Friday, 2 December 2011

Wake up to Money - wake up to Roger

As you know I’ve long been a massive supporter of the BBC and the move to Salford Quays. I don’t hold with this view that they can’t get guests on the radio programmes because all the important people are in London. That’s rubbish. Politicians might be based in the big smoke, but no-one wants to listen to them.

I actually told the top man at the BBC that it’s time to have more northern voices on the wireless. Especially northern BUSINESS voices. Why is it that self-made businessmen on TV are always cockneys – Sugar, Theo? Even Mike Baldwin was one. When I went on Secret Millionaire, all the other lads in the series were soft southerners. The reason my Burnley adventure came across so badly was because TV types are all art school ponces who didn’t get my wicked northern sense of humour. As if it was a serious suggestion to set up a whites-only taxi business called Union Jack Cabs! Joke, right! As I was texting my good pal Jezza Clarkson last night, that's the problem with this country, no sense of humour.

That’s all going to change when I start my new slot on the radio. I'm going to be taking over from that Mickey Clarke geezer on Wake Up To Money on the BBC Radio Five Live. And believe you me, we won’t be wasting time warbling on about gilts, bonds and pork bellies. Oh no. The Cashman view of life will be REAL BUSINESS. You know, the true entrepreneurial beating heart of the British economy – accident claims brokers, property development, call centres, IT assurance and coupons.

 So, next time you go to Salford Quays you can see a massive picture of me next to Gary Lineker and that fit one off the BBC News (Susanna Reid, she’s called, and yes, you would).

 As you know, I’m no stranger to a media profile – people are forever coming up to me in San Carlo and saying “are you THE Roger Cashman? We thought you were a spoof.” Well, pal, I say, clearly I'm not and the joke’s on you now. But, to be fair, I’m getting used to it. The trouble is, some of my so-called celeb pals are getting hacked off with my superstar A list status. I was out with my good mate Austin Healey the other week – we’ve got some investments together in China – and even though he’s been on the telly doing that dancing and he’s played a bit of rugby in his day, I swear more people were stopping to talk to me. These are the circles I move in nowadays. A star can only rise once, then it fades, Austin. And this is my time.

 It all takes me back to the day I’d been out with Freddie Flintoff, Michael “Vorni” Vaughan and my great mate Paul “Becky” Beck. We took one of Becky’s choppers down to these celeb awards in London. All the paparazzi were there, camped outside clicking like mad. Next day, we were all over the papers. I’ve still got the cutting from one of them. The caption read: “pictured left to right, cricketers Andrew Flintoff and Michael Vaughan with Peter Jones from The Apprentice.”

In your dreams Jonesy, in your dreams.

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