropics and return to grimy old London where we hear a coal truck has shed its load at the north end of Tottenham Court Road...”
“Hadley?”
“Yes?”
“Hadley, it’s all over. You’re back with Eric. Thanks for that onion ********.”
“Thanks for what?”
“For that ******** about the onions.”
“You mean that’s it?”
“Bugger off.”
An excerpt from Hadley, by Nick Macfie, available on amazon.com.
“No it’s not.”
There was a pause. “I’m sorry, this is Eric from Camden Radio in London. We are trying to trace Arnold Harley.”
“He’s not here.”
“Oh.”
“I am Hadley Arnold. Can I help?”
“I do apologise. They told us you were still up.”
“I’m still up, yes. Who told you? How did you get this number?”
“I’m not quite sure actually.”
“Well, what do you want?”
“We were wondering if you could spare us a couple of minutes on our Asia Focus programme. We could take you there live in a few minutes. Sorry for such short notice, but you know how it is.”
“How is it?”
“We heard about some trouble near where you are.”
“Nearby. But I haven’t heard any news for hours. You’ll have to make the questions general.”
“Okay. No problem. Thanks for helping us out. Let me get the pronunciation right. Hadley Arnold.”
“That’s right.”
“And you’re in the middle of the war zone, near Tarragona.”
“Tarragona?”
“Please hold on.”
Hadley heard a scuffle of voices and a hand put across the phone and then Eric was back on the line.
“Sorry, you’re not the Hadley Arnold?”
“I am Hadley Arnold. I’m not sure what you mean. I’m not in Spain.”
“You’re the guy that saved Chris Torment’s life, right?”
“Not exactly.”
Hadley heard Eric put his hand over the phone again and say: “What a ****.” He came back on the line but not as friendly as before. “Okay, tell me if you can hear me clearly.”
“I can hear you. I’m not in Tarragona.”
“I don’t care where you are. Don’t mess around, okay? I’m going to leave you with the show. You will hear Susan sign off a guest, there will be a time check and a bit of the jingle. He’ll introduce you, and then you’ll be on live. Is that clear?”
“Susan’s a he? I’m not in Spain.”
“I’m leaving you with the show.”
Hadley listened and waited. Familiar night-time British commercial radio sounds. He imagined deserted motorways and people smoking cigarettes and stamping their feet in the cold outside service stations. He envisioned West End streets after all the bars had closed and dodgy people standing in shop doorways, near casinos, waiting for fun. When fun didn’t arrive, they stood in shop doorways waiting for mini-cabs. They didn’t arrive either. Hadley thought about Torment’s power to bonk and wondered what line the ******* had used on his sister. His sister! And he wasn’t even famous then. Hadley wanted a gin and tonic. Then he heard Susan.
“And now we are going over live to the South Pacific Macho Island where the ethnic war has been raging for donkeys with all sorts of mayhem. On the line from the war front in Tamaranda is Shrubs’s man in deep doo-doo, Harley Armwood. Harley, are you there?”
Hadley allowed a long pause.
“Hello, mum?”
“Hello, is that Harley Armwood?”
“Hello, mum?”
“Hello Harley. Good to have you Cool on Camden. Harley, tell us, we’ve been hearing dreadful stories about bombs in Colombia, tourists pulling out in droves, the economy in tatters. But I hear there’s a light side to all this. What’s it all about?”
Hadley thought a while. A light side to all this? In Colombia? He took a deep breath.
“Hello, mum?”
“Oh dear, we seem to have a crossed line...”
“Hello. This is Hadley Arnold.”
“Hadley. Welcome. We have you Cool on Camden. I don’t know whether you caught the question.”
“Not a word.”
“It’s just that we here in London have been hearing awful things about the fighting in Sri Lanka in recent years, but thankfully we hear there is a lighter side.”
“I’m sorry, Susan, but can’t think of one actually. There has been some sporadic violence here in Macho, but that is nothing out of the ordinary for this sun-baked archipelago where violence is pretty much, though not so much, endemic and entrenched after years of ethnic and civil unrest. As it is on the mainland.”
“Wow. Well, we hear that while some people may have been having a tough time of it, it’s onion soup on the house in all the top hotels.”
Hadley frowned and looked into the receiver. He banged it against a palm tree.
“Hello, Hadley. Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. Could you repeat the question?”
“Yes. The papers here have picked up on the story that while some people may have been having a tough time of it in, um, near you, it’s onion soup on the house in all the top hotels.”
The penny dropped. The onion story. Hadley tried to remember his intro. “Well, you’re not far wrong there, Susan. It appears a ship carrying a load of red onions was barred entry from one of the islands and the skipper decided to dump his load overboard and look for trade elsewhere.”
“Oh no. What happened?”
“Oh yes. Well, put it this way, Susan, the British tourists are not the only things lying on the beaches turning red and peeling.”
“Ha, ha, ha. Wow, what a story. You mean the onions are being
washed up on the beaches?”
“That’s right, Susan. In their hundreds. What a load of... onions. All along the golden beaches of this tropical paradise.”
“And they’re peeling?”
“Well, I expect so.”
“You said they were.”
“They are.”
“So you saw them. And I hear that the locals are showing some pretty amazing entrepreneurial spirit?”
“That’s right, Susan. They’ve been gathering up the onions and selling them at roadside stores, and making a hefty profit into the bargain.”
“And it’s onion soup on all the hotel menus tonight, right?”
“I expect so, but I’d plump for the melon for starters. The soup could be a tad salty.”
“Ha ha ha. Okay, that sounds like good advice from the tropics. But swap me some of that equatorial sunshine for some salty soup any time.”
“Yes, but the onions are really ‘Macho ado about nothing’ as there has been a war raging on the mainland and only last night...”
“I also see Hadley, from a piece of paper just handed to me, that you’re the Hadley Arnold who saved Chris Torment’s life in Hong Kong a few weeks back.”
“Well, that’s not strictly...”
“And now we are hearing rumours he’s been kidnapped near you?”
Where did they get that from? “Kidnapped? I haven’t heard that. But I am here. I mean, I will find out what’s going on.”
“Our man in deep doo-doo and he hasn’t got a clue. Extraordinary. But there we have to leave the tropics and return to grimy old London where we hear a coal truck has shed its load at the north end of Tottenham Court Road...”
“Hadley?”
“Yes?”
“Hadley, it’s all over. You’re back with Eric. Thanks for that onion ********.”
“Thanks for what?”
“For that ******** about the onions.”
“You mean that’s it?”
“Bugger off.”
An excerpt from Hadley, by Nick Macfie, available on amazon.com.