Radio

There was a segment, many years ago, that I heard on the radio. It was from a woman who was entering into the soft evening light of her life. She had recently become a widow and her home, the place she had shared with her husband, now seemed shrouded in silence and the absence of the person she most wanted. It had become an unnerving and unhappy place. Initially she had filled the days and empty corners with music that could, when her imagination was clear, if only for a moment, bring back her partner. But this left great throws of time when the loneliness and stillness became unbearable. Ultimately she turned to the radio. She would listen, for long hours, to the idle chat of others. She became familiar with the schedules of certain shows. Each room, when she entered it, was no longer bereft but now filled with conversation and the musical choices of others. I think, to some extent, we can all identify with this story.

In 2011 Chris Moyles started his radio show, just shy of 52 hours later he signed out and presumably went home to sleep. In doing this he set a World Record and raised £52million. I listened to parts of this marathon and found it brilliant, funny and compulsive. This is a post about radio and the joys that it brings, the escapism it provides and the way in which it often weaves through our personal narratives.

I have a long & varied relationship with the radio. I have dabbled across those long and short waves. I have fallen short of being the loyal partner I should have been. I have had fads and of course nothing compares to my first love. In talking about my past and present with radio I am, in part, conferring a lot about my nature and identity. 

There was a neat thing that I discovered one lazy weekend at Exeter University. I was deep in the online archives of the Beeb and the rabbit hole of old Desert Island Discs. I was searching for treasure, though I wasn’t quite sure what sort. When it arrived, like all good surprises, it was gold. I clicked the link and Jonathon Porritt started to talk to me from the 11th June 1989, he wouldn’t have known this but he might have been my first experience of the radio. In case you’re wondering, it is a gem of an episode, with jazz and a fountain pen for a luxury item. 

My childhood continued in similar hues. I come from a family who listened to the radio - in the kitchen, in the car, in the bedrooms and specifically to radio four. I became friendly with the schedules and the jingles. There was the familiar lullaby voice of John Peel on a Saturday morning, politics (so much politics), Just A Minute, Test Match Special and a random collection of comedy shows that came and went. In between the CD selection (a post in itself) I fell asleep to arguments, adult humour and documentaries in the car. When Radio 4 became too much (even for the adults) Classic FM would be put on. Privately, and I suspect audibly, I’d moan at my lot - couldn’t we just play ten minutes of radio 1? I never won that battle with my parents.

And of course there were then the long gentle cricket matches played out across the radio. And these, well these, are as close to total happiness that I can currently imagine. The slow balmy summer days with familiar banter from a media box on some cricket ground. And the day would become gentle, slow and glide past like a soothing breeze. This is the pace of cricket and it is wonderful.

I wasn’t always tied to Radio 4. There was a fleeting moment when my hopes of Radio 1 became a daily reality. Her name was Nicky and she was my nanny. She’d pick me up from school and across that journey I’d fall deep into what I imagined as perfect adult-hood. Here’s a nice insight into me - my view, aged 13, of what being an adult entailed was formed almost entirely on that fleeting time spent with radio 1. I looked forward to the holidays in Ibiza with friends, decorating my flat with open doors and popular music, getting ready for a Friday night out and going to festivals. I haven’t been to Ibiza but everything else has come true and been as perfect as I wanted it to be. And yes, that sticky repetitive and loopy music was and will always have an audience in me. I like those over-produced, overplayed and overly ‘all the same’ tunes that are lined up and played to us on radio 1. But then again I also really like vinyl, playing whole albums, spotify playlists, classical music and just about everything else as well. 

And naturally, like all of us, I have turned to the Shipping Forecast. We all have. Normally, like all horror stories, I am lost, lonely and away from the safety of day time. Tossing and turning in bed I will listen to Dover, Wight, Portland, Plymouth, four or five, increasing six soon, rain or slight drizzle, good. Sometimes I will do this until the radio clicks over to the World Service. And then it’s the soft tones of international news and foreign correspondent desks. Yes, the radio can sometimes replace the warm body of the person who isn’t next to you.

In more recent times the radio has, to some extent, fallen by the wayside. I no longer need picking up from school or have to travel from home to my brother’s rugby matches. But I still dabble across the digital waves of London. Weekend breakfasts are a mix of Radio 2 and Radio 6. And I do love a bit of Magic FM.