As I mentioned the other day, today I got to present the Saturday Breakfast Show.

I went to bed early, in the knowledge that my alarm clock would be going off at 4.05am, and there was no scope for hitting snooze and dozing back off to sleep.

There had been a Colorado Bloggers drink set to take place that night, but I decided it was best if I didn't go. I know what I'm like. If I got to a bar, especially one who's staff were prepared to pour me pints of Guinness, there's no way I'd have managed to pull myself away and return home at a sensible hour for getting up at 4am the next day.

I managed to sleep, but it seemed that I was destined to be woken up at regular intervals. If it wasn't Miles clumping in and out of my bedroom, it was people in the street outside, staggering back to their cars, to slam the doors, and drive home, half-drunk, praying not to get pulled over by the police.

Consequently, at 4am this morning, I felt like I hadn't slept. I crawled out into the world, and made a whole pot of coffee, which I decanted into a flask, for use during the show. It was the usual French Roast, made to industrial strength. Strong enough to knock out a horse.

It's surprising just how many people are driving around at 5.20am on a Saturday.

Overnight, the station is on "automatic pilot" - taking a feed from the Jazz Satellite Network, out of San Francisco, and interspersing it with KUVO station idents. I had to pick my moment in the proceedings in San Fran, and come in live, starting the breakfast show.

As the clock got near 6am, my friend Susan's voice cut in, to identify the Jazz Satellite Network on KUVO, catching me slightly off guard, and before I knew it, I was punching my mic on, and reading out the top-of-the-hour legal ID.

Because I'd been caught off guard, I was forced to read the whole thing out, on half a breath. I must have sounded a little strange, as I then gulped air, and introduced myself and the show, all the time sounding like I'd just been running to catch a bus.

After that, things settled down. The rest of the three hours of the show sailed slowly by, without any major screw-ups.

Amongst other things, I played Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong singing Gershwin's, "Let's Call The Whole Thing Off", in honour of certain other on-air talents, who like to point out my different pronunciation of certain words to the listening public, whenever I wander into the . Afterwards, I assured the listeners that there was, in fact, no such word as "Po-tar-to".