On a day where just about everything seems to have been blown off course, it's good to see that one thing ended up where it should have done.

Or, at least, where it was sent. Spot the mistake...

What you see is not a result of today's disappointing licence fee settlement necessitating our relocation to Aberdeen, but a small slip of the mouse made by somebody at the BBC's music library when dispatching a parcel.

I'll forgive them. Not only is the service they provide normally excellent (they're essentially the music equivalent of Oxford's Bodleian library), they've managed to find a record that's outnumbered by NHS dentists specialising in hens. Given that I've waited four years for the contents of the parcel, one more day won't make any difference.

Back in the days when I was younger even than Ollie, I used to spend my evenings lingering at Radio Bristol in awe of a man called Richard Lewis. A production pedigree to inspire such awe in itself, he was probably one-time executive producer of your favourite light entertainment programme, and he's almost certainly written scripts for your favourite television drama or comedy. He's also one of the finest broadcasters I know, and his evening show of the time was cult listening across the west country.

Eventually they gave me a job on the show, and it was from the great master that I learned so much about how to engage an audience. The show was weird by design, "another way" of broadcasting as we called it, and that's why it was wonderful. Listeners would 'phone to share stories as colourful as the lady who was nipped by her new puppy and arrived at hospital bathing her left breast in vodka; and the man who, when selling his old car, had removed the speedometer to turn the clock back a few thousand miles, only to find the legend "Oh no, not again" inscribed on the reverse of the dashboard...

... And he used to play a wonderful song called "Loving You Has Made Me Bananas", by a man called Guy Marks.

I remember the song from my first evening there, and it came to embody everything that was so different about the show. Soon my days too were filled with dreaming up ideas for the show, and after a little treatment from the master, we'd all roar with laughter as they made it to air. And every now and again, in knowing appreciation of an idea well crafted, the Guy Marks song would appear. Minds in harmony, and not a word spoken.

Around the time I left to move to Radio Berkshire, I narrowly missed buying a vinyl copy on eBay, the only one I've ever seen. Hoorah for the BBC music library in London, which now has a copy on CD... with, guess what, 14 other records by the quirky Mr Marks.

Once I've indulged, I shall send it to Bristol (via Aberdeen, of course) for Richard to use on his show, these days in a well deserved daytime slot with an audience as huge as the list of celebrity guests he attracts. Rumour has it, though, I may be needing it back in Berkshire soon...

"Your red scarf matches your eyes, you close cover before striking... loving you has made me bananas".