THANK God for Kate Bush.

Were I the praying sort, I'd get down on my knees every night and intone these words to the Great Bawheid.

As it is, I am deeply grateful for Kate Bush and, indeed, to BBC Four for bringing a bonkers week to a close with two programmes tonight showcasing her Kateness in all her glory.

I take it Kate needs no introduction. Still, my training on a newspaper of record bids me confirm: Kate Bush, the singer, songwriter, musician and, er, beacon of light. Ain't nothing but the truth.

At 9.10pm, you can watch a documentary, The Kate Bush Story, followed by a compilation of the singer's performances at the Beeb. I am so looking forward to it.

Reader's voice: "Aye, right. Fine lookin' wummin, as I recall. But you mentioned a bonkers week earlier and I am concerned."

Aw, that's nice of you, though, as we shall see, there's much more to Kate than looks. I won't burden you with much detail about the bonkers week. I'm just so tired of it all.

Job losses at a shipyard: "Salmond accused." The Astronomer Royal is voting against independence because somebody's building a gym in front of Ben Nevis. More Plan B: have they no Issue B? Gordon Brown says independence threatens cross-border organ transplants and blood transfusions, despite the NHS repeatedly denying this.

A Better No' campaigner's case: "Why the hassle?" Scotland: the country that doesn't want to control its own affairs because it can't be bothered.

And, frankly, if you believe Brown on anything, I've a sultana scone here with the face of Elvis on it that you can have for £120.

I'm not dragging Kate into this insanity. As far as I'm aware, she's steered well clear. She's a progressive lass, so you'd think Yes, but if she's bought into the widespread English misconception that it's some kind of ethnic Braveheart thing, she'd probably say No. But at least it would be with love.

One of her early songs was Oh England My Lionheart, which I never minded but which she now abjures with some other early stuff. Me, I still love the early stuff. I know: cliched thing to say about any artist.

But I preferred her when she was naive and questing to today, when she is wiser and more melancholy. Mind you, I preferred me back then too. We were all better when our voices were higher.

If untutored, you might only recall something about Kate's high notes, along with images of a lassie in a long white dress warbling aboot yon Heathcliff out of Wuthering Heights.

Fair enough. It's what set her, in 1978 at the tender age of 19, on the road to stardom. But it also set her on the path to creative freedom and an extraordinary body of work that means such a lot to so many people.

For this is a deep, intuitive intelligence at work. And it is the work of a writer, in the sense of a wise wielder of words (just like me, ken?), as well as a singer and musician. More prosaically, Kate Bush's career is also a triumph for autonomy in the face of corporate crassness, and an inspiration to female artists in particular.

She fought the suits so she could follow her vision. She doesn't like fame. She likes gardening. They call her a recluse, but she's nothing of the sort. She's just a quiet, sensitive soul.

As the author Neil Gaiman, one of a huge number of famous contributors to tonight's documentary, puts it: she has "the willingness to be quiet until it's time to speak".

Wish we could say the same for some political folk. Makes no odds now. The week is done. At 9.10pm tonight, I draw the curtains and get the chocolate out.

Perhaps they'll show Cloudbusting, a song concerning political psychologist (and would-be weather changer) Wilhelm Reich, about whom coincidentally I wrote my college thesis. But it ain't all about Them Heavy People. I could just as easily settle for: "Touch me. Hold me. How my open arms ache!" Hing oan a second, hen. Trying to eat my chocolate here.