Prepare to be wrong about Sky

Cheers among the chattering classes.

Prepare to be wrong about Sky.

When BSkyB shares dipped recently there was more than a little cheer among certain parts of the UK's chattering classes. For many, especially those on the liberal, intelligent left Sky's Murdoch links, anti-intellectual approach and opposition to the BBC makes them feel that their subscription, bought on the basis that football is, after all, the stuff of life, smacks of hypocrisy. And hell hath no fury as a middle-class liberal made aware of their own hypocrisy.

Sky's dominance as a sport broadcaster, its presence in pubs and bars (even the rough ones) and its almost sacrilegious pokes at the BBC do not win it many friends.

But strip away the schadenfreude and the share price movement was entirely predictable. The initial drop in share price after the results were released was obviously just a reflection of profit taking rather than an indication of weaknesses in the business. The results themselves highlight the strengths of BSB, not least a solid strategy in the face of a confused and complex media scene.

Sky's great strength is that is has a good share of a market that is comfortable with a monthly subscription and eager for cross-platform services and content. It already has 35 per cent of its customers buying into the cross-platform offer.

Younger consumers don't understand annual licences and have no more interest in maintaining the BBC, or any other traditional broadcast operator or news provider come to that, than they have in buying newspapers.

The BSkyB investment strategy does not have to take into account legacy services of the sort that will, for many of its rivals, become an ever greater burden.

BT's foray into sport broadcasting is much lauded and gets positive media attention - mostly for all the wrong reasons. However, it does show that BT is serious about becoming a media player. It is determined to offer content as well as technology and infrastructure. That said, Ian Livingstone has departed and BSkyB is not going to wait around while rivals try to catch up.

Photograph: Getty Images

Spencer Neal is a reformed publisher who now advises on media and stakeholder relations at Keeble Brown. He writes about the ironies and hypocrisies that crop up in other peoples' businesses. He is also an optimist.

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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood