In Sickness and In Health: Rediscovering the magic of radio

Last year, Rebecca's husband Nick was hit by a car and seriously injured. Here, in one of a series of columns, she writes about the aftermath of his accident

It’s not difficult to start an argument at my dad’s house. Singing at the table, not hearing something that someone has shouted from upstairs, turning off the inexplicable subtitles on the kitchen telly - they can all spark conflict. But the one way to guarantee disharmony is to bring up Chris Evans. My dad and I are for him, my stepmother vehemently against. I can’t imagine my drive to work without Chris’s voice in my ears. I do switch over when - yawn - the sport comes on, but otherwise he’s my man until 9.30am. Ken Bruce I can take or leave (and hearing his dulcets is a sure sign that I’m running late).

I’m a born-again radio listener, having gone for years without ever willingly tuning in. I used to work on the news desk, but even so failed ever to listen to the Today Programme, which is pretty much a sackable offence. For years, Radio 4 made me feel hot and cross, as wriggly as I was when stuck in a classroom being taught boring things by tedious teachers. Back when XFM was still cool, friends would rave about it, but I wasn’t fussed. My dad would bang on about Six Music, but there was never a time or place that seemed natural to me to listen in.

Driving changed that, as did loneliness. When I started venturing out in the car after Nick’s accident, I listened to an odd collection of CDs. Then some idiot crashed into the Mini when I was away and I was loaned a hire car. I was transfixed by the tunes coming out of its stereo. Kiss FM and Radio 2 were my re-entry points, and soon I realised that, for the first time in 20 years, I knew what music was in the charts. Now when my alarm goes off in the morning, I start the day with either John Humphrys harrumphing or Chris Evans larking about. Either are better than the echo of an empty flat.

I bought Nick a tiny plastic radio when he was in hospital and left strict instructions about leaving it on Radio 4, which he’d always listened to in the car. Even though that was when he was still pretty much unconscious, his carers insisted that he responded better to Radio 3. Perhaps - or maybe they preferred classical music to current affairs. Now Nick is all about TV, even though I think he’d get a lot out of the immediacy and intimacy of radio.

To me, now, there’s nothing better than the randomness of radio, when a documentary or live session sweeps me away, nor of the serendipity of changing stations and hearing the opening bars of a song I’d not heard for years. That happened to me twice this week and it was enchanting. In fact, just before sitting down to write, one of my Desert Island Discs (another new-found pleasure) came on, and I had a mad dance around the living room.

I know people who leave their radio on all day, and even all night. I’m not sure I could cope with that (especially not Heart FM 24/7, in the case of one die-hard fan), but I love the fact that I can crest the airwaves whenever I like, and know that there are friends there waiting to entertain and accompany me.