Being born in the 1960s with a visual impairment, radio became the core of my daily life and it's live radio that excites me the most. The sheer unpredictability of the medium gives me such a thrill both as a listener and a broadcaster.

Being born in the 1960s with a visual impairment, radio became the core of my daily life and it's live radio that excites me the most. The sheer unpredictability of the medium gives me such a thrill both as a listener and a broadcaster.

In my time at BBC Scotland, my reports have, in the main, been pre-recorded items for radio and TV. However, before joining the corporation, my experience had been of live broadcasting on small commercial and community radio stations. So you can imagine my excitement when I was invited by the editor of BBC Radio Scotland's morning phone-in show Morning Extra, to present the programme while the regular host was on holiday. I didn't hesitate for a second and said yes.

And now for the practicalities. How the hell was I going to do it? I have to rely heavily on my memory, mostly because I'm not fast enough with reading Braille scripts. As the modern radio studio pulses with all kinds of technology, as well as text and e-mail messages, I would have to work closely with the production team to keep communication quick, clear and concise.

I love technology. Frustratingly, however, almost all of it in the studio is completely inaccessible to me, as it relies on vision. I could have used speech software to help me - however, the reality is my brain trying to listen simultaneously to a computer voice telling me one thing, producers in my ear telling me another, telephone callers telling me something else. Oh, yes, and remember to listen and respond to callers, while broadcasting live to the nation. This would have been, even for me, a tad overwhelming.

So, the technology was out of the question, and other methods had to be found to solve some fundamental problems such as accessing texts and e-mails and knowing callers' names, as well as the quantity of callers waiting on the line. The solution was so simple in the end. All I had to do was create a range of hand signals for communicating with the team, and they could answer via my headphones. Actually, it was no different than it would have been for a sighted broadcaster before the advent of computers in the studio.

One finger in the air meant "Who the hell am I talking to as I've forgotten their name?" Two fingers in the air requested the name of my next caller. When reversed, the signal could also refer to the producer's and studio manager's performance behind the soundproof glass. Five fingers in the air were to let me know if we had enough callers coming through. If I touched my wrist, they would let me know the time to my next item in the running order. The texts and e-mails were handled by my assistant, Preeti, but how was I going to know when she had some messages to read? Preeti couldn't talk to me as it would have been picked up by my microphone. At the end of the first week, I did suggest using a piece of string. One end I could tie to my finger and if she had any messages to read out she could give it a sharp tug, then I would know. Preeti thought this was a stupid idea, much to my disappointment. So, instead, she told the booth by typing a note and they relayed the message to my headphones. I still think my string idea was a good one. However, if she had pulled too hard I could have found myself and the chair being hurled across the studio.

With everything organised I took to the airwaves.

With the show starting at 9am the content of the programme wasn't agreed until 7.30, so I had to get in before seven to do some basic swotting. That meant an early rise at 5am as I live some distance from the BBC studios in Glasgow.

Both my guide-dog, Moss, and I had real shocks getting up so early. After numerous attempts to wake him, he would eventually stagger to his paws, bleary-eyed and totter shakily down stairs. If I didn't lash him to the dining table by his lead, he would slink back to his bed. Most mornings it could take me three attempts to get him up and out the front door. Once I got him to the studio, his protests about being woken so early continued. He lay under my desk, groaning, yawning and grunting loudly as if in despair at the callers' views. It was like he was saying, "Heavens above, get on with it and get to your point, my life is ebbing away and labradors don't live that long."

It's been a few weeks since I presented Morning Extra, so I've had ample opportunity to reflect upon the experience. What struck me the most was the strong sense of community among the callers. The presenter keeps the programme moving forward and the callers benefit from getting to know each other. Some become regulars who know exactly what their role is and how the format works. Very professional. Plus, it doesn't matter what the subject is: they always have a strong opinion. Some days I wondered if the regular callers were up at seven swotting like me in preparation to call in.

Did I enjoy it? Yes, most definitely. Would I do it again? Absolutely. If Moss had the choice would he? Probably not.