When I am no longer driving 43 kms to work every morning I will miss the radio traffic report.
I will have no reason to fear the gale force winds on the Westgate, the upturned truck on the Tulla or the hoon racer on the ring road. I won’t care if it’s chockers on the Chandler, there’s a bingle on Burke in Balwyn and the usual mess at the South Gippy merge.
Boomgates at level crossings all over the city may refuse to budge but what’ll that be to me?
On the way home I will miss listening to The Ox on SEN, particularly that wacky segment, 'The Name Game' but also Leigh Paatsch’s film reviews, Julie Hancock’s astonishingly educational 'Beer O’Clock', the absurd 'Turfy’s Betting Exchange', and that marketing communications expert who advises footy players on how to extract themselves from their latest alcohol induced public act of idiocy.
I’d never bother to switch on this blokey banality if I weren’t confined to a car. Still, I am going to miss you Oxy.
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