A cough and a limp and an early morning run.

Bad habits are hard to break.

My wheezing suggested that a run was unwise; my legs had other ideas.

It was actually a half decent plod. The coughing cleared up under the freezing estuary air.

I had a slight calf twinge for the return leg.

No worries - I'll run it off tomorrow.

Attention switched back up to the Fair City for most of the afternoon.

The TWO stars on the shirt of Forest were playing anything like ex-European Cup winners (ARF.)

I took out my frustration with some anarchic gardening. The first daffodils of the season were starting to shoot up, leaving me with some optimism following the football.

And then later in the afternoon I listened to the final hour of broadcasting from Radio Trent. Again.

The original station which was my first place of work died a horrid death many years ago. Corporate takeovers and the twaddle of commercial radio killed off the Castle Gate ethos and radio as we know it.

But the modern interweb is a wonderful thing.

radiotrent.co.uk was far from a tribute station. Many of the old jocks were back broadcasting. Even the jingle package had half a wink to the 301 glory days.

The modern interweb managed to kill the radio star though.

Despite decent listener figures, the ads simply couldn't afford to pay the royalty fees required for such high numbers.

Bonkers.

It was fitting that the old bugger John Peters got have the final sign off - and with Golden Slumbers as well.

Another slightly emotional music moment for, which seem to be happening all too frequently of late.

I'm sure that Trent will be back in some form in the future.

But that's not really important. The memories of what made this such a genuinely unique place to work will always remain for everyone who passed through Castle Gate.

I took a hearty slurp of strongly brewed tea out of my Trent FM mug as Jon Jon hung up the mic.

Have a good one, etc.

I had a writing afternoon, catching up with blog bobbins for here and over there. I sacrificed watching Super Sunday, and opted instead to reacquaint myself with the Stina Nordemstam back catalogue.

I think that I made the right decision.

And then it was off to the Party of the Year.

In Wivenhoe.

Well I never.


Last built: Sun, Jan 31, 2016 at 3:09 AM

By Jason A.Cobb, Sunday, December 28, 2014 at 6:29 PM. This aggression will not stand.