Not such a cunning plan

Serendipity. Love it! In the post before last, In praise of people who break the rules, I wrote in appreciation of those who step outside the brand guidelines when dealing with the public. The example I gave was that of a station announcer. This week saw Chiltern Railways making a policy of – as Father Ted would say – that sort of thing. They, in association with Gold, the comedy TV channel, have enlisted Tony Robinson (Baldrick to you and me) and the writer of the Green Wing, Richard Preddy, to script some amusing announcements and ‘ad-libs’ for delivery by staff on services between Birmingham and London and at Marylebone station.

Baldrick was shown coaching staff – teaching them how to present the lines – and pretty painful stuff it was too. The problem was that they were lines: too clever, too convoluted and too forced by half.

I applaud the notion, but the methodology is wrong. It should be about conversation, observation and spontaneity, not rote. Robinson was asked if train managers would be encouraged to come up with their own material: “Yes, ad-libbing is good. Chiltern were always keen for them to inject some of their own personalities into this.” It seems to me that their idea is back to front, since it should be entirely about their personalities. A script is always going to sound like a script if it doesn’t fit the deliverer’s personality or speech patterns. They claim that response has been good but of course for every person who likes this sort of thing there will be another who doesn’t.

Take the bloke on the Northern Line, Bill McKay. He’s a veteran driver / ad-libber. Some commuters love it. Others don’t: “I hate his guts.” “When the train stops in a tunnel for no apparent reason, the last thing you need is some fucker making a shit joke about vampires.”

My favorite tube ad-lib was an exquisite put-down of some twonk who was pretending to be very important doing a Dom Jolly at ear drum-busting levels on the platform. “Would that bloke on his mobile tell us how he does that, 'cos you can’t get a signal down ‘ere.” Ahhhh! Equally great are the CCTV blokes who watch over Eros. Cameras and a smattering of loudspeakers surround him, since he has been famously damaged in the past. One night a bunch of piss-heads started lobbing empty cans at him. “Missed!” “Ooo, nearly.” And so on, thus freaking them out rather than telling them to desist – it had the desired effect. They then presumably had a right laugh as the buffoons tried, in their drunken state, to work out where the voice was coming from.

Some are natural conversationalists, observers and comedians. Some are not. So it should be about having the option to, and not a duty to. That, Chiltern, is a cunning plan.