THANK the Lord for John, the column's resident psychiatrist.

"I am hearing voices," I told him. "When?" he replied. "Mostly when I am driving," I replied.

"Your car radio is on," he said.

He was right. My confusion was caused by the lack of a radio in my previous car, my Nissan Dorma. Its sound system gave up around the time of punk and I was condemned to drive around with only my heart murmur as background noise.

Finally, to a sigh from the decomposing mass of rubbish in the back (I was sleeping there in a hiatus between wage cheques), the Nissan died.

I am now the very proud owner of a four-year-old Ford Fiesta which serves as a constant reminder of my achievements. The circumstance of tootling towards retirement in a second-hand car with all the power of a Flymo gives an irrefutable impression that life has not worked out the way one hoped.

But John's intervention has calmed me and my slalom run past the holes on Maryhill Road (just when did that meteorite hit?) is now accompanied by a commentary from Talksport.

I have taken to it the way Ollie Reed embraced all-day opening. My name is Hugh. I am a Talksport addict.

This obsession comes with the sort of self-loathing only normally experienced after finding oneself waking up to Edna the inebriate after an afternoon on the hair lacquer. And that only happened twice.

One knows instantly that one can be listening to rubbish. For example, Eamonn Holmes was on during the week. I would find it difficult to feign interest if Eamonn was telling me how much I had won on a lottery rollover week. His views on Manchester United are thus of as much intrigue as a discussion on the layout of the Baghdad phone book.

Darren Gough, too, can be wearing, though I have come up with a game that can be played while driving in search of enlightenment at a fitba' press conference. It involves counting how many cliches the former cricketer can string together. He can be breathtakingly spectacular: "The Championship is a hard league to get out of. No team is too good to be relegated, though goals change games and the big players always relish the big matches and when I were a player I always wanted to bounce back from a defeat. Manchester United will be hurting and a hurting Manchester United is a dangerous Manchester United and a dangerous Manchester United is a hurting Manchester United."

This splendid sequence was only spilled by Darren insisting: "By the way, I think Schopenhauer was bang out of order with his criticism of the proofs of the parallel postulate." It was hard to disagree but it broke the magic spell of cliche.

This appears, almost inevitably, throughout the day on Talksport but there is a comfort in that and also the regular rays of sunshine. Stan Collymore and Ray Houghton are good, insightful analysts who create discussion and there are some shows that chunter along quite nicely. Hawksbee and Jacobs can even be informative and it is impossible not to have a snigger with Alan Brazil, who also seems to be broadcasting from the snug bar of a pub next to a bookies.

The unctuous Richard Keys and the overly boisterous Andy Gray, both of whom washed up on Talksport after the wreckage of their time at Sky Sports, can be an acquired taste but regularly they provide interesting broadcasting and every now and again there is a veritable gem. They had Henning Berg on the other day and he was gently informative on working with Kenny Dalglish and Alex Ferguson and even presented a decent case as to why Robbie Keane was the most difficult player he faced. To a football obsessive, this is crack cocaine.

The real bag of high-grade mind-altering substance is not Darren's ramblings, however, but the uplifting narcotic of the marvellous interview.

I once listened to a Graeme Souness interview where the great midfielder talked about how he played the game as a young player and how he adapted in later life. It was brutally honest and it gave a wonderful insight on the game.

He also did not talk about Scottish football. And maybe that's why I like Talksport so much.