Sam Redlark

image generated by DreamStudio In June of 1970, as the Great British electorate lined-up outside polling stations to cement their collective opinion on the Wilson Government, another public-led sea change was in the works. Guided by the silent hand of mob rule it percolated through the honeycomb of the United Kingdom's porous island culture, eventually enacting a social change that was at once both innocuous and profound. To understand the roots of this cultural shift, we must travel further back in time to the previous year: Up until March 1969, the three television channels operating in the UK had been broadcast across a grab-bag of named frequencies. BBC One typically went out into the world on the back of the Gray Band, though the corporation would sometimes resort to the Innell Band during wet weather. Their independent rival – ITV – broadcast on the Stenhouse frequency. BBC Two, then the new kids on the block, used the Morley Band. The Ridgewell channel (that bankrupted its c

image generated by Craiyon George Klynman was a casual acquaintance of mine over what was roughly a two-year period. I assume that our unlikely crossing of paths was the result of our names having found their way onto one of those off-the-peg guest lists that do the rounds among PR firms. For a while, we seemed to be continually bumping into each other at social functions. He is a tall man – I believe 6ft4 – and well-built; not an easy person to miss in a crowd. He is gregarious to boot. Though I liked him a lot, I came to dread his intimidating, wall-like smile broadcasting his recognition from across the room, followed by the raised glass of fizz and the over-friendly cry of “alright there Redders,” which I did not appreciate. This would be followed by a restrained slap across the shoulders that, despite his efforts to rein-in his strength, I always had to brace for, to avoid being knocked over. The repeated experience has left me with a greatly enhanced respect for anyone who has ab