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And, to make matters worse, I keep finding the tune I want, and then discovering - after my credit card's been nibbled by Mr Apple - that I've ended up with some obscure live version, which is crap.

In the Top Gear office, this is causing much amusement since they are all convinced I'm a technological luddite, and that every time I try to send an email, somewhere in the world a plane crashes. This is true. I'm useless with email, because I'm not interested. Whenever I have more than four messages in my inbox, I just delete the lot.

But the iPod is different, because I am interested. So interested, in fact, that I've started buying all the accessories. The glass sound sticks for the sitting room and a base station for the kitchen. I've also begun burning CDs and transferring songs onto my telephone. And I've even started a complete redesign on the interior of my soon-to-be-delivered Ford.

You see, it's no good just having a radio, because radio stations have a nasty habit of playing songs I don't like, and a CD player is similarly outdated because, with the exception of Hunky Dory, Pretzel Logic, Who's Next and Dark Side of the Moon, all albums feature at least one track which is fairly poor.

That's what the iPod eradicates - even the slightest possibility that you might encounter a moment of unpleasantness over which you have no control. Now, because I put the songs in it, I am in charge. And no-one need know what those songs are.

This is fantastic. Sitting there, with two white wires coming out of my ears and everyone thinking I must be listening to 7 Year Bitch. When, in fact, I've got dead Glen warbling away in my head. And in a minute, he'll be replaced with The Moody Blues.