It's Not What You Think (29 page)

10 Timing

  9 Groundwork

  8 Energy

  7 Honesty

  6 Holding your nerve

  5 Two willing parties

  4 Money in place

  3 A man on the inside

  2 Two men on the inside

  1 A pen

Richard Branson had set up Virgin Radio
some four years before at a cost of around £7 million. He was now poised to sell the station to the mighty Capital group for a whacking £90 million—not a bad bit of business. The sale, however, had temporarily been put on hold pending a ruling by the Monopolies and Mergers Commission with regards to how this acquisition would affect Capital’s strength in the market, especially in London where they were already dominant.

The financial situation was that no money had yet changed hands but the two parties had signed an exclusivity agreement stating that Virgin was bound to sell to Capital regardless of any other offers it might receive for the duration of the agreement. Should that agreement lapse, of course, then all bets were off, leaving the door open for anyone else who may be interested.

Well, here’s the thing: the ruling was taking longer than anyone had predicted and the exclusivity contract was teetering ever closer to becoming null and void. Not that this should have mattered, as Virgin were way down the ‘procedures’ route with Capital and anyone else who did throw their hat into the ring would have an awful lot of catching up to do.

All Capital had to do to further protect their position was place an extension on the exclusivity agreement, something Virgin would more than likely have been happy to comply with. Surely Capital would do this ‘just in case’. Well, actually, no they wouldn’t, not if either:

A. They didn’t realise the clause had lapsed.

B. They didn’t believe anyone else had £90 million cash to spend on a radio station.

(Incredibly both these things would later turn out to be true.)

Although the Virgin Group were keen to sell, the current management of Virgin Radio were not fans of the potential new owners, to put it mildly. They had built Virgin Radio from literally nothing into what it was today and despite the fact they were all in line for a big pay day come the sale, it was a surefire bet that once Capital took over, they would most likely be out on their ears . Capital were renowned for doing things their own way with their own people.

‘Thanks a lot, here’s a cheque, see you in another life’—you know, that kind of thing.

Virgin Radio had grown like one big, happy, slightly rebellious, family that had been together from day one. There had been exceptionally few staff changes, the true mark of a well-run company. And like all good families, a lot of the credit was down to the parents—both Dads in this case!

There was Andy Mollet, the finance guy, an aquiline-looking thirtysomething, who was a lifelong Fulham fan—sharp as a razor and as straight a guy as you could hope to find. Then there was D.C.—David Campbell, the big boss. Imagine a huge bear, a big huge smiley bear, a bear whose favourite thing in the world is Guinness and then give that bear as much Guinness as there is in the world. Next watch as the bear’s smile grows wider and wider until eventually he falls asleep, usually stood up, usually in the corner of a pub somewhere, that was D.C.—still is on a good day.

The Virgin Radio culture was work hard and play hard. Their parties were legendary. If targets were reached—it was down to the pub for an almighty beer bust; if targets weren’t reached—it was still down to the pub for an almighty beer bust. There was always the next quarter.

The whole company prided itself on being part of the non-establishment Virgin empire. Working for a Virgin company does that to you—all those neverending days of publicity that Richard has carefully manipulated over the years having paid off. If you are a Virgin employee
it’s just that little bit sexier than if you work some place else for a similar company.

It was this mentality that would be vitally instrumental when it came to scuppering the Capital deal. For the current management to be sucked up, paid off and spat out was not a prospect they were looking forward to. If there was any way on earth they could break off their engagement with Capital whilst in the process also keeping their jobs it wasn’t difficult to conceive they would be more than willing to help any potential alternative suitors sneak in the back door.

David and Andy were actively on the lookout for some kind of lifeline and had been for the last couple of months but there seemed to be little hope. Everyone had generally accepted that the Capital Group were the new owners in all but name and it was only a matter of time before the Monopolies and Mergers Commission ruled in their favour and contracts were exchanged.

Dave and Andy had begun to count the days, until, that is—Radio 1 announced the appointment of Zoe Ball to host its breakfast show.

Virgin’s current breakfast show had been treading water for a couple of years by now and although there was nothing particularly wrong with it, it had just become a bit staid. With an imminent takeover looming, there was little incentive for anyone to do anything to change it, but now Zoe and her new breakfast show were around the corner, the Virgin guys thought it was too good a chance to miss to have one last bit of fun.

How about they put me up against her, to start on the same day at the same time? Capital were due to take over in ten weeks anyhow, so what the heck?

Radio Wars
the newspapers would call it.

No sooner had D.C. contacted Michael, he was straight on the phone to me.

‘Chris, it’s Michael here. Virgin Radio have been in contact. They are aware you have been sniffing around for a gig back on the air and would like to offer you the breakfast show, but
it’s not what you think
—in fact, to be frank, it’s a bit weird.’

‘Michael, life is weird—get on with it.’

‘No Chris, this is
really
weird.’

‘Michael, weird is what we do, come on tell me.’

‘They want you to do the breakfast show and they want you to start on the same day and at the same time Zoe Ball starts on Radio 1.’

‘But that’s fantastic, that’s amazing, are you serious? This is the greatest news ever, that’s not weird at all.’

‘But—’

‘But what?’

‘That’s not the weird bit—you can only do it for ten weeks until they sell the station. Then you’ll have to leave.’

‘That
is
weird.’

As weird as it may have been, it sounded like it was going to be fun and once I was back on the air, who knows what might happen?

The press fell in love with the story of ‘the big fight’. The tabloids stuck both Zoe and me on their front pages, while the broadsheets got to work intellectualising the whole affair. It was just what radio needed, a real shot in the arm and we, along with our polar opposite employers, were the couple to do it. The geeky, ginger, working-class radio pro up against the beautiful, blonde, middle-class television presenter rookie—it couldn’t have been more mouthwatering. There was something in there for everyone and with a bit of luck we would all come out winners.

Zoe played her part exquisitely, quietly smiling along while I declared all kinds of campaigns against her.

ME: ‘It’s war!’

ZOE: ‘Well, you know how Chris is—he has his way of doing things and I have my audience and I’m sure the listeners will make their own choices.’

I was the crazed dog, she the cool cat, but we were both in a no-lose situation.

Zoe was probably going to be there for several years with a shiny new contract enjoying a crystal clear national FM signal, whereas I was only going to be around for a ten-week scrap on fuzzy old medium wave. Zoe was always going to slaughter me in the ratings, that was a given, but it didn’t matter—before the first set of audience figures were through I would be out in the wilderness once again and Capital and their millions would be in—at least that’s what we all thought.

In fact I was already preparing what I would say for the final link on my last show in ten weeks time, something like:

‘It’s obvious to me what has happened here—Zoe’s father has paid everyone in Britain to listen to her. Of nothing else am I more certain. I saw her dad Johnny at the bank every day last week. ‘Think of a number,’ he said to the cashpoint machine whereupon out poured zillions of pounds, and who am I to come between a father’s love for his daughter? Good luck Zoe and farewell.’

As the countdown to our duel continued, radio was back on the agenda and back on the front pages. Zoe was making it sexy and cool, while I was making it controversial and exciting—and we hadn’t even gone on the air yet!

When D-day was finally upon us, the frenzy of coverage reached fever pitch. Everyone chipped in and had their say. When it came to the review it was generally accepted that Zoe sounded a little nervous, but what she lacked in experience she was already making up for in warmth and enthusiasm. The general take on my efforts was that I was a little more self-assured. Self-assured? You’re not kidding, I couldn’t wait to get back behind the mic, and from 6 a.m. that morning I soaked up every second for all it was worth and it felt better than ever.

After no more than a week Zoe was sounding infinitely more at home with her new medium. After no more than an hour I began to think that ten weeks just wasn’t going to be enough.

10 When opportunity knocks, make sure you’re ready to answer the door

  9 The best way to beat the system is to invent a new one

  8 Ask not why—rather why not?

  7 It’s easier to chase than be chased

  6 Every no brings you closer to a yes

  5 Imagination is more important than knowledge

  4 The best way to beat the system is to invent a new one

  3 It’s not about the size of your gun, it’s about when you pull the trigger

  2 First profit—best profit, first loss—best loss

  1 Never negotiate out of fear but never fear to negotiate

After another tip-off from John Revell
re: the current state of affairs between Capital and the Virgin Group, Michael had now begun to dig around to see what he could find with regards to the sale of Virgin Radio and whether or not there was any chance we could become involved. Wherever he went and whoever he spoke to, he kept hearing the same thing—specifically that the deal was done and that was that.

‘Fucking bullshit,’ he told me. ‘Until the signature is on the paper, a deal is never done, every agent knows that. Capital think they’ve got it in the bag but they haven’t, as far as I can see this thing is still wide open. All we have to do is wait till midnight on the day their exclusivity clause runs out and hope to fuck they don’t realise. If we can then come up with the cash, we slip in and buy it straight out from under their noses, simple eh?’

Michael was absolutely right except for the last bit. The last thing it was going to be was simple but, hey, when had that ever stopped us?

Branson would have to be convinced that any alternative approach was genuine but we knew he wanted the money from the sale to fund his new European airline, so at the very least he would probably be willing to listen to an alternative offer. Especially if there continued to be an ongoing delay with the Monopolies and Mergers Commission who were turning out to be in no mood to be rushed.

As a result of our first few attempts to raise support for our scheme, we weren’t surprised to discover that the majority of people we talked to thought we were insane to even think we might have a chance of pulling something like this off. But as an old pal of mine says, ‘Every time you hear a no, it just means you are closer to a yes, it’s all about the guy who is willing to knock on the most doors.’

Michael was happy to knock on as many doors as it was going to take and in the meantime we decided it was also the right moment to talk to the big cuddly Guinness-drinking bear.

I organised to meet D.C. surreptitiously one night in my favourite pub, a little jewel by the name of the Nag’s Head in Belgravia Village, right by Hyde Park. The ‘Nag’s’ is in a mews street and was originally an old spit and sawdust bar in the early 1800s frequented by stable boys and stable girls who looked after the horses of the upper classes. Now it is mostly frequented by unstable boys and unstable girls who can sometimes barely look after themselves.

I urge you to seek it out if you’re ever in London. It is very much a part of our history, although if you stay there too long there’s a good chance you will be too. If you do ever go, also make sure you steer clear of using your mobile phone or requesting chips or ketchup with your food. Kevin the landlord—a former Welsh Guard—has an abhorrence of all three and has been know to vault the bar to eject those heinous enough to indulge in such evil indulgencies.

Over the years this wonderful little pub has seen many comings and goings involving all sorts of characters with much plotting abound—one of the reasons I thought it the most fitting of venues to perhaps hatch a plan. We would drink and we would talk and we would see what came of it. When I arrived David was already ‘installed’ with a pint.

I informed him that Michael and I wanted to buy Virgin Radio and we were interested to know if he might help us do something.

‘Brilliant, go for it, I’m in,’ he said, without missing a beat. I paused to see if he was pulling my leg but not a bit of it. He was here to listen and would do all he could to assist us but not before he went on to very calmly tell me what his terms would be. He suffixed it with the fact that these terms were non-negotiable and he required an answer immediately.

What he had proposed seemed perfectly reasonable to me—David’s help would be vital to the success of any potential new takeover. I accepted his terms unreservedly. He almost looked impressed. We both knew there was a much bigger play on the table and it would have been silly to be sidetracked by the odd percentage point here or there.

When it came down to the nitty gritty, if anything David was even more upbeat about our prospects than we were. In his opinion, there was no reason at all why a bank or venture capitalist would not lend us the money to buy what was already a cash-rich business, even more so if we could prove to them that things were only going to get better.

He firmly believed that my presence on the breakfast show, although never a realistic threat to Radio 1, could make a marked difference when it came to the fortunes of Virgin Radio. In fact he suggested revenues might easily double if not triple within the first twelve to eighteen months as a result of my high profile and improved listening figures. This, he believed, along with the predicted upturn in radio’s share of advertising across the board, was enough of a tempting proposition to take to potential investors.

The one thing David was concerned about, however, was time and the exclusivity contract. He believed it was only a formality until Capital thought to extend it, as a consequence of which we needed to move very quickly. David next informed me of several investors who he knew might be sympathetic to our cause and who had been there at the beginning when he had set up the radio station.

D.C. was already earning his fair share of whatever we might have to end up paying him, but he hadn’t finished yet.

‘You need to call this man first thing tomorrow. His name is Kenneth Ibbett,’ he said to me, while writing down a number on the back of a beer mat.

‘Who’s he?’ I asked.

‘He works for Richard—he is the man who will tell you whether or not they will sell you the radio station.’

‘Stone the crows,’ I thought. ‘This is really happening.’