Marcus Johnson finished his Shreddies, said goodbye to his
girlfriend and set off for work. Little did he know that in a few hours’
time he would find himself immersed in Manchester’s seedy
’A new health club was opening in central Manchester,’ he explains. ’The
manager called me up to buy radio airtime. We arranged a meeting in
Ardwick, a run-down part of town. I realised something was up when I
arrived at a big steel door flanked by badly painted palm trees and
flashing pink neon. I was shown to reception by a girl in a very short
skirt and was introduced to the manager. He was about 25 - a real
wide-boy with a big gold Rolex.’
Clearly, this was no Holmes Place. The manager soon revealed that he
wanted to make Johnson an offer he couldn’t refuse.
’I then twigged that I was dealing with a pimp, but thought that if we
could get it past the Radio Authority, it could be a lucrative
relationship,’ Johnson says. ’He agreed to buy 20 spots during the
course of a week.
He then suggested I give him some free airtime. And for every free spot,
he would provide me with a prostitute.’
Needless to say, the shady club never made it on air.