Walked up towards the transmitter after work and decided, with no supporting evidence, that I should take the steeper path. Halfway up I was answering a voice message and had to stop because I sounded as if I was presenting from inside a washing machine. Put the phone away and carried on more slowly. Once I reached the top the breeze felt wonderful through my shirt, though my back was damp and I could hear my own breathing above the traffic. On air I am always deciding where a breath belongs. Out there my body was quite capable of making that decision without consulting the presenter. Stayed till I cooled down.

I listened again to an elder describing his first journey away from home, and the best part was a long pause where he seemed to be remembering the road before he could describe it. For radio I keep wanting to shorten it. Then I worry that without it his answer sounds like something prepared for me, not something he was discovering while we talked. I have listened so many times I can no longer tell whether the silence feels alive or simply too long. My fiancée suggested playing it for somebody who wasn't there. Sensible advice, annoyingly. I am very good at asking other people questions, less good at admitting I need a listener.

My father sent a message after the programme pointing out one word I had rushed. One word out of a whole morning! I laughed when I showed my fiancée, but I was irritated underneath and she knew it. Later he phoned about something else and mentioned a caller whose contribution he had enjoyed, so clearly he had listened to more than the mistake. That softened me, though I still wanted him to say the programme was good without making me extract it. Thirty-one years old and waiting for a mark. I give strangers encouragement for a living, yet a small bit from him can occupy the whole evening.