From about the age of ten, there was a recurring theme to my life around this time of year. Radio One would be having a party and, for the sake of 25 lousy minutes, I wasn’t invited.
Allow me to explain. I was born at 23.35 on September 29. Radio One, the nation’s flagship music radio station (at least during my childhood, before the station was populated by fat millionaires who whine when they are not paid on time), began broadcasting at 07.00 on September 30. After ten years, they decided to have a ‘birthday party’ (really a competition) for all those born on the same day as them, and they continued with this for many years afterwards.
The cruellest cut of all was that I loved Radio One in those days, especially in the afternoons after school. OK, so there was a bit of Dave Lee Travis at one time, but mostly it was Peter Powell, Steve Wright and occasionally Bruno Brookes. Believe it or not, in those days they really were the best a kid could do, at least until he was old enough to stay up and listen to John Peel.
Which meant that not being able to take part in the birthday competition, for the sake of a few measley minutes, was cruelty beyond cruelty.
Of course, I’m over that now. I’ve not listened to Radio One since about 1997 and, in truth, I’ve never missed it. But it would’ve been nice to go to just one of their parties.