Radio Mad
9th May 2002, 14:56
I like this, it appeared on todays Guardian Media website at www.mediaguardian.co.uk
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How I nearly bought ITV
The government is proposing to allow foreign broadcasters to take over ITV. So how would, say, a wealthy American go about it? Emma Brockes poses as a mystery buyer
Thursday May 9, 2002
The Guardian
How do you buy a television station? Actually, it's more basic than that. To whom do you say the words, "Can I buy your TV station?" for them to have meaning and elevate you, momentarily, from listless channel-hopper to billionaire media owner with a greedily expanding empire? The operator at directory inquiries gives me the number of the ITV switchboard in Gray's Inn Road, London. It seems like a good place to start. The phone is answered by a woman and I inform her that I would like to discuss the possibility of buying ITV.
Operator: " Buying ITV?"
Yep.
Operator: "Ooh. Erm. Ooh. Bear with me, I'll put you through to information."
"Good afternoon, ITV," the information dude says cheerfully. I tell him that I would like to talk to someone about the possibility of buying ITV.
"Bear with me one moment." The line is silent for five minutes. "Are you actually talking about ITV the network or ITV digital?" he asks on return.
The network, I say. My wealthy American employer read in the newspapers that foreigners have been given licence to buy it.
"That's right!" This has stoked his enthusiasm. "I have heard something about that. Erm. Bear with me again. I'll, er . . ." The line goes silent. Then I hear whispered conferring in the background. The information officer returns, confidence renewed. "Right. ITV is actually made up of two shareholders who own the company between them. ITV isn't sort of one unit that you can just buy, although a change in the licence may have occurred, so . . . there's Granada and there's Carlton."
Has my boss got the wrong end of the stick then, I wonder?
"No, he has seen something in an article for sure, because I have heard about it. But you can never take what you read in an article to be entirely possible. ITV is just a brand name. You can't buy the whole thing."
So my boss would have to buy Carlton and Granada separately.
"Yes. Do you want their numbers?"
Yes, please.
The Granada switchboard is in Manchester. The operator reacts to my request to buy the company as if I have asked to come in and read the news with my hat on. "Hold on a second," she says, after a long, sarcastic pause and throws me down what is an obviously well-oiled chute for mad callers: a transfer to the London switchboard. "Buying Granada?" says the London operator. "I didn't know it was for sale. I'm going to give you corporate affairs."
I explain to the lady from corporate affairs that I am calling on behalf of my American employer, a wealthy individual with an interest in television. "Oh. Right. OK," she says. "I'll put you through to Ed."
What does he do?
"I'm never exactly sure." She laughs. "But he should be able to help you." There follows a long pause and a brisk return. "Right, I've talked to Ed and he says your best bet is to talk to James in investments relationships. I'll put you through."
James says hello with the gruffness of a man who controls a big budget. At last. I have found my fella. I tell him I would like to open negotiations to buy Granada on behalf of my wealthy American employer. It is for sale, isn't it? After a long, sceptical pause, James says: "He needs to get hold of a copy of the draft communications bill."
How does he do that? "There's a website, communicationsbill.
Can he buy it through that? James issues a half-amused, half-exasperated cry. "Well, look, just who is he?"
I can't say, I tell him. But he's very wealthy. And interested in television.
"Well," says James, "I can't give you any information unless you tell me if he represents a bank or a media organisation. I mean, it's a question of . . ."
He is just a wealthy individual, I say, with a particular interest in TV evangelism. This seems to strike a chord. "He's not that guy Robert somebody, is he?" says James. No, I say, his name isn't Robert. I can't disclose any more. He wants to know whether, if he buys Granada, he will have influence over the station's content? James sighs at this, as if at another small instance of the impoverishment of human nature. "Shareholders have no influence over content. It would undermine the integrity of the company."
OK, I say. He's a big fan of Coronation Street. Do you reckon he could score a visit to the set? James says: "If he invests heavily enough, I'm sure that can be arranged." There is another long pause. "This is beginning to sound like a wind-up," says James. I assure him it is not.
It seems a natural place to end the conversation and, sensing that I have got as far as I can in the purchase of Granada television, I direct my attention instead to Carlton. The Knightsbridge office is the home of the company's directors. The switchboard operator is trained in the handling of delicate inquiries. She asks my name, which I give, and the name of the man I represent, which I decline to give.
"Oh, obviously," she says, lowering her voice. "Yeah. I'll put you through to one of our directors."
I am transferred to the office of Mr Green. (This is Michael Green, the chairman and founder of Carlton.) His assistant is confused by my refusal to tell her who I represent. I admit that I'm a bit of a novice on the ins and outs of media ownership. There is the customary pause. "Right," she says, eventually. "Well, it's a very complicated issue. It seems a bit odd, actually, for somebody to make a call like this. It would be better if he spoke to our chief executive, but he would have to put the call in himself. But normally this sort of thing would go through an investment banker of some sort."
I explain that the man in question is quite eccentric. He has some programme ideas. Dogs of Hollywood is one. Would he be able to get it made if he bought the channel? There is a long, stunned pause while Mr Green's assistant digests this. "I would really recommend him to go through an investment banker," she says, nervously, "but if he didn't want to do that, he would have to call the chief executive, Gerry Murphy, and ask these questions directly. These things always come down to money - how much, you know, whatever."
Would he get to meet Chris Tarrant if he bought the station? Only he's a big fan. This incites the longest, most incredulous pause of all. "Really?" Yes. If he invests loads of money, will he get to meet him and hang out with other celebrities?
"It doesn't really work like that," she says, weakly now. Oh, I say, OK. Should he email Gerry Murphy with his programme ideas along with his bid for the company?
"I would wait until his proposition has been recognised as viable," she says. "If he starts sending programme ideas he may not be taken seriously."
But they're really good ideas.
"Mmmm," she says
[B]
-------------------------------
How I nearly bought ITV
The government is proposing to allow foreign broadcasters to take over ITV. So how would, say, a wealthy American go about it? Emma Brockes poses as a mystery buyer
Thursday May 9, 2002
The Guardian
How do you buy a television station? Actually, it's more basic than that. To whom do you say the words, "Can I buy your TV station?" for them to have meaning and elevate you, momentarily, from listless channel-hopper to billionaire media owner with a greedily expanding empire? The operator at directory inquiries gives me the number of the ITV switchboard in Gray's Inn Road, London. It seems like a good place to start. The phone is answered by a woman and I inform her that I would like to discuss the possibility of buying ITV.
Operator: " Buying ITV?"
Yep.
Operator: "Ooh. Erm. Ooh. Bear with me, I'll put you through to information."
"Good afternoon, ITV," the information dude says cheerfully. I tell him that I would like to talk to someone about the possibility of buying ITV.
"Bear with me one moment." The line is silent for five minutes. "Are you actually talking about ITV the network or ITV digital?" he asks on return.
The network, I say. My wealthy American employer read in the newspapers that foreigners have been given licence to buy it.
"That's right!" This has stoked his enthusiasm. "I have heard something about that. Erm. Bear with me again. I'll, er . . ." The line goes silent. Then I hear whispered conferring in the background. The information officer returns, confidence renewed. "Right. ITV is actually made up of two shareholders who own the company between them. ITV isn't sort of one unit that you can just buy, although a change in the licence may have occurred, so . . . there's Granada and there's Carlton."
Has my boss got the wrong end of the stick then, I wonder?
"No, he has seen something in an article for sure, because I have heard about it. But you can never take what you read in an article to be entirely possible. ITV is just a brand name. You can't buy the whole thing."
So my boss would have to buy Carlton and Granada separately.
"Yes. Do you want their numbers?"
Yes, please.
The Granada switchboard is in Manchester. The operator reacts to my request to buy the company as if I have asked to come in and read the news with my hat on. "Hold on a second," she says, after a long, sarcastic pause and throws me down what is an obviously well-oiled chute for mad callers: a transfer to the London switchboard. "Buying Granada?" says the London operator. "I didn't know it was for sale. I'm going to give you corporate affairs."
I explain to the lady from corporate affairs that I am calling on behalf of my American employer, a wealthy individual with an interest in television. "Oh. Right. OK," she says. "I'll put you through to Ed."
What does he do?
"I'm never exactly sure." She laughs. "But he should be able to help you." There follows a long pause and a brisk return. "Right, I've talked to Ed and he says your best bet is to talk to James in investments relationships. I'll put you through."
James says hello with the gruffness of a man who controls a big budget. At last. I have found my fella. I tell him I would like to open negotiations to buy Granada on behalf of my wealthy American employer. It is for sale, isn't it? After a long, sceptical pause, James says: "He needs to get hold of a copy of the draft communications bill."
How does he do that? "There's a website, communicationsbill.
Can he buy it through that? James issues a half-amused, half-exasperated cry. "Well, look, just who is he?"
I can't say, I tell him. But he's very wealthy. And interested in television.
"Well," says James, "I can't give you any information unless you tell me if he represents a bank or a media organisation. I mean, it's a question of . . ."
He is just a wealthy individual, I say, with a particular interest in TV evangelism. This seems to strike a chord. "He's not that guy Robert somebody, is he?" says James. No, I say, his name isn't Robert. I can't disclose any more. He wants to know whether, if he buys Granada, he will have influence over the station's content? James sighs at this, as if at another small instance of the impoverishment of human nature. "Shareholders have no influence over content. It would undermine the integrity of the company."
OK, I say. He's a big fan of Coronation Street. Do you reckon he could score a visit to the set? James says: "If he invests heavily enough, I'm sure that can be arranged." There is another long pause. "This is beginning to sound like a wind-up," says James. I assure him it is not.
It seems a natural place to end the conversation and, sensing that I have got as far as I can in the purchase of Granada television, I direct my attention instead to Carlton. The Knightsbridge office is the home of the company's directors. The switchboard operator is trained in the handling of delicate inquiries. She asks my name, which I give, and the name of the man I represent, which I decline to give.
"Oh, obviously," she says, lowering her voice. "Yeah. I'll put you through to one of our directors."
I am transferred to the office of Mr Green. (This is Michael Green, the chairman and founder of Carlton.) His assistant is confused by my refusal to tell her who I represent. I admit that I'm a bit of a novice on the ins and outs of media ownership. There is the customary pause. "Right," she says, eventually. "Well, it's a very complicated issue. It seems a bit odd, actually, for somebody to make a call like this. It would be better if he spoke to our chief executive, but he would have to put the call in himself. But normally this sort of thing would go through an investment banker of some sort."
I explain that the man in question is quite eccentric. He has some programme ideas. Dogs of Hollywood is one. Would he be able to get it made if he bought the channel? There is a long, stunned pause while Mr Green's assistant digests this. "I would really recommend him to go through an investment banker," she says, nervously, "but if he didn't want to do that, he would have to call the chief executive, Gerry Murphy, and ask these questions directly. These things always come down to money - how much, you know, whatever."
Would he get to meet Chris Tarrant if he bought the station? Only he's a big fan. This incites the longest, most incredulous pause of all. "Really?" Yes. If he invests loads of money, will he get to meet him and hang out with other celebrities?
"It doesn't really work like that," she says, weakly now. Oh, I say, OK. Should he email Gerry Murphy with his programme ideas along with his bid for the company?
"I would wait until his proposition has been recognised as viable," she says. "If he starts sending programme ideas he may not be taken seriously."
But they're really good ideas.
"Mmmm," she says
[B]