BRING BACK SAM MASON - THE PETITION

A LOVELY guy called Les got in touch to see if I minded him setting up an on-line petition calling for me to get my job back.

He'd already done a very successful one for shock jock Jon Gaunt who got sacked recently from TalkSport. Seems the hunting season is on.

I said go ahead and the petition has just gone live. It looks great and please sign it if you want.

At the very least it's comforting to know there are lots of people out there who continue to support me. It's really helpful.

The address is:  http://www.bagshotrow.net/sam/ 

MY NEW DEMO

HI, Sorry I haven't blogged for some time, but I've been really busy seeing lawyers and working through things on the job front. It all takes so much time.

There are some interesting new developments which I will keep you in touch with, both here and on my Facebook site.

One of the main elements was getting together a new demo disc so I can show people what I have been doing recently and it highlights some of the interviews I really enjoyed on Radio Bristol.

It was fun doing it and I must really thank those who helped me with it. I'm so grateful.

If you want to download it for a listen, there is a button to the right of this.

Please let me know what you think. It helps.

And thanks for all your continued  messages and support too, which has helped me so much. I've really learned who my friends are!

love from Sam

 

MY FRIENDS AND SUPPORTERS HAVE BEEN GREAT

It's now been a few weeks since I lost my job at the BBC because of the so-called "Taxigate" affair. 

If you don't know, despite it having been in hundreds of newspapers and on scores of TV and radio stations around the world, I got fired when I tried to book a taxi, off-air, for my 14-year-old daughter.

The private call was leaked to a national newspaper.

In a hurry, in between records, I had asked for preferably a female english driver if possible, not someone wearing a turban because that might "freak" my daughter out. Some people have alleged the comments were racist.

I can assure you although it was clumsy I am not a racist. I can't say anymore because of the legal situation.  

I'm missing work  a lot because I loved it and worked so hard to get the Sam Mason Show on Radio Bristol, which went out on other BBC stations.

I really want to get back as soon as possible.

What has been really moving throughout this bruising period has been the support from so many friends, some I didn't even know I had.

And the response from the public has been amazing. Hundreds of listeners have been in touch hoping I get a job on radio somewhere else and they will follow me there.

Below is one of the lovely letters of support I have received from people who know me and my family and that I am absolutely not a racist. 

 

COUNCILLOR DR. SVETLANA. R. Rd)~ERS
GLENGARRY HOUSE
33, PRINCESS ROYAL TERRACE
SOUTH CLIFF
SCARBOROUGH
NORTH YORKSHIRE
YOu 2RR


My Dear Rocky and Marty,

How sorry I am to hear the news regarding Sam. I have never read or heard of anything quite so ridiculous!

As a so called Etimic Minority myself, I understand about prejudice and for Sam to be accused is so very wrong, especially with her Asian sister -in -law and her many Asian friends. How could the so called Managers of BBC Bristol be so reckless and indecently hasty in talcing the action they did.
I will certainly discuss Sam’s problem at my next Task Force meeting with Baroness Uddin in London.


Please give her all our Love.

“Right Will Prevail”
Member of Task Force Committee
For Black, Asian and Ethnic Councillors
House of Lords
London.

LIFE WAS NEVER NORMAL. THANK GOD.

Aug 1st 2002 

Total madness! That's what I think when I look back on the last 15 years of my life. And the nineteen years I spent before that were as far removed from 'normal' as you could get. 

But what the heck is normal? Is there such a thing as a normal life? I don’t think so, and if there is I'm bloody certain I wouldn't want to be living it. 

No chance, give me total unadulterated loop-the-loop bonkers any day of the week. If I was forced to put people into shoe boxes, that would be the one for me. The bonkers box. That's where I belong. 

As I sit here now at 34 years of age, with a bit more wisdom, a tad more grey and a few more laughter lines, I feel the urgent need to log certain experiences and occasions in my life, both good and bad, some funny and yeah even some sad bits. But all of it real. I dunno why I feel so compelled to do this. Just in case I guess. 



My Father was the Entertainment Manager of a Holiday Camp, and so I spent the first 8 years of my life actually living on the site. My life was one huge holiday. From the moment I woke up I was entertained and amused until it was time to go to sleep. We travelled a lot too, during the early years. My Fathers company would move him from one camp to another, so there was never any sense stability or routine. But, I wouldn't have had it any other way. I didn’t know it any other way. We lived a similar existence to the traveling showmen from the big fair grounds and circuses. 



Imagine if you can, my Dad was the boss of a small custom built village really. Filled with fun-fairs, swimming pools, machine arcades, ice cream parlors, chair lifts, games rooms, bingo, crazy golf, roller skating, donkey derby’s (you get the picture) and it was all geared up for one thing. FUN. And then there was the evenings, the variety show's, the bands, the discos, the bars, the competitions!! 

I'll tell you about some of those later. Anyway, here we are living in this purpose built Entertainment Village filled with people who were naturally very excited at being on holiday. Spending money that would take six months to save up, then after a week they’d returned home to their ‘normal’ homes, ‘steady’ jobs, and ‘routine’ way of life. Not me though. 



I didn’t mind moving around so much, even though I was an only child and at times it was quite lonely. I adapted, and as any ‘only children’ will tell you, you learn to entertain yourself when you haven’t got any siblings to fight with. Whenever we moved, dad would take me up on to the site and make sure I knew the camp and all it’s amenities it like that back of my hand. He’d test me on it too. Honestly! He’d bloody blind fold me, drop me off somewhere with a walkie-talkie and bugger off. 

I used to shit myself, the camps looked so bleak and gloomy in the winter months. I’d then hear my dads voice crackling through the dodgy speakers telling me to remove my blindfold (which I had done as soon as he’d gone!) and issue instructions for me to make my way from one venue to another. As much of a pain in the arse I found it, the security it brought me when we did at last open the camp to ‘the punters’ goes without saying. 

Assured I knew my way around the camp and could never get lost he would drum one more rule into me. If ever anyone offered me money, sweets or anything I might find attractive, I had to run straight round to his office and tell him, and he would give me twice as much for not taking anything off a stranger. True to his word, he did as well. Life seemed so much safer then, there didn’t appear to be the same dangers you find now-a-days. 

Anyway, I always had the Redcoats to look out for me. An army of about 50 up-for-it thrill seeking entertainers hormonally unbalanced and ready to spread their love juice on anything that stool still long enough. And that was just the girlie's! 

The camp would open, the season would begin and the next six months would be totally acceptable, affiliated debauchery. And we loved it! 

My Mother was an ex-beauty queen, and also a Redcoat! She would glide around the camp teasing the other managers and flirting with the visiting cabaret artists in a micro mini skirt that could easily be mistaken for belt. She looked good though. And she knew it. Her raven hair would spill down her back with the help of a few clip on ‘pieces’, then back combed, lacquered and teased into the latest ‘Quantesk’ style of the moment. Her huge, piercing blue eyes, heavily made up and framed with thick black false lashes (tops and bottoms!) gave her that rather stunned look.

 Stunning though. Stunningly stunned. Even though I was probably only 4 or 5 years old I remember appreciating her beauty and the air of decorum with which she carried herself. She loved being the governors wife, and he loved having a gorgeous missus he could trolley out to the many showbiz bashes that went along with his job. It was all so bloody glamorous. 

Feather bowers, sequined costumes, diamante jewelery and exaggerated make-up. And the women were just as bad. 

Long before the words political and correctness were ever used in the same sentence, Butlins thrived. I mean, where else could you go on holiday where you could enter your hubby for the Knobbly Knees competition, yourself for the Miss Lovely Legs (of course), your mother in law for the Glamorous Grannies, and to cap that, chuck your snotty nosed kid on the back of a donkey, bet a couple a bob that he’s the winner, before sending the poor little bastard racing around a track against 7 other poor little bastards clinging on for dear life. 

Health and safety? Who gave a toss as long as he bloody won! You got a certificate for that you know. In fact there was a 1st, 2nd and 3rd certificate up for grabs in every competition. And prizes, not to mention the much sought after, fought and died for trophies that would take pride of place on many a mantle piece back home. All to be handed out during the presentation afternoon on Fridays in the main ballroom. 

It was a chief hostesses nightmare. She was the Redcoat who organized all the competitions, and dished out of all the prizes to the correct winners at the end of the week. Needless to say her nervous breakdown come the end of season was long over-due, and bloody well earned. I always got on well with the Chief Hostess, they used to give me loads of freebies, and I could always be pacified with a green glass bottle containing a yellow concoction called ‘Snowballs’. I used to drink loads of the stuff. It made me feel all woozy and giggly. 

I now realize that I was getting pissed on pretty much a daily basis from the age of 6 or so. Nope, not what you’d call normal at all.

 

HOT or WHAT?

So now I'm supposed to be one of the world's hottest women? What exactly does that mean....?

IN THE NEWS

THE WORLD'S HOTTEST WOMEN MAKING NEWS TODAY....PROBABLY NSFW

Supporters of sacked radio presenter Sam Mason protested outside the BBC building to try toSupporters of sacked radio presenter Sam Mason protested outside the BBC building to try to get her reinstated.

About 40 people stood outside the broadcaster's Bristol HQ on Whiteladies Road holding signs saying "Bring Back Sam" and "Honk For Sam" – many passing motorists beeped their horns in support.

Miss Mason, 40, was sacked following a conversation with Bristol cab firm Streamline Black and White which was covertly recorded.

She asked for a taxi to take her 14-year-old daughter from her Clifton home to her grandparents' house to be driven by an English person, preferably a woman.

The Save Our Sam (SOS) protest was organised by Mark Linley, also known as Lord Linley OBE.

Mr Linley, 32, from St Andrews, knows Miss Mason from karaoke events.

"I think she was wrongly fired by the BBC. They should give her another chance or someone else should grab hold of her and offer her a job," he said.

Christine Springer, 57, from Coombe Dingle, was at the protest with her two Irish wolfhounds William and Harry.

"The dogs met Sam and loved her to bits. We are here to help the protest get noticed. It is disgraceful what the BBC has done to Sam," she said.

Mark Bennett, the owner of Illusions Magic Bar on Clifton Triangle, was also at the protest – in a fancy dress costume with Harvey the giant rabbit.

Mr Bennett, 34, used to do a segment on Miss Mason's radio show called Magic Mondays.

"We have come down here to give our support. What has happened was not fair," he said.

An operator at the taxi firm accused Miss Mason of being racist for not wanting an Asian driver and Miss Mason was heard to say a driver wearing a turban would "freak out" her daughter.

Miss Mason's parents, Marty and Rocky Mason, who live in Oldland Common, were also there.

"What has happened is dreadful. It is nothing to do with her job – she does a brilliant job. Sam is not a racist," said Mrs Mason, 67.

Miss Mason had nothing to do with the event.

Her spokesman said: "Sam, while cheered by the support of so many well wishers, has been advised to remain silent and has not been at all involved in SOS.

"She loved her job at the BBC and wants to return to broadcasting as soon as possible.

"She would love to go back to the BBC, but is open to offers she's bristling with ideas and enthusiasm despite this bruising experience. And as her ratings at Radio Bristol proved, she has a huge and faithful following."

On Sunday night the BBC said it had no comment to make on the Bristol protest. get her reinstated.

About 40 people stood outside the broadcaster's Bristol HQ on Whiteladies Road holding signs saying "Bring Back Sam" and "Honk For Sam" – many passing motorists beeped their horns in support.

Miss Mason, 40, was sacked following a conversation with Bristol cab firm Streamline Black and White which was covertly recorded.

She asked for a taxi to take her 14-year-old daughter from her Clifton home to her grandparents' house to be driven by an English person, preferably a woman.