I feel I have grown up with you. I remember listening to you when I was young, you and your dog Arnold. I remember you talking about your son Simon and how devastating your divorce was. Even though I was only eight I seem to remember thinking that it was all you talked about.
I felt sorry for you that you were going through that (no wonder I became an agony aunt at the age of 10 and got the nickname “Granny”). I even remember you crying on air about Simon at one point.
Mr B even has a tenuous link in knowing Simon through hockey.
I admit to being slightly disappointed when it was you doing Top of the Pops, not Bruno Brooks, but I did cheer when you won “I’m a Celebrity”.
I do not however need this in my life:
I did very well with the ladies, says Tony Blackburn as radio DJ admits he has slept with 500 women
I don’t need to know that. Nobody likes a show off, Tony. And quite frankly I don’t believe you. And if you have, so what?
Is that something to be proud of?
Is it? Really? Is that something that we all need to know about now? How special each of those 500 women must feel.
You, Bill Roache, Johnny Briggs…. what is with you men of a certain age all bragging and having some kind of contest to say how many women you have slept with?
What are you trying to achieve?
Can you name each of these ladies? Can you describe them all? No, I don’t suppose any one of you three can.
Please just stop it. We don’t need to know about it. Really we don’t. And more importantly the women in all of these confessions don’t need to be reminded of how they are just another statistic of a somebody in the private eye using them and throwing them away.