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Issue 6: November 2006.
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Home > Issue 6: November 2006 > Fiction

This Is Dave Radio
by Tom Conoboy

This is Dave Radio, broadcasting in short wave from somewhere, nowhere, broadcasting from everywhere, repeating on the hour, every hour until it’s no longer necessary. This is Dave Radio.

And how’s the weather where you are tonight, Dave? We’ll be bringing you a full forecast in fifteen minutes. I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but it’s going to be hot, hot, hot. Take out the straw hat, buy some sunblock, stay indoors till the worst is over. This is Dave Radio, broadcasting in sympathy, your compassionate friend.

Wherever you are.

Here at Dave Radio we like to think of Dave sitting in an armchair, next to a big old log fire, with a grand bakelite radio beside him and a book of stories on his knee. It won’t be like that, we know, but hey, even Dave Radio can get sentimental sometimes. Especially thinking about Dave. We all love Dave.

And now, some music. You remember this one, don’t you, Dave? It’s one of your favourites, one of your sad songs. Float, Dave. Float and feel, float and feel, feel that sad song flow.

That’s what makes you cry.

Feel it fill your mind, fill your head. You like that, Dave, it’s like having your tummy tickled. Feel that music, become it; you know it’s so much easier when you let go. Ah, Satie, he was such a saddy, wasn’t he? Did he see what you saw, Dave? Do you think so? To be able to write such beautiful sadness? Did he see the world writhing on the edge, sliding into a pit, sliding onto a spit, ready to roast, ready to burn?

Did he see you, Dave, on the way to Sadville?

Probably not. Nobody does. Just us.

This is Dave Radio. Returning the silence, back from the edge.

Somebody told me a story about you once, Dave. How you were a brave man, how you helped people, some people in trouble. We don’t know the exact details, they’re kind of hazy, kind of hidden. We’re not even sure if it’s true, but hey, we like the idea of it anyway. We like your style.

And now, a word from our sponsor.

(Oh dear. Hear that static. Speech is a two-way medium, you know, Dave. It needs receptors as well as transmitters, understanding as well as knowledge. Otherwise it’s only words and words aren’t enough any more.)

Ah, welcome back to our trusty listener. Did you tune out, just then? We sensed a slight blip in our audience reach. That’s very naughty of you. You’re supposed to listen to our sponsors’ messages, Dave. They’re what keep us going.

Dave Radio, in conjunction with —

Oh Dave! You’re incorrigible.

The news headlines coming up in five minutes, but first this. Oh, it’s 1963, I think. Cold, cold, cold. Winter everywhere you look. And baby Dave, isn’t he cute in his pram, big black pram, vorsprung durk kindheit, as they say in babyland. The way he smiles through the frost round his mouth, the way he clenches his little fist in those mittens, the hat, part balaclava, part skull-cap, lovingly knitted by mummy Dave. And we know that in five minutes time he ought to die; be run over by the rolling-backwards lorry that flattened mummy Dave and garbled her head between its serried wheels until it was twisted off and made a terrible mess on the High Street tarmac. But Dave didn’t die, his pram just trundled slowly, slow, a little less slow, a little more quickly, a bit quick, a bit quicker, quicker still and quickly down the hill until it crashed.

Into the wall of Maidenhead FC Social Club. Dave cried. His mittened fists banged on the side of the pram, his wailing mouth revealed the first terror storm of his little life.

Terror storms — we know about those, don’t we, Dave? Oh dear, do we.

This is Dave Radio, returning you to the present. This is Dave Radio, broadcasting what nobody else can hear.

And now today’s headlines. A man known as Dave has gone missing. Last seen at 3:20 this morning, near the canal. Police have nothing to go on. A man known as Dave’s bank account has been emptied. There’s £3.20 left, says a Barclay’s spokesman. Not enough for a bus fare. An unidentified man, possibly called Dave, announces he remembered something significant last night, but won’t reveal what it was. Not even sure I remembered it right, he says. More on these stories, and more, in our main bulletin at half past.

This is Dave Radio, moving with the moment.

At quarter past we have our Wednesday morning phone-in with Doctor Kahlo. Call now with your questions. You know the number. It’s the one written on your heart, Dave.

But to take us there let’s have some more music.

(It’s strange, isn’t it, Dave? When you’re not listening, that’s when you listen most. How does that work, do you think? You’re not listening to Dave Radio just now, not really, even though you love this song. You’re listening to yourself, and you know that’s a bad idea. But Dave Radio is still working, isn’t it, Dave? In the background? Somehow? And isn’t that for the best?

Oh, hold on. Last couple of bars. Start the fade out. Bring back the mic...)

This is Dave Radio, broadcasting what nobody else can bear.

The Flowers of Romance there, the instrumental version, the mental version, and everybody knows, Dave, everybody knows that’s your favourite version. No words, just flowers, just the romance of rhythm, layered patterns

one-two, one two three,

one-two, one two three.

Hear-the drums there, Dave, crash-and spike your brain. Smack-your knees in time

one-two, one two three

until they’re red raw, Dave, red, and hot, hot hot. Like the weather, Dave. And the violin, and the violin, can you hear it, Dave?

Doing violence to notes so beautiful, the way it wails, it sounds more and more like an ambulance travelling to a bloody incident somewhere on the east side of Maidenhead or a police car, maybe, a police car in Cromer, a police car in Cromer and that’s when

one-two, one two three

starts-to change change, Dave, doesn’t-it, doesn’t it, Dave? How does it go, how does it go?

onetwothree, one one two three

and you know, you see it in your eyes, in the blood in your veins, in the fists in your mittens, you know there’s another world opening up in those hidden beats, don’t you, Dave? That only you can see. You and Dave Radio.

This is Dave Radio, broadcasting in short wave from wherever you know, repeating on the hour, every hour until it’s no longer necessary.

How long will that be, Dave?

This is Dave Radio.

You see, most of us have circadian rhythms, Dave. Circa – every; die – day. Every day. Twenty four hours, and in that twenty four hours, Dave, we change, we move on, we slide into a new tomorrow, we don’t even realise it’s happening. It’s a regular pattern. It’s rather nice, it’s rather lovely, once you accept that death and decay are the only conclusions. Most of us do, Dave. What we do is we forget the unforgettable. That’s the way the world crumbles.

Bully for us, you might say.

So why do you change on the hour, Dave? You live at the speed of a field mouse, your little heart chattering in fear of the death that never comes. Not to you, anyway. Why is that, do you think?

Dave Radio, reaching out into the hinterland.

Oh dear, smack my wrist. I’m getting all serious before nightfall, and that won’t do, not on Dave Radio. Let’s find something jolly instead. Come on, search the music library for a memory, Dave.

Well done. Well done. Oh yes.

This is Dave Radio. And this is Cockney Rebel. I haven’t heard this in years and years. Oh Dave, do you remember? You must. I know you do, I can feel it crossing the airwaves. Come to a strange place, indeed. Ha! You know all about that, Dave, strange places are where you’re at. See my mind in kaleidoscope. How lovely is that?

See my mind in kaleidoscope?

The way yours twists and turns, Dave, how could we do other? You know the writer called this a love song?

Wouldn’t it be nice if it really was?

This is Dave Radio. Broadcasting from the edge. It’s the point where comfort ends.

A listener has been in touch, Dave. Asked a question. Maybe you know the answer. We’ve asked everybody here and nobody else does. Are you ready? Pen and paper handy?

What happened to that little girl on Cromer sands in August 1976, Dave? What happened to that little girl in the yellow dress with the mustard hair and a smile like vanilla?

Dave Radio, living the past in the present, predicting the future.

Dave Radio, a service to the community. That the community can’t hear.

Traffic next, and it’s a bad one out there, I’m sorry to say. All routes are chocca, the ringroad is ringfenced, even the toll road is toiling. No one wants to be where they are, everybody has a notion where they ought to be, but they haven’t figured out how to get there. They’re milling like cows in a field.

You know what I’m saying, Dave?

Where are you going, Dave?

This is Dave Radio. In touch with the world. At the heart of it all. Wherever that might be.

It’s coming close to the end of this broadcast, Dave. Another one passes. Like to think it was a good one. Was it good for you, Dave? Hope you enjoyed the show. Enjoy the show. Enjoy. Show. You’ll like it. You’ll like it when you try it. Go on. It’s nice, it’s fun.

There’s some interference on the line. I’m sorry Dave, I’m sorry Dave.

This is Dave Radio, feeling a little bit odd. It’s suddenly gotten hot in here. Is it just me or is the sky different out there? No one will know. It’ll be our little secret. Go on, what’s your name? What’s your name? Mary, what a lovely little name for a lovely little lady in a lovely yellow dress. Go on, Mary, you know you want to. Touch it. Touch it.

This is Dave Radio, going where it’s never gone before.

Dave, are you there, Dave? I’m getting a little frightened, Dave.

You weren’t there, Dave. You weren’t there. You weren’t hiding in the sand dunes, spying on little Mary. You didn’t see anything. You didn’t see that man. You didn’t see Mary touch that man. You didn’t see anything, Dave. It was easier not to see. You didn’t see the way he forced her. You didn’t hear the way she cried. You didn’t watch what happened. No, no, no, no, no.

You didn’t see them walk away, into the sun, into the newspapers, into history. I don’t know that it adds to anything, you didn’t see it. You’re not ready to have seen it, not quite, not yet.

This is Dave Radio, broadcasting in short wave to a world that isn’t listening, repeating on the hour, every hour, until it’s no longer necessary.

That might be some time, though, won’t it, Dave?