Oh! Alright, this post is nothing to do with sex or dieting, it's about my addiction to Public Radio.
I am spoiled, for I have the BBC. Poor Aunty Beeb, she's in hot water at the moment, and Rupert Murdoch is probably calling for her demise, but I'm not worried.
I rarely listen to commercial radio, because I don't want to be advertised at. I am very content to pay £145 a year for the privilege of not being. Though I make an exception, to be truthful, for 'Classic FM'.
It's not the BBC I was listening to this morning, however, but American Public Radio. I was wonderfully entertained by, 'How It's Done' where I heard a story about a shortage of cockroaches in Australia. Now wouldn't you think this was good news? I did, and on the whole, it seems it IS - but not if you're the producer of, 'I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here' who has to source cockroaches for the programme. You see, the Z-List worthies who head for the Australian bush to be ritually humiliated for our amusement, are routinely invited to get up close and personal with cockroaches, and now they can't.
'How It's Done', stepping in to help, interviewed an entomologist for advice on which insect substitutes might fill the breach. Overcoming his amazement that no-one had thought to look under the sofas in student housing in search of 'roaches feasting on three-day old pizza, he recommend two possibilities:
There is a cricket in New Zealand that wouldn't do too much damage despite being the size of a mouse, and a 180 mm long centipede from Venezuela, that would accommodate a mouse if minded to do so. Either will do! I cry.
Before being obliged to switch off in order to get to Mass on time, I caught a discussion on PRX (Public Radio Remix) by authors, on the title of a book most likely to sell...
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