We had the ‘pleasure’ of listening to Capital FM in the office this morning. Not my choice, but that of a younger chap, and someone else who likes to think he’s a younger chap, and who pretends to like the music offered. I’ll make no pretence: I can’t stand it, it was not a pleasure, but then, the music isn’t meant for me. I’m an old fart, I’m set in my ways.
But what make me think that Marconi would be turning in his grave, and probably regretting that that trip to the patent office, was the inane DJ chatter between the records. Inane? Is there a stronger word? Because it really was diabolical. They were talking about how you take a shower. Or a bath. Or a bath-shower.
It was bad enough being at work on a Saturday; it was bad enough that there was much more mail than we had on Friday. We start work half an hour earlier on a Saturday, and today, we left the office to deliver the mail half an hour later than yesterday.
So that’s a whole extra hour preparing mail in the office.
And all that time, Capital FM. Dire.
And like a breath of fresh air, while out on delivery, I was able to listen to an old Bob Harris Show from Radio 2. Now that’s what I call proper music. A bit of rock, some pop, some country, a chat with a new (or old) band… Thank you BBC for the iPlayer which allows me to hear programmes in the future..
In fairness, I suppose I ought to namecheck the Capital FM DJs as well, but I have absolutely no idea who they are.