It was my inner masochist and the usual failure to ensure a decent supply of CDs were readily to hand that made me listen to James Blunt in Jo Whiley’s Live Lounge somewhere on the West Midlands stretch of the M6, but there was something mesmerising in Whiley’s total adoration and sycophancy. She fancies him so much it almost makes her cry.
You’re getting older…
Wish I was sober…
Then I would bone ya
When he struck up his cover version things got a little Rolf Harris – ‘can you tell what it is yet?’ – as someone appeared to be making noise with a piece of bendy cardboard.