Sometime around the pandemic years, I began to notice that when friends called to catch up, alongside the customary news about careers, marriages, and offspring, they would update me on the fortunes of their favourite podcaster. 

The trend reached a harrowing crescendo when an acquaintance of mine somehow became a devout listener to The Rest Is Politics and started keeping me informed about the latest exploits of his imagined companions, ‘Alastair’ and ‘Rory’. (Worst of all, his favourite of the two is Rory. I can think of only a handful of worse things to discover about a friend.) 

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The illusion of intimacy is understandable because podcasts are the most intimate form of modern media yet devised. We listen while jogging, commuting, cooking, walking the dog, or staring into the darkness at three in the morning. The hosts’ voices fill the quiet spaces of our lives with chat, humour, and hot takes.  

Dedicated listeners like me hear the voices of their favourite podcasters for more hours each week than we do the voices of many of our relations. Which is extraordinary, really. Over time, it’s easy to begin to feel as though we........

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