From radio days to Houghton’s bullet over Broadway, now finally home

“‘CHAPTER ONE. He adored New York City. He idolised it all out of proportion... no, make that: he – he romanticised it all out of proportion. Yes. To him, no matter what the season was, this was still a town that existed in black and white and pulsated to the great tunes of George Gershwin.’ No, no, corny, too corny for a man of my taste. Can we... can we try and make it more profound?” – Woody Allen, Manhattan.

I remember growing up – and this wasn’t long ago – listening to football matches on the radio.

Close your eyes momentarily and remember a greener land unscarred by throbbing neon-fronted head shops; where Lady Gaga was what happened when we had an apparition in Ballinspittle, where a Grand Slam was like Poll Tax – something we knew they had across the water.