I began writing this blog for a number of reasons, most of which are not immediately apparent (given that it is rubbish).
However, one clear intention was to chart Jamie's first little period on Earth including, where appropriate, occasional references to events of the day.
We do live in interesting times, as the saying goes. But, despite goings on in Afghanistan and Libya and all sorts of other places at the moment, there can only be one story on this particular date. I speak, of course, of Sir Terry Wogan's decision to give up his Radio 2 breakfast show (it's big news for me, alright?!)
He began in 1972, the year I was born. And, save for an 11-year gap to present his TV chat show, has been there ever since.
I spent my infant years believing that Terry lived in our radiogram (which looked very much like the one on the right). And when he told me to shut up and eat my "Wheetiebangs," I always obeyed.
I had the great pleasure of spending almost half an hour in his company about 10 years ago whilst attending a BBC reception in Westminster. Celebrities, of course, fall into several categories when you meet them, including a rather large one entitled "big disappointment" (that's as polite as I can put it). But thankfully, he was everything you would want him to be: charming, funny and kindly. However, there was one brief moment when his demeanour - and choice of language - went downhill, and it will always remain my personal memory of him.
I had brought a piece of white card with me in the hope that I'd get to meet him and he'd give me an autograph for my mother. So, towards the end of our conversation, I decided to pounce. "No problem," he said, and signed with a minimum of fuss.
But then I pushed my luck. Prior to the reception, I asked my mum if she had any message for him - and she did. Well, it was more of a question. And here was how I put it to the great man.
"Terry," I began, "my mother sent you a letter with a request for a song for my sister's sixth birthday. That was 27 years ago but, as of this morning, you still hadn't played it. What will I tell my mum?"
Mr W (as he still was) suddenly looked a little agitated and, after about a second, shot back with this immortal line.
"Tell her to f*** off!"
He then explained a little heatedly that he didn't do requests and, even if he did, he couldn't play them all anyway - which was why he didn't do them. Fair point. And then, quite frankly, he seemed bored with me (goodness knows why it took him so long) and started talking to someone more interesting.
But, you know, I'm not one for bearing grudges.
Terry Wogan is a legend and will always be a legend.
I look forward to telling Jamie all about him in the years ahead.
