Scott Mills has been fired from the Radio 2 breakfast show, leaving a yawning beige gap of vapidity. Who could possibly replace him?

An oscillating electric fan: Many people have heard the rattling, rhythmic tones of a fan turning from side to side and thought ‘Fair play, that’s better than the recurring Scott Mills feature 24 Years at the Tap End.’ Replacing the DJ with this soothing noise, interspersed with occasional songs and frequent reminders to tell your smart speaker to play Radio 2, would raise listening figures.

The yapping of a small, angry dog: Irritating, yes, makes you Google ‘is canine homicide a crime?’ yes, but is it as bad as the aural equivalent of plain rice soup being piped into your ears while you queue at the lights? At least with the dog, it would be a relief to hear a 21-year-old song by Katie Melua deemed too anodyne for everyday use by provincial coffee chains.

Distant yodelling: Terrible because it’s yodelling; wonderful because it’s distant. That comforting Alpine feeling of the red-faced man in the leather shorts being at least two peaks away would make the constant exhortations to ‘stop listening to the radio now, you f**king f**kwit, and watch Radio 2 Piano Rooms sessions on iPlayer instead’ a joy, not a burden.

Adrian Chiles: Unlikelier comebacks have happened, and the Guardian columnist’s dedication to mining previously unknown seams of deep mundanity makes him the ideal new host. That Brummie drawl discussing whether a broken electric kettle should rightly be given a funeral is the ideal backdrop to repeated trailers for BBC thrillers that sound shit.

The hissing of summer lawns: Not the Joni Mitchell album—this is Radio 2, not bloody 6Music, get out of here with your fancy singer-songwriters—but the gentle noise of a sprinkler at work. Would cause a million or so listeners with loose pelvic floors to wet themselves, but even as they put their Next jeggings in for a 40ºC wash they’d agree it was better than Mills.

Bus conversations about the weather: What could better approximate the tedium and total disregard for music embodied by the dismissed DJ than a sound collage of the UK’s greatest overheard bus conversations? From ‘Still wet, isn’t it’ to ‘Ah well, might brighten up later’ they’re infinitely preferable to when he named an M3 overpass after himself and banged on about it for a f**king year.