RADIO / The world according to Danny Baker: Robert Hanks wonders what a philosopher of the first century AD would have made of a Radio 5 morning show presenter

There were moments, listening to Paul Scofield's excellent readings from Seneca's Letters (Radio 3, Monday-Friday), when you wondered - how could this be relevant to the modern world? Where amongst the complaints against the immoral lifestyle of the bath-house, the admonitions against drunkenness, the warnings not to love wealth too much, where was the message for the late 20th century? What will the youth of today learn from this one-sided correspondence between the first-century AD 'orator, tragedian, stylist, philosopher, statesman, Nero's controversial friend and adviser, multi-millionaire' and his friend Lucilius ('a younger man . . . who shared Seneca's interest in Stoic ethics and welcomed his intimations and advice')? Then you listen to Danny Baker's Morning Edition (Radio 5, Monday-Friday), and it all becomes clear.

Last Monday, for instance, Scofield read Seneca's strictures on crowds: he quoted with approval an unnamed man 'who, asked what was the point of taking such pains over a work which very few would notice, said 'Few are enough. One is enough. None is enough.' ' On Tuesday, he chastised the heavy sleeper and praised the industry of 'the man who is waiting for the day and welcomes the first light'.

We could go on through the week like this, but it would get dull. The application of remarks on rising early and not caring about popularity to the presenter of a breakfast show on Radio 5 is clear enough. The bit about industriousness is especially appropriate for Baker, who stays on full power for three hours daily, to the point where you worry about the strain on his dilithium crystals. What's most startling about him, in contrast to his competitors, who can rarely wrap their brains around more than one concept at a time, is the way he carries multiple strands of thought: lists of chat-up lines for Amish women ('If our religion didn't ban telephones, I'd ask for thy number'), pleas for information on half-forgotten Disney films, broody pauses to wonder what happened to the Goombay Dance Band, and three or more competitions at any one time (name all the dances referred to in Roxy Music's 'Do the Strand', etc).

This is not to say that Seneca would have approved of everything Baker does: after hearing his condemnation of the barbarism of the Roman circus, where the audience pants for a quick death and fighting skill just slows up the action, it's hard to see that he would have had much time for Friday's chart of the 10 most enjoyable scenes of gratuitous violence in the cinema (Jack Nicholson's nose in China Town didn't make it on to the list, which gives you some idea of how gratuitous it was).

But Baker's secret, the thing that adds so much to the gaiety of nations, is that he is clever - clever, that is, in a way that you or I could understand and appreciate, unlike, say, Nicky Campbell and Simon Bates, who hold reputations for unearthly brilliance in the unreal world of Radio 1 that they couldn't sustain for three minutes out there on the streets.

There are hints of the same cleverness in the returned Wogan (Radio 2, Mon-Fri). Last Monday, there were also signs of a lack of confidence - hesitations and stiffly-timed jokes. Yesterday, Terry sounded more relaxed; but whatever talents he has are undermined by the context: on a mass-market station you have to be able to say 'This is a good song - Gilbert O'Sullivan' and sound sincere. For Baker, being an underdog is an advantage.