Yesterday evening, I was in a hotel room near Warwick, getting ready to go out with some colleagues. I put the radio on, because I thought it would be nice to have some music, and went to the bathroom to ablute. Anyway, I'm on the pot, and by now committed, when I heard the dj mutter these most scary of words; "And now, as promised, three from Yes". I'm not a man who likes to be hurried, as I tend to the point of view that straining away is a short cut to a serious injury, but I tell you, those seven words proved perhaps the most effective laxative I have ever experienced.
Yes? Not on my radio, we don't.
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