I have a confession to make. I am an aficionado of certain programmes on Radio 2. Even worse, I particularly enjoy Wogan and Sarah Kennedy, deeply unfashionable though they may be. (Ken Bruce is tolerable.) Perhaps it is because they play the music of my era; perhaps it is because they do not take themselves too seriously; perhaps it is because we are all growing old together.
So it is, therefore, that during the later parts of the day when I wish to listen to music on the radio, I will deploy the admirable Listen Again feature of the Radio 2 website to hear the Wogan and Kennedy programmes I missed earlier in the morning. For I cannot bear to put up with the execrable Jeremy Vine and his fondness for trawling the tabloid depths of phone-in radio; while Steve Wright would make anyone want to barf.
It was therefore with sorrow that I read of the latest travails of Ms Kennedy, a sorrow compounded by her absence from this morning's airwaves. We dawn patrollers know that Sarah occasionally loses the place or talks over the music - just as Terry is prone to crashing the pips (and he is not as witty as he thinks). SO BLOODY WHAT, BBC? Whose BBC is it anyway?
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