Drivellers killed the radio star

All I want from the radio in the morning is a bit of contemporary music, preferably introduced by someone who tells me what I’m listening to. That’s not too much to ask, is it? But something weird and not very pleasant has happened to radio.

We used to listen to Capital before Johnny Vaughan and his Sycophants stepped in (not a lame Sixties pop group, but a loud-mouthed disc jockey with a bunch of fawning cronies). So we switched to Virgin, which is a little less irritating but seems to be stuck in a time warp. Seventies' music was OK in its day but we've moved on now, thanks.

So today we gave Radio One a try, on the assumption that it was still a music station. Why, then, did it take Chris Moyles 19 minutes to play the first song? “Disc jockey” has become a bit of a misnomer. “Drivel jockey” would be more accurate. And they no longer work alone, but in gangs of young, hip people who ramble on about how drunk they were the night before and what they did in the pizza joint afterwards. We don’t actually care if they ended up vomiting garlic bread all over the Old Kent Road at 4am. It’s not entertainment: it’s like eavesdropping on a particularly distasteful bunch of yobs.

Let's bring back the bloke who plays music and occasionally talks to you (yes, you, and not his mates in the studio). In fact come back Chris Tarrant: all is forgiven.