June 28, 2026 · by David Gilbert · 3 min read · Radio & Broadcasting
I never set out to be a radio presenter. I fell into volunteering at 92.3FM 2YYY because the station needed someone who could talk about computers without sending the listeners to sleep, and somehow that turned into co-hosting Tech Time with David & Alex every second Sunday, plus filling in whenever someone's voice gives out or their car won't start. Since then, it's quietly become one of the most useful things I do for my actual day job.
Dead Air Is the Enemy, and So Is Jargon
The first lesson radio teaches you, brutally and immediately, is that silence is uncomfortable and confusing technical waffle is worse. If you start explaining something on air the way you'd explain it to another technician, you lose the listener in about four seconds. There's no body language to read, no "wait, what does that mean?" follow-up question — just a person in their car or kitchen either staying tuned or changing the station.
That forces you to get good, fast, at translating. Instead of "it's a firmware corruption issue affecting the bootloader," you learn to say "the bit of software that tells your phone how to even start up has gotten confused." Same information, completely different reach. I now catch myself doing this automatically in the shop — explaining a repair to a customer the way I'd explain it on air, not the way I'd explain it to another tech.
People Remember How You Made Them Feel, Not What You Said
I've taken calls live on air from listeners with broken devices, dodgy WiFi, and one memorable occasion, a smart fridge that had developed opinions about its owner's diet. None of those calls went well because I gave a technically perfect answer in record time. They went well when the caller felt heard, didn't feel stupid for asking, and walked away — or rather, hung up — with one clear, useful thing to try.
That's exactly the same skill that matters at the repair counter. Customers don't remember the specifics of what killed their hard drive. They remember whether they felt looked after or talked down to while it was happening.
Radio Also Teaches You to Recover Gracefully
Live broadcasting will, eventually, make a fool of you. I've fluffed station IDs, called a caller by the wrong name on air, and once introduced a song that turned out to be the wrong track entirely, live, with no warning. Nobody died. The show went on. What you learn — and what's transferable to absolutely every part of running a business — is that mistakes are recoverable if you handle them with a bit of humour and keep moving, rather than freezing up or over-apologising for ninety seconds while everyone waits.
Why I Keep Doing It
Honestly, I could've stopped long ago — it doesn't pay, and second-Sunday afternoons come around faster than you'd think. I keep doing it because allows me to connect with my local community and that the same people who hear me on air on Sunday might be in the shop on Tuesday, and that continuity matters in a country town. It also keeps me sharp in a way that nothing else does: there's no editing a live broadcast, no second take, no "let me rephrase that" once it's gone to air.