For reasons that need not detain us, one day last week I found myself in the early hours of the morning watching the Hanna-Barbera cartoon “Stop the Pigeon”.  If you ever feel that your mind is slightly out of synch with the rest of the world’s, and that perhaps you should visit a good nerve specialist in the Swiss Alps, do yourself a favour and watch an episode of the aforementioned. After half an hour you’ll realize that there are people out there with minds that should be shipped to underground bunkers in Roswell and monitored by the Pentagon by means of electronic probes, and that in fact your numbingly normal.

The story goes like this: Dick Dastardly and his sidekick Muttley (the snickering hound), in their flying machines, are hell-bent on stopping Yankee Doodle Pigeon from delivering messages. Helping them in this admirable, but completely irrational pursuit, are a variety of cohorts. One of them goes by the name of ‘Klunk’, who’s an inventor of sorts, but who is afflicted with Tourrette’s Syndrome and can only be understood by ‘Dilly’, the cowardly pilot whose primary role is to translate Klunk’s drivel.

At this point you breathe a sigh of relief, cancel the one way ticket to Geneva, and you’re ready to take your place again in polite society.

Sometimes I can sympathise with Dick Dastardly, and I myself try to stop the flock of pigeons that crap on me every day. When I wake at 05h30 I check the Blackberry for messages, then stumble downstairs for a dish of Earl Grey and a dose of Bloomberg television. Once I’ve checked the markets’ headlines I watch with fascination as a bevy of blondes sit around the Bloomberg studio discussing weighty financial matters, while draping themselves on each other’s desks in an attempt to convey a casualness that is supposed to tell us that this is what they normally do. I’m not fooled, but I keep watching in case one morning one of them whips out a double-ended dildo and starts getting busy.

Then I jump in Giuseppe the Fiat and bowl off to FMR for a brief radio report and from there it’s off to 2oceansvibe Radio for the morning show. This is a riotous digital caper, fuelled by liquid ginseng, Royal Jelly, the internet, the absurd rantings of my colleagues Richard Hardiman and Genevieve Akal, and lashings of seriously good tunes. The afternoon is spent pre-recording current affairs and business interviews for my talk shows, which I both produce and present.

When I get home at 7pm to my darling Linda, I generally feel as though the Stormers have just used me for scrumming practice.

I wouldn’t change any of this for the world of course, but on occasion my ganglions start shorting out, and I know it’s time to Stop the Pigeon. No phones, no TV, no internet, no traffic, no stimulants, no meetings, no indulging of half-wits, no kids, no anything.

Try it this long weekend. It’s the mental equivalent of sticking a hose full of warm soapy water up your bottom.

Come back to 2oceansvibe Radio soon after, but for a mere moment, Stop the Pigeon.