A face for radio

I was minding my own business, taking a lunchtime stroll around the Albert Dock in Liverpool on Friday, when a car screeched to a halt beside me and a young woman leapt out:

"Are you the Real Radio Renegade?" she gasped, excitedly.
"I beg your pardon."
"Are you the Real Radio Renegade?"
"Do you know, I think that might just be the oddest question anyone has ever asked me."
"But are you the Real Radio Renegade?"
"Erm… No."

The young woman leapt back into her car and tore off.

Five minutes later, as I was passing the Liverpool Tate Gallery, another young woman hurried up to me:

"Are you the Real Radio Renegade?" she asked.
"Do you know, you're not the first person to ask me that," I said.

It's an easy enough mistake to make, I suppose. After all, I do look rather renegade-ish.

Just as I was leaving the Albert Dock a few minutes later, yet another young woman approached me. This one seemed a bit more shy.

"Before you ask," I said, "no, I'm not."

It turns out this chap on the left is the one they were after:

Renegade
The real Real Radio Renegade (L).

Ginger! How very dare you!


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