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The plight of poor Mr Roychoudhury and his family hit headlines earlier this week when they were turned away from a Morrinsville motel over the motelier Heather Nemhauser’s concerns about the lingering curry smells their evening meal would produce. “We would have probably gone out for takeaway or something; after all we are on holiday,” a resigned Mr Roychoudhury said on Holmes later in the week,” who would be bothered taking 20 spices away on holiday with them just to make a curry?” Not me buddy. I don’t even make toast when I’m on holiday.
Does appearing on national television spread the word or what! The general public wouldn’t stand for this blatant display of racism and the Nemahausers dived for cover after receiving abuse from callers all over New Zealand.
It’s a story like this where the media like to whip up a storm; case in point 91ZM (my radio station of choice) seized the opportunity for a good old Kiwi wind-up and booked their on-road crew into the very same Morrinsville motel yesterday afternoon, complete with shopping bags full of vindaloo, cabbage, old fish etc, intent on making the biggest baddest cooking odour of all time.
However this little prank only lasted a matter of an hour before they were unceremoniously turfed out by Mr Nemhauser. The late afternoon DJ proceeded to call the motel, dished out some pretty serious abuse and demanded to know why the crew had been evicted.
It wasn’t till the sixth call Mr N finally caught on it was the same person ringing him back and hung up on him. Of course, I sat in my car listening to this and cringing with delight.
Which comes to my point; when did radio get so in your face? That day we’d already had the Fear Factor slot: “Eat this slice of cheese crawling in 100 maggots and win $150!”. Some loser munched his way through the whole lot, surrounded by gasping onlookers. Earlier that week we’d had “What’s your favourite sexual fantasy” on the breakfast show, something I wouldn’t be that keen on my kids hearing as they sat down to their Weetbix.
In contrast I have gloomy memories of an office job I once had where Radio I (think easy listening, coma inducing, middle of the road) played in the background all day. The owner of the radio, Cynthia, had one of those nasty too-tight perms and a personality that could curdle milk. She simply would not hear of changing the station.
Driven to distraction by the daily loop of Micheal Bolton/Wet Wet Wet/Mariah Carey (yes, they played the same three songs about five times a day) my colleague and I wrote a polite letter to Radio I, pleading with them to please, please change the record. We never did get a reply…
All was not lost, and Cynthia and her transistor radio departed soon after. We hear she found a job in a funeral parlour where I’m sure her choice of music was never discussed; it was already too late.
