REMEMBERING NICK CLARKE

Terrible news about Nick Clarke, a fantastic broadcaster and the antithesis of the "look-at-me-I’m-famous" breed of interviewer. His biography of Alistair Cooke possesses the same kind of quiet poise. 

I hope this doesn't sound in bad taste, but I wonder how the self-effacing Clarke would have felt about the idea of his programme, The World At One, devoting virtually an hour to memorializing him. I’ve just finished listening. The longer the tributes went on (it’s normally only a 30-minute show remember) the more uneasy I felt. Somehow it reminded me of the first edition of Crimewatch following the murder of Jill Dando, when the usual gung-ho music and flashing blue lights were replaced by respectful silence and church-like gloom. Her death was terrible and inexplicable - and, yes, everyone felt she was their sister - but I still couldn’t quite see how her death differed from the other tragic cases shown each week. Journalists are a notoriously callous bunch. Maybe we just don't know how to do grief properly.