Sunday yesterday was more depressing than normal with news of the announcement of Sir Terry Wogan's death. I'm too wishy-washy to consider myself an ardent fan of anyone but I'll remember him fondly for his original radio 2 show when it was just him, the mic, and the letters from his loony listeners (before even the word "TOG" had been coined -- then we were TWITS ("Terry Wogan Is Tops Society")). Letters from the likes of Major Roadworks and Seamus Always. I even had a go myself with the less imaginative pseudonym, Ivor Screwloose. And weren't we genuinely delighted when he then sold them back to us in his book, Banjaxed (though I missed the boat when it came to the unlikely possibility of being good enough to be included in it).
And who would have ever watched Dallas were it not for his talk of The Poison Dwarf and Sue Ellen "You're a tramp, a drunk and a unfit mother"? We just had to watch to see what it was all about. Heck, he even made the Pause for Thought slot bearable to listen to. Some even went out and bought his vocal rendition of The Floral Dance (see video above).
There's been a few sad celebrity deaths lately (and let's not forget the legendary Frank Finlay who had the double misfortune to die the same day), but none has made me so properly sad as the loss of Sir Terry so, if you'll excuse me, I'll leave you now and go and shed a manly tear.
