The time has come to spread my wings and fly over the oceans. I’ve been cooped up – in pleasant confinement, let it be said – for the last four years, with the exception of a short trip to Tasmania a couple of months ago.
So, this is going to be the last podcast until August. It’s been an uninterrupted flow since December 2019. Remember then? It was so long ago we’d never heard of Covid. A month later, it was the coronavirus, briefly Kung Flu, then Covid-19 before settling into cute old Covid and now, “a certain worldwide pandemic”.
This actually started up six years ago. It was my birthday (May 2017) and we’d gone away for a weekend in a converted railway carriage with our twin boys. When they still tolerated that kind of thing. I was keen to do some radio DJ-ing and over brunch on the Sunday discussed ways in which this might happen. The conclusion was it would be impossible for someone my age with no previous experience to break onto the hospital internal broadcast circuit. And what would I play if I did? Did fading octogenarians really want to hear Bingo Master’s Breakout? I now can’t remember how it came up, but I think one of my sons mentioned podcasts.
Truth to tell, I’d barely heard of them But I spent the next couple of months following a Youtube documentary on how to start one, pausing and starting it again and again over its two-hour duration. I still never got round to the bit where you equalise the sound levels with some special tool. Sorry.
So, I learned how to use Garageband, Facebook (I know right), refamiliarized myself with Apple – then had to set up a website for the first time, which meant learning Squarespace. Plus how to use Soundcloud as a platform. Hours of swearing. Had to research microphones and pop filters. Then spent 24 hours convinced there was no way to “save” what I’d done as a podcast. Turned out they’d taken the “Save as podcast” tab off. Thanks for that. Later, Zoom interviews.
During the first six months, it registered 3,000 listens. I recall the excitement when I realised people were listening in other countries. Then, having scratched the itch, I stopped for the next 18 months and focused on writing a novel. Which I did. It’s still on a file, awaiting worldwide acclaim.
A couple of stray comments got me started again in late 2019. In March 2020 I got a harsh rejection letter from an agent. That was quite a dark moment for someone who’d imagined they might be bashing out Booker longlisted material for the next twenty years (ah, vanity). Two days later The Guardian kindly featured me as the musical choice in “Podcasts to binge on during lockdown”. Two years after that, Adam Buxton kindly featured me on his show. Last year we had 150,000 listens.
My friend Sam says that if you keep doing something, you’ll increase your chances of a “Black Swan” event. That’s what happened to me. I was lucky. And back then there was 100,000 podcasts. Now there are 2 million. Spotify, which didn’t exist then, covers the more functional side of what I do, and perhaps I wouldn’t have started what I do now. But, people do say they like to hear a friendly voice.
By far the biggest success though is creating a community of listeners. What else is there in life except family and friends, really? Thank you all so much for sending in commentary to Friends of Sombrero Fallout, via Messenger and email. Even if I don’t reply straightaway – and even if occasionally I just forget to reply altogether (sheer administrative incompetence) – I really do appreciate all your interest and correspondence.
So, here’s an Ocean’s Eleven (and three more; little reference to Max Beerbohm there). See you in August.
Tracklist:
Pipeline, The Chantays
Ocean, Sebadoh
Run into the sea, The Hobbes Fanclub
Surf song, James Yorkston and the Athletes
Salt and sand, Pram
Underwater, Ghostface Killah
Sea of love, The National
Weird fishes/arpeggi, Radiohead
Great waves, Dirty Three
Ocean of noise, Arcade Fire
The golden boy who was swallowed by the sea, Swans
Ocean breathes salty, Modest Mouse
Ocean night song, Laura Veirs
All is calm, Rachel’s