Ran seven miles here the other day.

Something I’ve been mulling over for a few days.

I love Radio 4, but there are quite a few repeats and the odd excrutiatingly dull programme with that Melanie Phillips woman. Radio 1 can be quite nauseating during the day, but Scott Mills and Colin Murray are both pretty funny and I really need the new music in the evenings. And I rate BBC 6 too for more great music.

So I want to mash up my own BBC Radio 416, and not by using listen again to old programmes one-by-one. (And not every programme is listen again-able anyway.) So what I’ve been thinking about is like a combination of the Radio Times schedules and the BBC’s own media player. So you can plan a week’s listening by ticking boxes next to the shows you want, and then just keep the player open all week and it’ll play one then the other! I should stick that on BBC Backstage probably.

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So this is it. One year on. I’ve somehow ended up on the same train line again, Ravilious views and bleeping doors. But I’m on my own this time and going the other way.
I’m still thinking how dare the sun shines, just like this day a year ago. Has nothing moved on?

Jim Carrey loses job and goes downhill. Rather like his career evidently, because this is tripe.

I learnt a valuable lesson though; never compromise. It just means no-one getting what they want. The boys wanted to see Munich, and the girls wanted to see ,a href=”http://web.archive.org/web/20060303030910/http://www.sonypictures.com/movies/memoirsofageisha/”>Memoirs of a Geisha. This is the resulting debacle.

2/5

Obsessive preoccupation:

This time yesterday.
This time last month.
This time last year.
This time last year:
Last meal we had – thought I might lean my head against your shoulder and say you were lovely, but held back.
Last walk we had – you disappeared around the cliff, never content, always curious, explaining colour theory to me, said you’d had a strange pain in your foot for days.
Last lift to the station – the same see you soons, but the last, ordinary moments now the last ones.
Last phone call – missed it, probably online as usual, didn’t hear my phone ring.

Always an anniversary of something. Those words you left us with about your mother: “I don’t know how we are supposed to come to terms with the stunning finality of death”.

But you had warning though, didn’t you Dad?

Listening to: Hunter by Björk, from Family Tree

Natan Sharansky on Radio 4 this evening. He said that when he was in solitary confinement in prison he played chess in his head. The good thing is that you always win.

Amanda Platell on how men don’t like successful women.

She said that after her divorce she just couldn’t find the right man – anyone interested was either too old or too young. So she conducted an experiment on holiday, ditching the power suits, six-figure salary and mantle of ‘assistant editor on a national newspaper’. She became Mandy from the library and had no trouble pulling at all.

That is so depressing. Maybe she just wasn’t looking in the right places. All the good ones are gay, married or dead anyway. And I personally wouldn’t trust anyone you meet on holiday, especially if they like you even after learning that your name is Mandy.

Listening to Evelyn’s Waugh’s Handful of Dust today while driving Mum to Mevagissey to sell some books. Simon Callow read it superbly and I laughed out loud at several points. “Love,” he wrote, “is the only thing stronger than sorrow”.

Apologies for misquotation, Señor Waugh…