Dum di dum di dum di dum... The first notes of "Barwick Green" – The Archers’ theme tune - are enough to summon me to the nearest radio to find out the latest goings on in the village of Ambridge. It’s formed a background to my life ever since I can remember.

The first pilot of the soap was broadcast in May 1950 – as petrol rationing ended - and it was originally designed as an entertaining way to give out information on farming issues. It’s now the world’s longest running radio drama serial, going out six days a week on Radio 4. And, although farming still plays a central role, there’s much more to The Archers these days than turnips and milk yields. In recent years, we've heard, among other things, of extra marital affairs, rape, breast cancer, suicide, dementia, eating disorders, domestic violence and racism. In the latest plotline, the gay chef, Ian, and his partner, Adam, are divided over the prospect of becoming surrogate fathers.

One of the joys of The Archers is that it relies on the imagination of listeners. The best pictures are always on the radio. So, while you can see the cast of  television soaps, in The Archers you’re left to imagine their appearance and settings. I have my own ideas about what the long-suffering Clarrie Grundy looks like and the girlfriend-beating cad, Simon Pemberton: the man memorably labelled “a bit of a sh*t” by Anna Ford on the Today programme.

As the drama is actually in your home - in the kitchen, the bedroom, wherever you have a radio – it’s an intimate medium. You feel you are actually there with the characters.

When Greg Turner committed suicide, I was there as the body was found; I was with Usha when she was attacked by racist thugs. And when Sid and Jolene got steamy in the shower, I felt, unfortunately, there with them too. It can be gripping, infuriating and, at times, rather embarrassing. I’ve been known to shout at the radio in exasperation – telling Jennifer that her husband is having an affair, imploring Will and Emma to stop arguing, urging Susan Carter to stop protecting her no-good brother, Clive Horrobin.

Of course, it's not all excitement. There's a limit to how much enthusiasm even I can summon for Lynda Snell’s annual Christmas entertainment. But it beats EastEnders and Coronation Street any day – and I can’t quite imagine life without it.