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So I cried at Wogan's final words on his breakfast show on Radio 2 this morning. I have to say that I'm a sucker for 1950's sentimental songs which were on the playlist in their sugary bucketload. "My funny Valentine" gets me every time. That combined with an audible catch in the great broadcaster's voice and I was away. I wasn't even a regular visitor but you always knew he was there. A bit like the speaking clock, stolid, dependable. although the speaking clock has never reduced me to tears.

I met Sir Terry a few years ago when I was working on a ´óÏó´«Ã½ NI tv series "Brian Kennedy on Song" and he was one of the talking heads. He was only supposed to be with us for 15 minutes but ended up staying with us for 45 mins and I remember thinking how much he reminded me of my dad. That old school charm with a twinkle in his eye and easy banter about the Irish songs he liked and didn't like. A generation of men who are sadly dying away.

Hearing the accolades to him on the 9 o'clock news this morning on Radio 2, Gordon Brown leading the praise, if you had just tuned in you would be forgiven for thinking that Limerick's finest son had popped his clogs. So there was more than a hint of ironyto hear Wogan off the back of the news repeat what Sarah Kennedy had said to him earlier this morning about it being good to hear your own obituary while you're still alive.

Enjoy your lie-ins Sir Terry. It isn't just the TOGs who will miss you.

I was in the car this morning listening to Morrissey on Desert Island Discs when my 2 year old shouted from the back seat "what's that noise?" The "noise" was "The Black Angel's Death Song" by The Velvet Underground.

"What's that noise?" was then replaced by "nee naw...nee naw". I looked around for a fire engine or ambulance. None. Then the"nee naw" again. And there it was. In among all the feedback and dissonance, John Cale's electric viola sounding like a siren. I would never have thought to describe it so simply.

And it made me think about another Morrissey, poet Sinead Morrissey whose new collection "through the square window"(Carcanet Press) is out now.

She told me in an interview this week on yesterday's "artsextra" that watching her son learn to talk has made her rethink how she looks at language. The mother and the poet being changed by a three year old.

He's the subject of the new poem "Dash" in which his new grasp of words, two of them being"longer please!" holds her and her partner "hostage", whether it be staying in the bath longer or in the playground.

"Longer please" has reshaped a poet. "What's that noise" has reshaped a classic song.