I may not be Welsh but...

I do have a bit of a thing about St David’s Day. It’s four years (four years!) since a few of us set out on a journey that will forever be known as the ‘radio tour’ (well, some had set out the day before, but that story isn’t mine to tell).

I remember how cold it was, how there was the remnants of snow on the ground in Stockton, and how I thought my feet were going to freeze in Blackpool. I remember the leeks in gift bags, the pink post it notes that led us to Salford Quays, and an incredibly successful piece of ‘research’ which took us into Manchester city centre. I remember the flags, the way we all ended up in the Manchester paper, even though none of us was from Manchester, and the old man’s pub in Blackpool (somewhere past the scary roundabout) where we ended the evening.

The following year, a few of us were at the Bedford in Balham, armed once again with leeks, listening to Fox singing, and having a conversation by post-it notes, and taking comedy pics whilst messing around on the stage, with that wonderful sparkly backdrop, not realising we were live on the internet via webcam.

The last few St David’s Days have been staid in comparison. But I think I will always look back and smile at the memories.