Rage Against The Answerphone

I hate Radio 1.  It goes tsch te te tsch te te tsch te te tsch irritatingly all the time in the background, while some youth with an unintelligible regional accent shouts above the racket using obscure teen language, interspersed with electronic noises with no tune and angry ghetto-speak rattled off more quickly than you can say 'supercalifragilisticexpialidocious' (correct spelling); impossible to sing along to, and entirely devoid of any sentimentality.

Yet Beloved Daughter's Latin and English teachers, both as old as I am, enjoy it! They danced happily on the bar, to everything played during our school ski trip disco, whereas the only tune I recognised was 'Happy'.  They have teenage children and told me that Radio 1 is good during the afternoons.  But I cant miss Steve Wright.

I'm having a bit of an argument with the Golden Monster's radio at the moment. It doesnt seem to be very good at tuning in to anything.

So it happened that last night, at about 7pm, while I briefly gathered that Adam appears still to be the only gay in the village, and sadly missed Simon Mayo's Midweek Mosh, I found my ears being assaulted by someone ranting down a phone about her brother leaving butter and jam all over her table and floor. Then a kiwi called 'Zane' shouted about how much he hates too much butter on his bread.  Then someone else started yelling about how boring it is when people tell you about their dreams (couldn't agree more). Next a little kiddie was screaming about how they're planning to make the school day even longer - "school, school, homework, dinner, bed"; followed a teenage bloke furious at those hysterical girls who wreck live recordings.

Now this is my kind of radio.

It turned out to be a show on Radio 1 where they encourage you to phone in and 'Rage' at their answerphone. All compered by a charming, clearly well educated and civilised young man, with a very nice voice and gentle sense of humour, whose father is a teacher.  

So Ive got a plan.  I'm going to ring that answerphone myself and 'rage' to it about how much I hate Radio 1 going tsch te te tsch te te tsch tee tsch and not playing any proper music.

Meanwhile, the smell of dead mouse in our smart cloakroom has intensified.  It appears not to have been old McDonald's
leftovers causing the stench after all.  I now have the area surrounded by three potpourris, a vase of real alive lilies, and a very expensive reed diffuser.  But even this army of aromas is unequal to the battle.  I fear some floorboards are going to have to come up.