If the murmuration, mohomes, Top Bird Trumpingtons and “Pauline!” mean nothing to you, then you’ve obviously never tuned in to Radio 2 at 6pm on a Saturday evening for two hours of the most joyous, slightly bonkers show on the airwaves.
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”.
This isn’t supposed to be an obituary, but you can bet that for her thousands of ardent listeners – aka the murmuration – a little light went out when they heard that their Saturday evening lodestar was disappearing. Before the news of her departure broke, and while it seemed she was only on a sabbatical, a colleague commented that there would be “uproar” if Radio 2 got rid of Liza. As it is, there will be plenty of wailing and gnashing of teeth.
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.
The more outrageous of these tales could induce one of the most delightful sounds on the radio, as Liza struggled to hold it together while dissolving into a fit of giggles at the sheer madness of it all. Her approach often followed the Mel Brooks adage, “Stubbing your toe on the sidewalk is a tragedy; falling into an open sewer and dying is comedy,” with the more terrible the listener in the story’s personal anguish, the more guffaws it could elicit.
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."
Posting on Instagram about her departure, Liza returned the compliment: “We made 2 hrs of radio feel like a private members club, that's the stuff of dreams. Thousands of people enjoyed each other's company like great friends... Thank you for letting me in, it's been a privilege.”
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.
“Basically, we’re after a good laugh. I’m enjoying our running thread about things dropping on people’s heads. There was an email the other week from a guy who had a squirrel fall out of a tree and land on his head. In the ensuing panic, a load of school kids pointed and laughed. Perfect.”
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!”
She was surely the only BBC presenter who could get away with something like that, and in the announcement of Liza’s departure, Helen Thomas, head of Radio 2 – on FM, DAB and on your smart trousers – said: “Every Saturday evening, Liza created a truly magical, fantastical world. She was beloved by everyone at the station and all her listeners, and the door at Radio 2 will always be open for her.” We can but wish...
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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