THE radio exists to provide a flow of music and inane chat when an afternoon’s dragging, until Jamie from Morecambe texts in to make it all about him:
‘Keep the tunes coming’
DJs must find this message so useful. How else would they know to play another song after the one currently playing finishes? If they’re not reminded by Hayley from Colchester, the rest of the show would play out in awkward silence.
‘My two-year-old requested the Chemical Brothers’
Aging hipster parent Sandy of Glossop loves to try to claw back some bragging rights through his progeny. This should be is a signal for social services to visit the house and explain that nobody needs to hear Let Forever Be until eight years old at the earliest.
‘The whole office is loving it’
Forcing your workplace to listen to your station of choice is a borderline hostage situation. Deciding to speak on their behalf just because Heart played Barry Manilow’s Mandy broadcasts your sadism to the nation.
‘Got to shout out my mates Eric, Chris, Riggsy, Tom…’
When an imbecile with friends makes it onto the air, and boy do they make the most of their two minutes of mid-morning radio fame. After all, why would you want to listen to music when you could hear an endless list of dull twats’ names?
‘Happy anniversary Maggie’
Nothing says ‘I’m up shit’s creek because I forgot to get a card’ quite like Carl from Warrington’s grovelling dedication attached to a request for an Ed Sheeran song. Which will only cause more marital dischord because their first dance was to Michael Bublé.
‘Let me tell you what’s wrong with this country’
Any contribution to talk radio sucks, without exception. It would be more effective for these guys – it’s mainly guys – to find a void to scream into. But that wouldn’t be fair on the poor void.
