Let me tell you about the time I… embarrassed myself on National Radio.

Next to take on one of the well-known Chick Named Hermia post themes is Sarah from The Licentiate

It should come as no surprise to the people who read my blog that I wasn’t the cool kid at school.  I wasn’t even one of the average kids.  I was the weird kid.  I liked weird music and dated weird boys and knew weird facts and had weird hair.  I was OK with that.

I also had no social skills whatsoever.  This would eventually right itself when I went to college and learned the fine art of exchanging banter for pints of cheap cider with plastered Law students in the Old Bar in UCC.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.  Rewind back to transition year, and those pints have yet to even grow into apples.

I listened religiously to Rick O’Shea on 2FM every night while I pretended to do my homework.  Every night there was a competition (the name of which escapes me) and the prizes were always good – gig tickets and CDs mostly.  He would play the first second of a song, then you would call in, guess correctly, have a chat on air, then toddle off into the sunset with some musical swag.

However, the last time that I won ANYTHING was a raffle in second class.  I won a dusty poster, which must have dated from the early seventies, of a small girl with a single tear running down her face.  That, and a mini crucifix.  As prizes go, it wasn’t amazing (the primary school I went to was run by nuns, in case you didn’t guess).  I just don’t win things.  So I stopped entering competitions and raffles.

This time however, I knew I was going to win.  I KNEW.  So when the phone rang and it was 2FM on the other line, I was not surprised.  Incredibly nervous, but not surprised.  I correctly identified the song, then accidentally dropped my phone on the bedroom floor.  Clunk.  I don’t know how that must have sounded to the people listening.  They must have thought that I had fainted, what with the excitement of winning tickets to Busted and all.

Then, the moment came.  Rick O’Shea asked me if I was nervous.  I said no.  He asked me why.

I told him that I ‘just knew’ he was going to call.  This, in hindsight, was the point where it all went wrong.  He asked me if I was psychic.  And for no reason whatsoever, I said that I was.

‘YES RICK, I AM PSYCHIC’

*cue dead air*

He said, ‘Really’?

And I can’t remember where the conversation went after that.  I was too mortified.

And that was the pinnacle of my radio fame.  On the upside, I also got tickets to Beck and Massive Attack, and made an excellent profit scalping the Busted tickets.  Every cloud has a silver lining and all that.

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7 Comments

Filed under Let me tell you about the time I....

7 responses to “Let me tell you about the time I… embarrassed myself on National Radio.

  1. omg, that reminds me about being on the radio loads when I was growing up. Never won any prizes, though. 😦

    great post btw!
    xx

  2. A crucifix and a poster of a crying girl! Ahaha! Oh those crazy nuns.

  3. studentzen

    I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU SOLD THE BUSTED TICKETS!! That made me die a little inside. However you made up for it with a very funny story!

  4. Sarah

    ha I love it but you knew I’d love it, your physic powers are astonishing!

  5. Thats so funny i love Rick O’Shea! and i love your blog too..im in 6th year and i was thinking about doing journalism in DCU next year, would you reccomend it? love finding fellow irish bloggers 🙂 xx

  6. Oh I remember Rick’s programme too! School the next day centered around what he talked about and played!

  7. I hope you didn’t sclap that beautiful poster Sarah? Funny post 😉

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