I was booked to do a quick thing on a local BBC radio station yesterday and obviously whenever you do this, if you can, you listen to the show. Tune in a bit early, which is now amazingly easy because of live streaming over the internet, hear how your bit is being promoted, hear what else is going on.

It’s not always possible, you can be bouncing from station to station with no time in between. But I love it when I can do this because I think it makes my bit better. I can more engage with the show and the presenter and the listeners because I can do a callback to something they’ve just heard or said.

Fine. So far, so obvious. Only, this time as I’m listening away, it felt like I short-circuited. There was a fella on before me doing a review thing and it was abruptly like I’m simultaneously at my desk now and I’m sitting in a radio studio years ago. I used to do that, I said aloud.

There must’ve been at least a pixel of regret that I wasn’t still doing it, surely, but after the jolt of remembering, the main feeling was relief that I didn’t have to do it any more. It was something that took a hell of a lot of time and effort, time and effort that today I’m not that interested in. Not for that job, that role.

I am a lot older than the keen little William Gallagher who used to do those things, but I wonder if the difference is more than age. I wonder if it’s that I’m more selective. Back in the day, you say yes to everything or you do everything until someone says no.

Now I have a better idea of how much time and effort something is likely to take, and I suppose I can triage. You would hope so after a lot of years working, but sometimes I think things that are obvious still need saying, still need being brought to your own attention.

Such as this. I work early mornings, I would work late night except I crash out asleep, and I typically work through weekends. I’ve known for a long time that I need to give something up.

But it was listening to this fella that reminded me that I have given things up, that I can give them up, that we can move on.

I’m conscious that I think I’m juggling a lot and then I look at you and all you’re doing. I feel a bit feeble. But I am feeble, then, and I should own it. I need to focus more, stop spreading the effort and concentrate it better.

Or have chocolate.