Or, to put that another way, hitradcrdwyaelehdi. Your time starts now.
Updated, 24 hours later: Some people have been surprised at the intense outpouring of emotions at news of RW’s untimely demise. After some reflection on the bus, I have come to the conclusion that it stands to reason, really.
See, I think there are clear parallels to be made between the passing of Richard Whitely yesterday, and John Peel’s exit, last year.
Consider the characters in question:
- Both a bit bumbing.
- Both slightly awkward broadcasters.
- Both personal and honest in an endearing, yet sometimes almost cringeworthy way.
- Both presenters of niche-appeal shows.
- Both adored by their respected fanbases (older people, students) for different shows (Countdown/Calendar, Peel Sessions/Home Truths), and lauded as irreplaceable in either context.
- Both long-running fixtures on the screen or airwaves.
- Both strangely reminiscent of an embarassing but much-loved uncle.
You see, Whitely is the word-lover’s Peel. What Peel inspired in a generation music afficianados, Whitely (with his smug merry men of Richard Stilgoe and Giles Brandreth) brought to dictionaries and - for goodness sake - maths puzzles. Whitely and Peel: the geeks of broadcasting, over twenty years.
There’ll be a tent in his honour at Hay-on-Wye next year, you mark my words. A stripy tent. Pink and yellow.
