Now, sadly, you will never have that experience, as the host of that gem in the BBC’s crown, the incomparable Liza Tarbuck, has said that after some time off, she will not be returning to the show as she’d “like her weekend back”.
For since she took up residence in 2012, up until what would turn out to be her final show on 17 January this year, she grew a devout community of followers all too willing to share their silly family sayings, elderly relatives’ confused malapropisms, tales of stupidity and woe, and most importantly, what they’re cooking for dinner and where they have parked the motorhome (mohome) for the night.
Yet none of it was done with spite or malice; there was a genuine mutual feeling of love for her family of listeners – for beyond the mentions of “dad” and “Pauline!”, it was those who wrote in, took part in the weekly fancy dress ice skating, or simply listened in for an uplifting, eclectic playlist that could range from a 1920s New Orleans jazz side to Bruno Mars, who became a strange, widespread family. A bit like a murmuration when you come to think about it.
On the morning after the announcement, one member of that flock was quick to share their admittedly bittersweet appreciation, writing to Radio Times, "The quirkiest, funniest, most eagerly anticipated show: Liza Tarbuck on a Saturday evening, whether we were in our caravan or not, the most eclectic, brilliant, funniest show on that station with a choice of music second to none. Yet, suddenly, it is no more."
Writing in Radio Times in 2022, to mark the show’s tenth anniversary, under the heading, Chaos by Appointment, Liza pinned the success of the show squarely on those on-air friends, “That longevity is all thanks to our marvellous listeners and their stories. We get the most messages of any show on the station (about 50 texts and emails per minute) so there’s a lot to wade through.
As chaotic as the show may have seemed, leading many to suspect that Liza was either suffering from some kind of menopausal meltdown or had one or two glasses too many of “lady petrol” beforehand, it was a carefully constructed two hours – despite Liza always seeming surprised when the ice skating music played in – in which she wore her music knowledge lightly (though she would arrive at the studio early to check that the correct versions of everything on the playlist were cued up) and was more likely to introduce an oldie with what would now be considered questionable lyrics with a cheery, “Listen to this idiot!”
But as Liza skates off into the distance, wearing a gold lamé jumpsuit festooned with chaffinches, a silver-tipped feather boa and a Carmen Miranda fruit-and-nut hat made specially for the occasion, all that remains is to name her in six words or less:
Shine on you crazy diamond.
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