"WHAT AM I DOING NOW, THEN?"
A SALUTE TO GREG DYKE

Probably the most widely influential person in British telly of the last 20 years, Greg Dyke’s resignation from the BBC represents the curtain call for one of the most enduring exponents of genuinely entertaining mainstream TV. It’s also something we’d never thought would happen, robs the Corporation of its best Director General for several generations, and seems quite the most unlikely and unsuitable end to such an extraordinary career.

Decades before pitching his tent at Broadcasting House, Dyke first made his name working as an editor at LWT creating the fabulous SIX O'CLOCK SHOW, thereby inventing Danny Baker and totally overhauling Michael Aspel’s profile in the process. It was a textbook creation that’d resound through all his later endeavours: a successful mix of shameless light-hearted chicanery and lively informative reportage. The programme also boasted a swaggering self-confidence and flair that disguised the fact its creator had less than half a dozen years experience in the business.

Parachuted in to rescue TV-am in 1983, Dyke proceeded to banish all traces of his predecessor Peter Jay’s half-arsed “mission to explain” with a dazzling armoury of scams and schemes. He was only at Eggcup Towers for a year, but turned the place on its head in an effort to produce accessible and above all popular breakfast telly. Roland had been there from the start, but Dyke gave the Rat better publicised slots - and loads of them; he also hired Chris Tarrant for 'By The Seaside' ("Good morning Britain it's another great day/So get your suntan lotion and your bucket and spade"), made Anne and Nick read the bingo numbers (but sadly failed to get Nick to wear a straw boater, stripy jacket and blow a bugle), and showed the door to anyone who moaned too much. The station’s laughable predicament just seemed to enthuse him all the more: the prospect of TV-am going bust led him to nick the keys to the company’s only tangible stock - its canal barge - so that when the balloon went up he could go chugging off into the sunset.

Dyke established a touchstone with the enduringly bankable motto, "What would it mean to my mother?" Ever-conscious that a key demographic was often overlooked by besuited small screen programme planners, the benchmark of whether his mum would enjoy something sealed his success throughout the 80s. After falling out with Bruce “bullshit” Gyngell he washed up at TVS to make “yuppie TV” for a bit, then in 1987 arrived back at LWT. Inheriting London Weekend from John Birt, he proceeded to banish all traces of his predecessor's dour presence - not for the last time - and unfurled a heady mix of high quality drama, entertainment and comedy. In particular he presided over reams of Massive Fuck-Off LE Bollocks, while fighting desperately to turf HIGHWAY out of its Godslot to make way for DIET COKE MOVIE PREMIERES.

As de facto head of ITV Sport he scrapped bowls and wrestling, a definite thumbs up, then ditched darts as well, which was not so good. He ended up screen during the BFI's ONE DAY IN THE LIFE OF TELEVISION project, slagging off the Granada camera crew used on the first ever edition of THE MATCH; and after successfully securing LWT's licence renewal in 1991 he went on record to slag off THE LATE SHOW's franchise post-mortem with its ridiculous panel of boring telly executives nodding dogs.

Next Dyke invented GMTV, maybe not his greatest hour, but at least wasted no time in taking an axe to the place when he was called in as Chairman to sort it out. The moment Granada swallowed LWT he buggered off again, trying his hand as sports presenter and jobbing media mogul before helping launch Channel Five. Memorably labelling its retuning arrangements as "a burglar's charter", Dyke then had to pay for thousands of electricians to tour the nation's houses ensuring everyone could watch three minutes of The Spice Girls, TIBS AND FIBS and FIVE'S COMPANY.

When he finally got to the Beeb, he teared around the organisation injecting fresh air into even the dankest of middle management office suites. He promptly lost the Premiership football highlights to ITV - "It's a crap shoot, an auction" - but later won them back, rightly slagging off Des Lynam as he did so. Suddenly you could tell that money was being spent on BBC programmes again, and those programmes were being overseen by people who enjoyed making television. The night of the great BBC power failure of June 2000, when he made an emergency appearance on screen with shirt-sleeves rolled up, you knew the Beeb was back in safe hands.

TVC was privileged to come face-to-face with the man himself early last year when researching one of our pet projects. Dyke was generous enough to grant us an interview from within his amusingly cavernous office on the 3rd floor of Broadcasting House. After shambling in 40 minutes late, tie askew and glasses awry on his forehead, he began by hailing his PA with a flustered, "What am I doing now, then?" before beckoning TVC into his inner sanctum.

He proceeded to indulge our whimsical and pedantic questions with a stream of wonderful anecdotes about his days spent at TV-am, GMTV and the Beeb, recalling hiring Wincey Willis ("Clive Jones said to me, 'Have you seen that weathergirl on Tyne Tees?'"), recoiling in horror at the fireplace in the original GMTV studio, and moaning about how he tried to get rid of a vase of flowers on the BBC BREAKFAST set. Deeply accommodating, more than happy to carry on gossiping way after our meeting should've finished, and blessed with a sincere interest in just what we were up to, Dyke came over as not just a broadcasting legend but an all round deeply-affable and engaging bloke. Moreover it was clear how much of an impact he'd had on the Corporation, and how well-loved he'd become around the labyrinth of Broadcasting House.

His influence on the BBC has been enormous, and his efforts at healing the running sores of the Birt era were unceasing. His greatest legacy will be turning BBC television back into a supremely self-confident and vibrant home for the best of British telly, which is always how things should be. Greg Dyke’s presence at the head of the greatest institution in the world will be desperately missed.