On Being Sarah Cox

Out in the yard, helplessly moving plant pots around like blank chess pieces, I overheard Radio One. 

It's being listened to by the adjacent builders.

How can this be? 

Sarah Cox, standing in for Fearne Cotton, teases the (male) listeners with constant references to breasts, as though she is a man herself, and a misogynist one at that. 

She must be utterly desperate to be one of the lads: I have never heard such pleading to not be a woman in my life.

She interviews someone called Davina (could it be McCall? I hope not! Surely she has more sense!). Davina is riding a bicycle for Sports Relief and, over and over again, tells us how sweaty she is in her lycra gear. This seems infinitely more important to her than raising money for a charity; did she work out this priority for herself or did the producers of the show persuade her to demean herself in this way?

And the BBC is axing BBC 6, the station that plays proper music to proper listeners.

That's what happens in a recession, isn't it? The tw*ts return from the wings, triumphantly brushing aside any sort of social progress, and if you don't go with their flow you get stuck in a backwater and labelled boring and worst of all, 'a feminist'.

Well, a 'Sarah Cox' is not a good thing to be, is it?