We’re 100+ days into lockdown, and I’m still not back in this little studio, broadcasting my little show. It makes me very sad.
I miss the scruffy room and miss the twiddly knobs and buttons.
I miss the fun of compiling my show playlist during the week. I miss the motivation it gives me to listen to loads more music (any excuse is a good excuse).
I miss the stash of CDs in the corner, I miss the fun of doing a live show and coming up with whole new ways of making simple mistakes. I miss pressing the wrong button at the wrong time, which means you hear the wrong song or the wrong advert. I missing winging it, and grinning as I go along, and shrugging when I play Bob Marley instead of Depeche Mode. Oh well.
I miss the joy of getting a tweet or an email coming in while I’m on air, and frantically digging around to see if I can play any songs people request. I get a buzz from that, and it’s a good buzz.
Some of my colleagues continue to do their shows, and all power to them. But as things stand, I’m not yet ready to return to room used by so many people, to a microphone we’ve all breathed on, a pop shield that’s caught all our pops. Maybe that will feel something less worrying soon – I desperately hope so.
I had no idea I enjoyed doing a radio show until I accidentally started doing one. It does me good. It uses a different part of my brain. It gets me up and out and thinking and singing and toe-tapping. It gives me a jolt, in a good way. I can’t wait to start again.