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Simon Bates is a smooth-talking, pipe-smoking evening-dressed old man of the airwaves known to bring eighteen-wheelers screeching to a halt on Britain's motorways by announcing the imminent arrival of "Our Tune" his kleenex-friendly sobfest where he relates a story of woe and then plays "I'm Not In Love" by 10cc again. That or fucking "Lady In Red" by that insufferable shit Chris de Burgh. Originally stuck to the Radio One schedules like dried dung to a camel's arse-hair, he
was sacked resigned from the station in 1993. He currently plays dreadful old shite on wobbly, warped vinyl on late-night Radio Hitler or something like that.
Radio One career
"Batesy" (as nobody called him except his cat who couldn't really talk, it was all those mushrooms he ate) joined The Nation's Favourite a really long time ago, around when Queen Victoria was on the throne and if a lady showed too much of her wrist she was shot by a redcoat. Those are the days Bates enjoyed. Bates played the mid-morning slot on Radio One, presenting the latest pop vinyl in his silly "gudda great track here frum Prince" voice that everyone took the piss out of. When people found out he had a sensible haircut and glasses that Sunni Mann had rejected for being too big it didn't help.
"Our Tune" was Master Bates' most famous radio show feature and was so popular with British listeners that planes would be allowed to crash and soldiers would stop fighting (notably during the Falklands War) in order for people to listen to the feature. Over a really fucking miserable-sounding tune, Bates would relate a tale of terrible woe sent in by a listener:
The story would always end with the relationship completely falling apart and ending, usually because the other-half of the person who had submitted the story had died, or had an affair, or turned out to be a communist. The submitter would end requesting a tune which "reminded them of bedda times". It was usually something syrupy and terrible, often from the 1970s. Bates didn't even leave enough time for a "nose-blowing" break before leaping back into normalcy with "Why Are People Grudgeful?" by The Fall or something else from the Radio One Playlist.
The Golden Shower Hour
Another Radio One feature Bates became synoymous with was "The Golden Shower Hour" in which Bates would play records and mention events from a certain year all the while drinking fortifying tea which helped him as he took a piss all over his unfortunate in-studio assistant:
Human Rights legislation put a stop to this feature in 1990. It was replaced with "The Golden Cow Hour" in which Bates would worship a graven image in between classic tracks from a particular year. When Simon Mayo took over Bate's show after the latter's
sacking resignation, his Christian sensibilities were appalled and a piece of radio history was sadly melted down and then "cleansed" in holy water.
Face of the BBFC
In the 1980s, innocent punters watching their rented videotapes (this doesn't include those watching pirated videotapes - nothing innocent about them and their 9/11-funding wickedness) were startled to see Bates appear where they'd expected the opening titles to Three Men And A Little Lady or at least an advert for "Skittles". Wearing a casual shirt and looking rather serious, Bates would proceed to tell them the film's rating and warn them that "this film may contain sexual swear words" and "strong bloody violence involving the human nose". Despite the fears expressed in anxious letters to Blockbuster, Bates hadn't gone mad and started stealing rental videos before inserting his own paternalistic concerns before each and every film. Instead, the British Board of Film
Censors Classification had made Bates the "face" of their ratings system. I've no idea either. I think gin may have been involved. Click here to see an example
Decline and Fall of the Bates Empire
In 1993, Matthew Bannister-Rail the new head of Radio One decided that he'd had enough of old farts like Bates and Dave Lee-Travis on his network and they promptly resigned before he could sack them. Bates moved to Irish longwave station Atlantic 252 where (thankfully) no one could hear him and even if they did pick him up by accident he was obscured by static. Then he sadly moved to Classic FM although he didn't last long there as "Our Tune" didn't lend itself to classical music. He's still about on the radio, somewhere, and if you see an articulated lorry pull over into a layby ahead of you whilst you're driving through the drizzle on a typically cold and wet British morning it might not be an empty petrol tank or a blown tire: the driver might be catching a listen to a story "aboud a lady... let's call her "Debbie"" whose "Johnny" is destined to fall off a cliff.
“They call him Master Bates - get it”