Djobit: Terry Wogan

Arriving back in the UK from a weekend in Amsterdam, on a TV screen glimpsed through a security window was a grinning, waving Terry Wogan. We already knew, of course - this is the 21st Century and you don't have to wait anymore until the news, on the hour, with James Alexander Gordon, to find out what's going on.

My Mum loved Radio 2, or at least loved it enough to be able to listen to it during the day, and much of my early musical experience came from 233 and 330 (less so Stereo VHF). Both Waggoner's' Walks, Diddy David Hamilton, Pete Murray, Jimmy Young and, every breakfast, Terry Wogan. This was his first run of breakfast shows - the era of Pru Forrest, JR, and suggesting that Super Trouper claims Abba were making telephone calls from Tesco. It seemed to be at the time that doing the breakfast show on Radio 2 must surely be the most desirable job in the world.

Along with Ribena and fried eggs, Wogan was how I woke up every morning - calming and reassuring, especially on those mornings when my eyes had gummed themselves shut and I'd come to in panic and fear. He was the very model of avuncularity and, although my tastes moved on, I'll miss knowing he's around.