DON'T you just love this new digital age?

My telly has 70 or so channels to choose from, of which I watch around seven. Channel-hopping with the remote shows that I don't seem to be missing much the further up the Freeview list I go - although the discovery of +1 plus channels for ITV, Channel 4 and Five has been a boon.

It was only fairly recently that I discovered that the radio's on the telly, too. This means I can get Radio 4 as clear as a bell while doing my ironing - a task I now want to reserve for noon on Sundays or 6.30pm on weekdays, when the comedy programmes are on.

Radio 4's comedy output has been a part of my life for decades, as familiar and comforting as tinned tomato soup. Mondays have always been a favourite, though we are currently in that fallow period when neither Just a Minute nor I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue is on air; series 62 of ISIHAC, as it's known to aficionados, ended last Christmas.

It was possibly due to withdrawal symptoms that I found myself buying tickets for ISIHAC on tour; Sunday, August 9 is now ringed on the calendar.

I know exactly what we're going to get - four players being given silly things to do, some good old saucy, seaside postcard-style smut with the lovely (but imaginary) Samantha, and a litany of the grottiest puns ever.

ISIHAC was devised in 1972 by ex-Goodie Graeme Garden, who along with buddy Tim Brooke-Taylor, has appeared ever since. The classic line-up also featured Barry Cryer and Willie Rushton, and the show was chaired by the inimitable Humphrey Lyttleton. Rushton and Humph are sadly deceased; they have been ably replaced by Jeremy Hardy and Jack Dee.

Fans have their own favourite games; mine is the Uxbridge English Dictionary, in which familiar words are given updated definitions. What's not to love about Brittany: a bit like Britain, or Gregorian: someone unsure about his name?

So, we shall roll up to the Edinburgh Playhouse in the summer, ready to welcome late arrivals at the Frenchman's Ball (Mr and Mrs Allouette, and their son, Jonty), learn about film prequels we have missed (Apocalypse Soon) sing one song to the tune of another, or navigate the London Underground network to Mornington Crescent.

By then, we may have news of another series of Just A Minute, in which one must talk for 60 seconds without hesitation, deviation or repetition. Be sure to tune in; it's very very good.

Damn, who just buzzed?