When you see someone obviously under the influence of mind-altering substances - whether it’s alcohol, drugs, mobile phone radiation or the Bible - in a public place, babbling incoherently about a load of complete drivel, do you throw money at them? Do you stop and listen appreciatively to them for an hour or more?

Probably not. So why, whhhyyyyyyy is the BBC spending my licence money on Terry Wogan?? BB has to listen to this doofus every morning in the car (“has to” for reasons outside our control - i.e. we’re not the driver), and we think he manages one sensible word in fifty. On a good day. And that’s a relative term. Otherwise, he burbles vapidly on, chuckling and giggling to himself (his accomplice “Doctor Wally” is, we are convinced, a tape loop of a man muttering “Mmhhh-huh”) over a variety of piss-poor anecdotes allegedly sent in by people called “Lou Smorals” that surely, surely were written by himself (if it’s you writing them then fucking stop it, NOW). It’s not funny. It’s doesn’t idle the time away, only makes each second drag agonisingly out into what feels like geological era. It’s certainly not clever; even the worst basket case in the asylum would earn a swift slap and an injunction to “Pull yourself together!” if they came out with anything Tel said. And it’s not even relaxing, because I want to grab the tyre lever from the boot and walk along the queue mashing the heads of the other drivers to pulp until that voice in my head WENT AWAY.

Of course, there is music inbetween the rattling of Wogan’s dying braincell. Awful, bland, vaguely acoustic garbage mostly; we left Radio 1 to get away from boy bands like Westlife and A1. Having run out of classic pop-lite hits from the seventies, Radio 2 now plays anything with acoustic strums and airy, multitracked vocals - tune optional, usually considered an unnecessary luxury.

But that’s all that is left to you as a thirtysomething cultural orphan. We quit listening to Radio 1 because we hate kids and we hated ourselves as kids, Radio 3 is just a whole other planet mercifully light years away, Radio 4 is a full dinner when you just want tea & toast and Radio 5 would be great with music. But not the BBC’s idea of music. Wait, the BBC has no idea about music.

In the meantime, we’d say that Death cannot come soon enough for Wogan, but we know he’d be replaced by Steve Wright. Oh. Ghod. No.