It might be a sign of how often I tune into the BBC that I’m beginning to feel tortured by the drip-feed of its catchphrase ‘This is our BBC’. This is accompanied by sundry celebrities rejoicing in the riches to be had for the payment of a licence fee, which currently stands at £180 per annum.

To some, such as Lord Moore of Etchingham, Thatcher’s biographer, this is more than they can bear, though for simply turning up at Westminster he can claim double that by way of daily allowance. For people like him, the licence fee is a tax he would rather not pay. Nor does he have to; all he need do is not watch or listen to any programmes and ignore demands to cough up.

I, on the other hand, am happy to pay. To me, the BBC is part of the glue that holds this increasingly disunited kingdom together. Like the NHS, it is a uniquely British institution, founded on the best of intentions with an egalitarian ethos and based on principles that are, even in the current climate, the envy of much of the world. It is our BBC, a reflection of this inchoate nation, with all its imperfections and glories.

It is because we care about it so much that we feel obliged to criticise it. Of late, however, the criticism has reached hysterical levels. I am sure that Herald readers do not need to be reminded of the howls of protest when venerable presenters on Radio Scotland were nudged aside to make way for younger broadcasters. Complainers were so exercised, it was as if a pontiff had been made redundant. Meanwhile, on television, River City was axed, which led to much gnashing of teeth. For those of us who were not addicts it felt a bit like being at a funeral for a person........

© Herald Scotland