When I buy a car (quite a rare thing but occasionally it happens) I ask two questions.
Does it go? And does the radio work?
Apart from that I'm not really bothered. I'm not after a 205mph Ferrari like the one Christiano Ronaldo wrote off recently. I don't care if it has a sun roof or not and I don't consider the car to be an extension of my manhood in any way. As long as it goes at a reasonable speed and the insurance and garage bills don't cost an arm and a leg, I'm fine.
But... when the car radio packed in this morning I was apoplectic with rage, angry, upset, annoyed - discombobulated even! I didn't even turn the rotten thing off. Just as I was deciding to change station the sound disappeared and defiantly refused to come on again simply showing me the date, time and temperature - quite useless! Victor Meldrew and Basil Fawlty (even an enraged Donald Duck) had nothing on me today!
No longer can I listen to my colleagues on Radio Verulam 92.6 as I come in to work especially Warren Knight with his jazz, soul, swamp, eclectic and eccentric selection, delivered in a voice that resembles a storm drain with his dedications from Louisiana or some other exotic part of the United States. Nor can I hear Phil Richards presenting Spotlight on Folk as I head for home or the numerous other stations once I get outside the St Albans area and switch to a phone-in on LBC, "more music variety" (more of the same)on Heart or Marguerita Taylor promising me more Smooth Classics at Six (even if it's actually 7.45) In the afternoons Lorna annoys me by droppin' all the 'g' endin's on everythin' she says. She also talks about strange county called Buckin'amshire. I was only able to regale listeners to my West Herts Evening show with tales of what various members of the Royal family were wearing at Royal Ascot because I heard it on the radio.
A car without a radio that works is like an empty ice cream cone, the Beano without Dennis the Menace, a marriage without love or romance, a pub with no beer, a glass with no wine, no Guardian on a Monday, a restaurant with no food, a garden with no trees or grass or flowers - unthinkable! Much as I love my old mum, the thought of a holiday in Wales and a long trawl down the M4 with only her for company when we could be listening out for Radio Cymru (we don't actually understand Welsh) or Red Dragon Radio is not a happy prospect. I think you get the general idea.
I suppose I'll just have to get the wretched thing fixed!
More from me again soon.