To my discredit, I have never listened to Desert Island Discs. I cannot get over the concept of discussing which records you would take to an island that would have no electric or musical equipment, and where the primary concern would be feeding oneself while not getting fatally mauled by a salt water crocodile.

I do enjoy reading about what items celebrities would take to an island however, as personal tastes speak volumes about the fabric of a being. For example, I have actively defriended perfectly likeable friends in the past, to my shame, based solely on their penchant for jazz. I just could not see a future stained by sitting in smoky bars surrounded by cravats and instrumental music that does nothing but leave me wanting to soft soak my ears in bleach.

Even more telling as a window to the psyche is the ‘luxury’ item. Stirling Moss would take hair restorer, which shows that he is a little paranoid of his balding bonce. He did not clarify if the bottle would be a formula one, but it has always been a fantasy to bump into Mr Moss and ask him who he thinks he is.

Now a mainstay, Desert Island Discs remarkably first broadcast on January 29, 1942. Until 2011, the most popular chosen track was Symphony No 9 in D Minor by Beethoven, followed by the spellchecker's friend, Rachmaninoff. The first castaway to sit was (Winston Churchill's son in law) Vic Oliver, a 1940s entertainer, and the first luxury item was picked in 1951 by actress Sally Ann Howes, who chose garlic.

Controversy has reared its head during the duration of the show. On the opening credits the sound of gulls can be heard by those who are not hard of herring, which many have complained would not be a sound associated with a desert island. More sinister that the screeching wail of aggressive seabirds Is the tale of a retired vicar who bludgeoned his wife to death after she would not allow him to tune in. No doubt his elongated spell in solitary now allows him to fulfil the dream of being deserted, albeit in Broadmoor. The Beatles Yesterday remains the most requested pop song, while some obscure choices have made the cut, most notably Rawhide, chosen by Dame Edith Evans and It's Hard to be Humble, picked by Jeffery Archer.

As a fan of the obscure I cannot help but admire Tom Hanks who chose LL Cool J’s Mama Said Knock You Out, David Cameron with the Killers' All The Things That I've Done (which is a long and dubious list) and Gordon Ramsay’s choice of Sex Bomb. Ever outlandish, Oliver Reed chose his luxury item of a ‘blow up doll’ which may well have proved fatal for a man who could barely stand, let alone exhale enough gas to semi inflate Busty Bessie.

Other unfortunate choices, in hindsight, include those of the Iron Lady. Thatcher, in her dotage, chose Two Little Boys by Rolf Harris. The world’s most famous Spice Girl spouse, David Beckham, attempted to rescind the myth that he is an uneducated East Ender by choosing Sidney Bechet’s Si Tu Vois Ma Mere, when the even money was on Beyoncé or Gercha by Chas and Dave.

Mad as a truckload of frogs, Yoko Ono, despite the family musical back catalogue, chose the Cheeky Song by the Cheeky Girls as the song she’d listen to every day on the island. She also, controversially, discussed how she and John had considered putting baby Sean up for adoption as they weren’t sure if they wanted him. Keith Richards chose a machete while Simon Cowell, predictably, chose a mirror so he wouldn’t miss himself.

I wonder what I would take if ever marooned. I would like to think I would take a superyacht with enough fuel to get back to civilisation when boredom kicked in. Musically, Son of a Preacher Man would suffice. I’m hoping the situation never arises and, if it does I hope I don’t end up with a volleyball, which kept Hanks amused for many months in Castaway. Even worse than the solitude would be surviving the wreck and finding the on-board entertainment, in the decline phase of their career lifecycle, had also made land. Coming to, you find both of Jedward standing over you gibbering inane nonsense with no respite or means of escape. The only thought in my mind would be: Now where did Keith leave that machete?

Brett Ellis is a teacher who lives in London Colney.