Having been an admirer of  Mr D. Baker’s radio products since his Saturday and Sunday mornings on Radio 1, (as well as his majestic and deeply mourned ‘Ahoy-hoy’ Talksport and Five Live ‘Two Dannies’ shows in association with Mr Kelly), I awaited the coming of his Radio London slot with anticipation.  As I recall Dr Kuo didn’t appear in the earliest days and it was a few weeks before I became aware of the great man’s oeuvre. 
 

In those far-off days David’s words of ‘wisdom’ were preceded by a snatch of Quo at 6:45-ish and I recall realising one morning that I had unconsciously turned the volume up on hearing his ‘theme tune’.  The hookah pipe was working. I became irritable if I missed an episode.  I found myself putting in a tape before leaving for work.  Daily fixes became no longer enough.  Some days I would listen in the car and then again in the evening.  And then something happened that, to this day, I still can’t fully explain.  My dependency was now such that I began to write the dates on the tapes and…keep them.  This was in July 2003.  I suppose that ‘anally-retentive’ is not a term usually applied to vegetarians, but I now have 34 tapes.  That’s 34. I am incapable of covering the little tabs with Sellotape and reusing them.  My lips, in the words of Mr Baker, are welded to the pipe.

David’s fascinating mixture of capitalistic selfishness and well-intentioned fascism was at first anathema to me.  I get as over-excited as Mark O’Donnell,(and consequently as Sally from Nunhead), when Tony Benn is to be the studio guest and I met the Good Doctor’s pronouncements with a sneering, dismissive attitude which I kept only for Tory ministers.  Then, after a few months, pity began to enter into the equation: this man actually believes what he says.  Today, partly because we all know what to expect, I regard him as a warm, caring eccentric who is just plain wrong.  We agree to disagree.

David brings out the best in Danny, (and in Mark and Amy), in terms of wit and humour.  His slot is genuinely amusing and invariably bears a second listening.  It often feels as if the whole thing is scripted, it’s that polished.  I know more about David’s home-life, foibles and predilections than I do about those of my friends.  His fifteen minute slot is, (Pseuds’ Corner here we come), a microcosm of the whole Tree House World: entertaining, witty but, hey, it’s not for everyone.

A few months ago my brother turned up at the studio and played his penny whistle live on air.  (I felt like Sandra Bernhard to his De Niro in King of Comedy, but that’s a different story).  The first thing he said to me after was “It’s all real”.  And there you have it. 

David’s slot is an integral part of the show.  I know I’m sad but then so are those out there who, for example, have ‘phoned in to claim a film star.  Or to join a non-existent, spurious club.

John in South Darenth, (‘Will Hay’ and Platinum Club member 630)