Diary

27 June 2009

Quentin Wilson's diary

Another day, another dullard. This time it was a meeting with a telly Tarquin looking for new TV formats. He was high up the food chain and has a remit to commission fresh and distinctive television. He fidgeted through my polished pitches and began to stare out the window. Sensing disengagement, I asked what genres he might consider. He reeled off a list that included property, dating shows, reality body makeovers and ‘possibly a bit of antiques’. I laughed playfully and asked him to be serious. Stiffening slightly, he told me that his focus group research showed that recession viewers want the familiar comfort of traditional aspirational programming with the jeopardy of an escapist twist. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. For a nanosecond I wanted to launch into the danger of patronising your audience and that television badly needs to raise its game. But he’d already decided that the risk of applying clever creativity to his programme schedules might cost him his job. And that’s all he cares about. Sad, but depressingly true.

Days later I’m locking horns with a PR man from a safety company. I’ve written a newspaper story that mechanics aren’t fitting car components properly and there’s a risk to motorists. The data is unimpeachable. He sends it back shot through with red ink. His changes dilute the impact and significance of the message. He doesn’t want me to use words like ‘fatal’, ‘life-threatening’ or ‘dangerous’ or even mention the cars that are involved by name. I jumped on my moral high horse and argued that consumers need to be protected, but he wasn’t having any of it. He was more concerned about spooking carmakers and the repair industry. I told him the piece now read like a press release and even a five-year-old could spot the lumpen hand of corporate interference. We parted enemies and I filed my article unchanged.