Radio Ga Ga

It was just a slip of the tongue when I announced 'the next record is Radio Ga Ga', when I meant to say 'Lady Gaga' - but I think I got away with it. When my friend Neil offered me his father's boat to renovate, I didn't envisage this happening. Or perhaps I did.

On Friday evening, The World's Smallest Pirate Radio Station went on air for the first (and very possibly the last!) time. The Jolly Rodger was hoisted up on the aerial mast (actually my decorator's pole from B&Q), on top of the newly named Los Amigos.

'Good evening the World. It's six o'clock in England, one o'clock in Montreal and nine o'clock in Moscow'. We were off.

I had one of those "Oh, F**K" moments when I glanced up from my "studio" inside The Boat For My Potplants and saw literally hundreds of people on the quay who had gathered to witness The World's Biggest Cock-Up. The next time I have a bright idea, maybe I should keep it to myself, I thought.

But in fact it all went swimmingly well, and the four-hour show went by in a flash of mayhem.

Able Seaman Martyn sauntered around looking for nice ladies to interview on his roaming microphone.

Jerry from Radio Wivenhoe kept things steady-as-she-goes inside the "control room" on top of the kitchen (er, galley) sink inside the cabin.

Folks sat at the pub's tables with their transistor radios adorned with skull and crossbones stuck to their aerials.

And 'Erindoors became 'Eroutdoors, as Jane went round with the bucket, doing a fine job collecting money for The Wivenhoe Royal British Legion, as people paid for their favourite song to be played.