Forgot to mention yesterday that it was the ninth anniversary of me joining the BBC. I can clearly remember my first day on the Songs of Praise Football Special in Manchester, and how much the team above me needed whipping into shape.

Been through a lot since then: old time religion, interminable short-term contracts, fancying far too many married women, seemingly terminal decline, likely redundancy, an online renaissance being coaxed back to life by Tiles and Deborah, chummy chats with Mark and Lard, then the move down to London, gambling on the opportunities offered to smaller fish in bigger ponds (which seems to be paying off), and a good few free hangovers thrown into the bargain. Not too shabby for what was only meant to be a 10-week contract.

I only hope that whenever I decide what I really want to do with my life, that I'm fortunate enough to be even half as successful.