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BBC News
6 hours ago
- Sport
- BBC News
Hansie Cronje, match fixing and the plane crash which left a complex legacy
Inside a wood-panelled annex of an Edwardian building in Cape Town the stricken figure of Hansie Cronje lay crumpled on the from the flashbulbs, and the media feeding frenzy, in the bowels of the Centre of the Book in the city's legal district, the exhausted former South Africa cricket captain, clad in a charcoal suit, had collapsed in father Ewie and brother Frans tried to comfort him. Hansie had just given evidence to the King Commission - the inquiry charged with investigating match-fixing allegations in cricket of which he was at the under two years later and both Ewie and Frans would be pallbearers at Hansie's funeral following his shock death in a plane is now 25 years since Cronje's life was turned upside down, and cricket was thrown into crisis, by a scandal which rocked the story, re-examined in Sport's Strangest Crimes on BBC Sounds, is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. The 'tight git' close to Mandela Wessel Johannes 'Hansie' Cronje was born into a sporting, and deeply Christian, family in Bloemfontein. Cronje was educated at the prestigious Grey College where he was head boy, captained the school in both rugby and cricket, and was earmarked for great Africa fast bowler Allan Donald, who was at the Technical High School in the same city, said that even as a teenager the young Hansie was a "a deep thinker" who had "leadership qualities all over him".Cronje was appointed Orange Free State captain aged 21 and the batting all-rounder soon became a part of the post-apartheid South Africa team which re-emerged on the international was handed the captaincy of the Proteas in 1994 and his astute tactics and calm assurance gave him a statesmanlike air as he turned the team into a formidable international also forged a close personal relationship with president Nelson Mandela. During a time when Afrikaner politicians began to disappear from view, Cronje was one of those from that community who filled the singled out Cronje in 1996 for the "excellent manner" in which he "led the national team" at a time when "sport had played a role in uniting our country".Cronje was a figure who seemed to transcend England batter Mark Butcher recalled Cronje was "incredibly personable, very charismatic, pretty humble and had a sense of humour" off the there was a darker side to Cronje. Especially when it came to looking, and extremely approachable, Cronje was a sponsors' dream and the endorsements flowed. Yet Donald said Cronje was a "tight git" when it came to things as simple as buying post-match frugality did not just extend to not getting a round in, though. It bordered on the would receive free clothing and kit as part of a sponsorship deal with Puma but would sell any unused items to younger players, rather than giving it away for a stint playing for Leicestershire he whisked his wife Bertha away for a romantic break in Paris but his sister said the couple survived "on bread and water" as Hansie baulked at prices in the French capital. 'A struggle to actually say no to him' That love of money meant Cronje was also one of the most accessible cricket captains around and he was regularly visited by people, particularly while on tour in South Asia. The rest of the South Africa squad would roll their eyes when yet another stranger would walk in for a meeting with him. It led to dealings with unscrupulous characters. In particular those involved with betting, and there was an early portent of what was to come in 1996. Before a one-off ODI between South Africa and India, tagged on to the end of a Test tour as a benefit match for Mohinder Amarnath, Cronje called a meeting in their Mumbai hotel for the players to consider an offer of $250,000 to throw the was rejected, but it showed how secure Cronje was in his position."Bringing it up in a team meeting was indicative of the power and untouchability that he felt," observed South African journalist Neil forward to Nagpur in 2000, Cronje attempted to coerce South Africa batter Herschelle Gibbs and seam bowler Henry Williams into spot-fixing men agreed, but subsequently did not carry out the instructions. "I always found it a struggle to actually say 'no' to him, you know?" reflected Gibbs."He was regarded in such high esteem and respected so much, and I never once thought of the consequences."Both Gibbs and Williams were non-white players but suggestions it was racially motivated are dismissed by those who know how was Cronje able to manipulate his team-mates with such ease? Manthorp said he was on an "elevated platform" and "very few people were prepared to stand up to him"."Hansie had quite a temper. He'd become, I think, accustomed to not being questioned," he added. The most infamous of Cronje's dealings with bookmakers came during the rain-affected fifth Test between South Africa and England at Centurion Park in early the Proteas recommencing their first innings on the fifth day Cronje - prompted by a bookie named Marlon Aronstam - contrived an unprecedented innings forfeiture for both sides to ensure a captain Nasser Hussain later compared his agreement with Cronje over what target his side would chase to the haggle scene in Monty Python's Life of Brian - Cronje immediately accepted the figure Hussain asked innovative action to create a result on what otherwise would have been a dead final day of a Test largely drew praise, even if did not quite sit right with everyone."After the initial celebrations I realised I did not experience the usual euphoria that would follow a Test win," said Butcher."Almost instantly I knew why - it didn't feel we'd earned it."Michael Holding, covering the match for Sky Sports, received "tons of phone calls and letters" over something he said on air during a commentary stint, having smelt a rat."I said if this game was being played on the Indian subcontinent, people would start talking about bookmakers," Holding said."I just knew something was going on and that was my total focus. I was basically disgusted at what I was watching." Confession, cross-examination and death When Delhi police released transcripts of recorded conversations between Cronje and Indian bookmaker Sanjeev Chawlar in early April 2000 it was met with denials from the man himself and South African cricket officials, and wider was initially identified in the calls by a quirk of fate. Pradeep Srivastava, the deputy commissioner of Delhi's crime department, had been working on extortion cases and taken some tapes home with of Srivastava's children had listened to a wire-tap cassette, left in the home hi-fi system, and asked his father why he had a recording of Cronje's voice. Srivastava's son had watched a post-match interview with Cronje on Indian television the previous day and recognised his the net closing, Cronje came clean. At 3am on 11 April 2000 he confessed to Rory Steyn, a South African security consultant working for the Australia cricket team, in a Durban hotel where the pair were staying."I walked into his suite and all the lights were on," Steyn remembered."He had a handwritten document and said 'you may have guessed, but some of the stuff that is being said against me is actually true'."A month later, Cronje attended the King Commission where he was offered immunity from prosecution in exchange for full three days of cross examinations, broadcast on television and radio, which gripped South Africa and the cricket world, Cronje gave his side of the story. Or at least some of it, given the input of his own admitted to taking large sums of money, as well as accepting a leather jacket for his wife Bertha, in exchange for giving information to bookmakers and asking his team-mates to play he claimed South Africa had never "thrown" or "fixed" a match under his captaincy."To my wife, family, and team-mates, in particular, I apologise," he said during a rather robotic reading of an opening statement lasting 45 was banned from cricket for life, unsuccessfully challenging the suspension. Further investigations into the truth of what Cronje said during the inquiry were halted when he died in a plane crash in June had boarded a small cargo aircraft in Johannesburg which went down in mountainous terrain amid poor weather conditions while attempting to land at George then working as an account manager for a manufacturer of heavy-duty construction equipment, was flying back to see his wife at their home near Fancourt Estate, a luxury golf death was put down to weather, pilot error and possible instrument failure, but nevertheless prompted conspiracy Nottinghamshire captain Clive Rice, who played three ODIs for South Africa, called Cronje's death "very fishy" and linked it to the subsequent death of Bob Woolmer, the former South Africa coach who was in charge of Pakistan when he died."Certain people needed him [Cronje] out. Whether it was one, two, or 15 people that were going to die it didn't matter," said Rice, who passed away in 2015."Hansie was the one that was going to have to go and if they could cover it up as a plane crash then that was fine."Eerily, Cronje himself had predicted in speeches, and written in a magazine, of the potential to "die in plane crash" because of the "constant travel by air".Ed Hawkins, a specialist betting investigative journalist, dismissed the notion that bookmakers were somehow behind the incident."I've never found any information basically worth my time or effort to launch a full-scale investigation," Hawkins the security consultant called it "ludicrous" to suggest there was a "conspiracy to murder him by bringing the plane down". Cronje's complex legacy Cronje's ashes were placed in a memorial at his beloved Grey College. A generation has now passed since the former South Africa captain's murky involvement with bookmakers came to light, but his legacy remains a complex death at the age of 32 meant he was denied an opportunity at redemption within a sport he felt so connected to. For some Cronje had been vulnerable, and had the anti-corruption measures which came in the wake of his fall from grace been in place, his story might have been different."In a moment of stupidity and weakness," Cronje himself said, "I allowed Satan to dictate terms to me rather than the Lord."Those close to him felt that once the depression following the King Commission lifted, Cronje's life path had altered course for the better. Cronje's brother Frans was the producer of a film based on Hansie in 2008 which portrayed the ex-South Africa skipper in a sympathetic the film there's a scene where a young black boy who had earlier ripped a poster of Hansie off his wall is seen fixing it back was a metaphor for the national psyche which, post-apartheid, makes it "a lot easier for people to forgive" in South Africa according to sports scientist Professor Tim Noakes, who worked with the South African team in the Nineties, went as far as to call Cronje a "psychopath"."He fitted the characteristics and it's no remorse, no conscience," he said."I understand that you can't make the diagnosis without having properly examined people, but I just saw enough evidence for it in, in this man."The currency Cronje should have been remembered for was the number of runs he scored as an inspirational captain, rather than deposits in bank accounts in his name in the Cayman Islands."I don't think he was evil. I think that's far, far too strong a word," said Manthorp."I do think that he was a skilful manipulator. I think that he was acutely aware of the power and influence that he had."For those outside the country, especially in a sport like cricket with its expected moral compass, it is perhaps even more difficult to separate the man from the crimes."I think that Hansie is a villain in this story," Butcher added. "He might not be the villain, but he's certainly a villain."The full six-part series of 'Sport's Strangest Crimes - Hansie Cronje: Fall From Grace' is available on BBC Sounds.
The Herald
22-07-2025
- The Herald
Two men jailed for brutal vigilante attack on alleged drug dealer
Free State police confiscated an assortment of dangerous weapons from a vigilante mob that murdered an alleged drug dealer in January 2023: pangas, daggers, knives, garden shears, a hoe, scissors, a screwdriver, axe and petrol bombs. 'The incident unfolded when the Bloemfontein public order policing team was deployed to Bethlehem for crowd management duties after reports of community members confronting alleged drug dealers in the Bohlokong area,' said police spokesperson Sgt Mahlomola Kareli. 'One of the houses targeted was that of the alleged drug lord in the community.' Two female police officers intervened when a large crowd started stabbing a 37-year-old man with pangas and knives. The victim died at the scene. Two men were arrested: Joseph Tshabalala, 44, also known as 'Toki', and Ernest Semela, 25, also known as 'Bikkie'. Seventeen more suspects were rounded up, including a women, with an assortment of weapons and petrol bombs. ' After a two-year investigation and trial, the two primary suspects, Joseph 'Toki' Tshabalala and Ernest 'Bikkie' Semela, pleaded guilty to murder. They were each sentenced to 15 years' imprisonment for murder,' said Kareli. 'The case against 17 other suspects was withdrawn.' TimesLIVE
Telegraph
18-07-2025
- Sport
- Telegraph
My guide to the Lions Test referees
In 2009, World Rugby ripped up the history books and appointed British and Irish referees to officiate on a Lions tour. Not just any Lions tour; this was a tour to the rugby heartland of South Africa. And though Nigel Owens, Alain Rolland and I were not involved in the Test matches, we were involved in some of the full-blooded provincial games, as the Lions faced up against the Bulls, Sharks and Stormers. I was appointed to referee the Lions against the Free State Cheetahs in Bloemfontein – having run touch in three other games – and it was one of the highlights of my career. Not only did I experience the sea of red shirts around the city in the days leading up to the match, but I saw the best players of the home nations take on the world champions in their own backyard. It was epic, and a huge honour to be the first Englishman to referee the Lions. There will be two other firsts on this Lions tour: Nika Amashukeli will become the first Georgian to referee the Lions and Andrea Piardi the first Italian. The trio will be completed by Ben O'Keeffe, who refereed the second Test in the last Lions series in 2021, a game played only a few days after Rassie Erasmus's 62-minute online rant about what he perceived to be refereeing inconsistencies. Amashukeli continues to make 'firsts'. Not only was he the first match official from Georgia to referee at a World Cup, but he was also the first to referee a Six Nations hame and a Champions Cup final. Piardi has been the go-to man over the past three seasons in the United Rugby Championship (URC) and refereed the final for the past three years. O'Keeffe burst on to the scene at the 2019 World Cup when he superbly refereed the final pool match of the tournament in the highly emotional Japan v Scotland game. At the 2023 Rugby World Cup he refereed the quarter-final between France and South Africa and the week afterwards he was in charge when England lost to South Africa in the semi-final in Paris. It's fair to say that they are a very experienced team, but like every Test match, the coaches will currently be analysing each referee to see if they can gain an advantage, or perhaps an insight, into how the officials may interpret the game. And if I know Joe Schmidt, he will be looking at some of the stats and noting that these three officials have some distinct differences. Emphasis will be on attack I have explained on these pages before that nothing sucks the life out of a stadium more than a promising attack being stopped by a referee's whistle for a technical side entry or a holding-on penalty given too quickly. Referees who reward the attack more tend to produce games with more continuity and fewer stoppages. Over the past two international seasons, O'Keeffe, who will referee the opening Test this weekend in Brisbane, has given almost 60 per cent of his penalties against the defence. This tendency was obvious when he refereed the Lions v Western Force in Perth on June 28. O'Keeffe gave only 16 penalties all match and, amazingly, none were against the attack. This could explain why Farrell opted for disruptors in the back row rather than an out-and-out jackler, putting Tom Curry ahead of Jac Morgan. Most pleasing for the spectators is that all three of the referees insist on quick ball when teams are attacking, and they all go hard against defending players who are lying on the wrong side. All three also have an average ruck-speed time of less than three seconds, a measurement of how quickly the ball comes away from the breakdown. This would suggest we are in for some attacking rugby. Lions should target scrum in first Test Amashukeli is not one for wasting time at the scrum. He resets only one in five scrums, and that is supported by being top of the scoreboard when it comes to having the highest ball in play. The Lions have used the scrum to devastating effect so far this tour, securing 18 penalties through the series. O'Keeffe averages five penalties at the scrum per game, and having witnessed the Aussies concede a couple against Fiji – a team without the power of Tadhg Furlong and Ellis Genge – I expect it is an area that the Lions will target. Worrying for the Lions is that Piardi, who will referee the second Test in Melbourne, resets more than one in three scrums. Which is often a sign that the referee does not give penalties to a dominant scrum. I imagine that John Fogarty, the Lions scrummaging coach, will be whispering into Piardi's ear this weekend as he runs up and down the touchline in front of the technical boxes. Best to call on TMO sparingly This week I was asked to join Scotty Stephenson, the Kiwi broadcaster and commentator, on his early-morning breakfast show. He was discussing the use of TMO after three potential New Zealand tries were scrubbed off in the van. I explained to him that technology improves sport – think Snicko in cricket or Hawk-Eye in tennis – but that it is so important that TMOs don't go looking at every pass or rewind every single breakdown. If they do, we will be waiting until September for this series to finish. At the end of the Lions' match against the Australia and New Zealand invitational side, I was scratching my head to understand what Shannon Frizell had done wrong for the TMO to come in, but after a lot of searching for the best angle, he was given a yellow card for a dangerous clean-out. TMOs are there to prevent the big howler – not to scrutinise every clear-out – and Amashukeli buys into that, averaging just over one review per match. Some readers will remember the Champions Cup final, with seven TMO interactions between the Georgian and the South African, Marius Jonker. They will work together again in the third Test, but I am hoping that the European final was just a blip in the figures. O'Keeffe will kick things off this weekend with his compatriot Richard Kelly in the van, and I'm hoping the number of TMO referrals is around fewer than two, O'Keeffe's average in each of his past nine matches. If it is, it will add to the flow of the game. My main hope, however, is that this is the last time you read the names Amashukeli, Piardi and O'Keeffe in these columns and they can reminisce on being part of Lions history for all the right reasons.
Mail & Guardian
15-07-2025
- Politics
- Mail & Guardian
When the algorithm becomes the jury — how influencers police public opinion
Graphic: John McCann Social media was supposed to be a place where everyone could finally have a voice. For years, we heard that platforms like Facebook, Instagram, X and TikTok would open up public conversation. No more gatekeepers in newsrooms deciding whose views mattered and no more barriers to ordinary people being heard. That was exciting. Imagine a digital square where the kid in Mthatha and the student in Bloemfontein could all debate big ideas as equals. A space where different experiences could meet without fear or favour. But, if you spend any time online, you will know it didn't really turn out that way. Instead of becoming a free marketplace of ideas, social media has evolved into a space where a small group of influencers and big accounts set the agenda. These are the people who decide which opinions are 'right', which are 'dangerous' and which deserve to be ridiculed. The irony is that many of these influencers built their brands on the idea of challenging old power structures. They spoke up when the mainstream media ignored certain issues. They fought for visibility, and that work mattered, and still does, but somewhere along the way, the line between calling out injustice and policing all disagreement got blurred. Now, it sometimes feels like social media has simply replaced one set of gatekeepers with another. It happens repeatedly. A controversial issue breaks out, perhaps about a politically charged subject such as race, feminism or the management of the economy, and within hours, the largest accounts with the most reach have declared which perspective is acceptable. Those who hold a different view quickly learn that it's safer to say nothing. This isn't just about social disapproval. On platforms that thrive on engagement — any post that doesn't fit the popular narrative risks being buried by the algorithms or swarmed by abusive replies. The cost of speaking up can be high; it can sometimes cost you your reputation, mental health and even your job. Hence, most decide to remain quiet. However, this doesn't mean they agree. It means they've seen what happens to others who speak out and decided it's not worth it. The German political scientist Elisabeth Noelle-Neumann's spiral of silence theory fundamentally posits that individuals have an instinctive fear of isolation. This compels them to monitor their environment, particularly opinions voiced in public, to assess which views are dominant. When people perceive that their opinions are unpopular, they are more likely to remain silent, preferring the safety of conformity over the risk of ostracism. Over time, this process amplifies the dominance of one view, not necessarily because it is intrinsically correct, but because dissent is suppressed through social pressure, so it looks as if everyone agrees even when they don't. That's how a small group ends up controlling the conversation on social media. Take a look at any trending topic on X or Facebook and you'll see this dynamic in action. A few large accounts decide that a certain view is unacceptable. They post their verdict, sometimes in mocking tones or with hashtags demanding accountability, then their followers pile in to amplify the message. If you've ever watched someone get dogpiled, you know how nasty it can get. Strangers will flood their replies with insults, demands for apologies and calls for punishment. Screenshots of the offending opinion will be shared in group chats and private forums, often stripped of context. Sometimes the target did say something reckless or offensive, other times they simply voiced a perspective that wasn't popular with the influencers in charge and, in the background, thousands of users read the exchange and quietly take note — this is the price of disagreeing. It's not surprising that most people choose self-censorship over open discussion. This culture doesn't just happen by accident. It thrives because social media platforms are designed to reward outrage and conformity. Algorithms push content that gets engagement, likes, shares, comments — even angry reactions. The more dramatic or polarising the post, the further it spreads. That's why influencers so often lean into profanity, invasion of privacy and any kind of sensationalism. It's a guaranteed way to grow their reach and, while it works for them, it damages the rest of us. Complex and multilayered issues are reduced to black-and-white takes, nuance disappears, anyone who asks a genuine question gets treated like an enemy. It's also worth saying that this isn't only about opinions, it's about finance. On Facebook, monetisation tools have turned big pages into income streams. Influencers can earn real money from in-stream ads, stars and subscriptions. The bigger your following, the bigger your payout and that creates an extra incentive to protect your turf. It's not surprising that many influencers act like gatekeepers — when you challenge their narrative, you're not just disagreeing, you're threatening their income. This new power dynamic is rarely acknowledged. Most people still talk about social media as if it's a level playing field, but it's not. A handful of personalities effectively decide what's acceptable to say and, if you have a smaller audience, your opinions are easier to ignore or attack. Over time, this creates a closed ecosystem. If you want to grow your following, you're better off repeating whatever the big voices are saying. You learn to avoid certain topics and watch your words. While this might feel like a personal problem, just individuals adapting to the platform, it adds up to something bigger. It creates a culture where real debate is replaced by a performance of agreement. The saddest part is that it didn't have to be this way. Social media could still be a space where unpopular views get tested, challenged and sometimes even changed. But, instead, we've normalised a culture where punishment comes before understanding. If you're someone who has ever hesitated before posting, you already know what this feels like. The calculation happens in your head: 'Is it worth it?' and most of the time, the answer is 'No.' It's tempting to think that silence means consensus, that if nobody is speaking up, it must be because everyone agrees, but that's rarely true. More often, it's a sign that people have weighed the risks and decided they'd rather say nothing than deal with the consequences. We should worry about what this does to freedom of speech and tolerance. When influencers alone control the narrative, we miss out on opportunities to find common ground. This results in an illusion of unity, an illusion that breaks down the moment we step offline and realise how much resentment and frustration has been building online. You don't have to be a public relations professional to see why this is a problem. In PR, we learn that perception matters just as much as reality. If people feel as if they can't speak out, it doesn't matter how many times you tell them the platform is 'open to all'. The reality is that it's open only to those who agree with the prevailing sentiment. That perception is shaping the behaviour of millions of South Africans and it's the reason people retreat into private groups and encrypted chats and stop engaging with public posts. It's the reason many of us feel like we're living in two worlds: the world of performative agreement online and the world of honest disagreement offline. Next time you see someone speaking up, even if you don't agree, ask yourself whether they really deserve to be humiliated or erased and the next time you feel that familiar fear in your gut before posting, remind yourself that your voice matters too. If we all keep quiet, the conversation belongs only to the people willing to weaponise their influence and that's not the kind of public square any of us signed up for. Lindokuhle Tonono is an honours student at Unisa.
News24
14-07-2025
- Business
- News24
Bruce Whitfield back on the mic with a new weekly News24 podcast
Simon Sonnekus/ News24 Acclaimed financial journalist Bruce Whitfield is launching a new weekly podcast on News24. Whitfield spent two decades helping people understand and enjoy business news as the voice of The Money Show. He has written three books (with a fourth coming out soon), is a keynote speaker, and has contributed widely to various South African media houses. His secret? Well, he's not completely sure – but not being afraid to ask stupid questions has certainly helped. Whitfield's spent his early years in the Free State, where he went to boarding school in Bloemfontein at the age of eight. He matriculated in Grahamstown and pursued a journalism degree at Rhodes. After graduating, Whitfield started his career as a bulletin writer at 702, before he was thrust out into the world as a field reporter. He said that he spoke so fast at the start of his career that he earned the nickname 'Ayrton Senna' after the late great Brazilian Formula 1 driver who won three drivers' championship world titles with McLaren. He said he spoke so fast, 'mostly because I was so frightened of what I was covering'. He followed a university girlfriend to the UK, where he stayed for a few years after democracy, before coming back to South Africa and running a radio service for the SA Press Association. He briefly produced some shows for SAFM. 'Very honest' Whitfield joined Moneyweb in 2000. This was his first foray into financial journalism. While it proved to be crucial for the trajectory that his career would take, it wasn't a smooth start. 'Three weeks into my time at Moneyweb, I was called in for a meeting and told I was about to be fired because they had never employed anybody quite as clueless as me – to which I responded: 'But I told you, in the 10 interviews you made me do that I knew nothing' – to which I was told, 'Well, you told everybody the same thing, so you were very honest about it, but nobody believed that anybody could be as clueless as you!'' They agreed to keep him on until at least the end of his three-month probation period. Before his time was up, he ended up breaking 'the biggest tax story of the decade' about a R1.4-billion dispute between the South African Revenue Service and businessman Dave King. The story shot the lights out, and they agreed to keep him on a little longer (three more years, to be precise). Whitfield left Moneyweb to join Primedia, where he started what would become The Money Show. During his two decades on The Money Show, Whitfield estimates that he interviewed roughly 50 000 people. Whitfield said that the show developed a 'wonderful following' because it became about interviewing entrepreneurs and interesting people, in addition to corporate people like CEOs, who were also integral. Whitfield stepped back from The Money Show a year ago to focus on other projects. Make it relatable Whitfield said that the willingness that he showed early in his career to expose his ignorance and to be the person who says that he 'doesn't know' is something he has tried to carry with him through his career. 'Most people in most places are really nice, really willing to help, and really willing to listen. If you shut up and listen, you learn stuff,' he said. 'I think what I've been able to do over many years — and I've fallen into the bad traps of jargon from time to time — is always putting myself in the position of 2000s Bruce to go 'actually, why does the even matter? Why should anyone even care about it?'' Those are the questions he plans to consider when creating Bruce Whitfield's Business Week, the new weekly podcast he is launching on News24. 'People are often intimidated or bored by business coverage, as they can't relate to it. I have learnt over many years to show why business matters in everyone's life and make it relatable. 'A lot of what you see in business coverage is really important, but the stories are told badly. I operate on a philosophy that not everything that is interesting is important, and not everything important is interesting. 'My job is to tell the difference and deliver great business content without the boring bits,' he said. He added that the podcast would explain everything important that has happened in the world in 30 minutes. After being away from broadcasting for about a year, Whitfield said it is good to be back behind the mic. 'It's good to be getting back into the saddle again in some form, and truly consolidating what's important in the world and helping people understand what is worth worrying about and not worrying about,' he said. Bruce Whitfield's Business Week kicks off on Thursday 17 July at 17:00.
