For Shep it'd probably be boring, going on tedious, to present an hour-long sports show on Friday early evening. But it's now been over two hours since the first ever radio show I could properly call my own finished, and I've yet to come down off the ceiling.

Well, maybe not the first ever. I used to have shows now and then on student radio, but I could count my internet-based audience using various gadgets, and the maximum listening figure I got was: eight.

So it's a bit of a step up to be given an entire county.

To say I was nervous beforehand would be something of an understatement. David can attest that I was circling the newsroom like a shark with Parkinson's in the hour prior to broadcast, and when producer Rita spilt coffee on a keyboard, all anyone could see was me walking round with rolls of brown-stained toilet paper, which was remarkably apt.

See, I've wanted to do this for ages. I've been in the newsroom before, wondering what the odds are that the regular presenters and every other available person will all be held up in traffic, leaving me to stride in and save the day. So when I got in this morning to find an email telling me I was presenting tonight, it put me on excitable pins all day long.

Our station is particularly blessed with experienced, brilliant presenters who've been there for decades and seen it all (Henry Kelly, for example). One of these is Phil Kennedy, a veteran of national radio and frankly a bloody good presenter. When I heard Phil utter the immortal words, "That's it from me, here's Ollie", I'm amazed I stayed conscious. It's the equivalent of David Beckham rolling the ball across for you to score in an empty net in the World Cup Final, in your first ever competitive football match.

I think the hour went okay. As with all things like this, it felt like mere seconds, and we managed to fit everything in without making any big cock-ups. But the credit for that rests with Rita, who was operating the desk which sends everything from our studio out to air, and who calmly massaged my shaking soul through reams of jingles, beds and clips, which otherwise would have sent my head rolling from my shoulders.

I promise you presenting radio is not easy, but the best people make it seem like it is. That's why I blame David for making me think I'd get away with it. In case you don't know, Mr Sheppard is standing in for Paul Miller across BBC local radio in the South for the next week or so, and he's doing a brilliant job - everyone there, and everyone listening, loves him. Don't forget to tune in... he'll be in the studio by now ready for 10pm, and if his palms are sweating anything like mine were, he'll have to swim to his microphone fader.

(PS: My ego would like it to be made clear that tonight's Sportsweek, with yours truly bricking it throughout, is available on Listen Again for a week.)