It was alarming to read reports last week that the future of Test Match Special is in doubt.

Before anyone gets too distressed, you don’t need to start mourning its loss just yet. Jonathan Agnew and co are not going anywhere soon. But that may not always be the case.

The BBC’s cricket coverage deal with the ECB will have to be renegotiated in 2028 and, with the Beeb attempting to cut costs across its sports departments, there are concerns that TMS may not be able to continue in its current form or that its schedule could be reduced.

I desperately hope that isn’t true.

If you’ve never tuned into TMS and are wondering what all the fuss is about, it is hard to put into words what it means to British cricket fans.

Test matches can last up to five days, with coverage running for several hours each day. That means the broadcasting team has to fill an awful lot of time – and they do it superbly.

I still remember being gathered around a random man’s transistor radio on a beach in Cornwall in 2005 when Freddie Flintoff took the Australian bowling apart. It felt as good as being at the ground itself because of how world-class the coverage was.

But for many of us, the best moments aren’t even the cricket itself. It’s the idle chit-chat between the action that we love.

I have spent hours of my life grinning as I listen to the team discuss cakes, pigeons or whatever else pops into their heads. To regular listeners, the broadcasters are more like soap characters than radio presenters.

You tune in hoping for another episode where Tuffers has overindulged on wine the night before or Daniel Norcross is wearing a particularly horrendous shirt.

You cannot underestimate what a difficult job they make look easy.

I work in radio myself, presenting on Radio X, and whenever I’ve got nothing interesting to say – which the listeners will tell you is often – I can just chuck on an Oasis song and let Liam and Noel fill the void. If you’re really stuck for content, the nine-minute version of The Stone Roses’ “I Am the Resurrection” gives you plenty of time to think of something.

The cricket commentators don’t have that luxury. Their skill and personalities are being constantly tested, yet there is very rarely a dull moment.

I have to admit my love for TMS is deeply personal.

I was just 11 when my dad was a guest on “A View From the Boundary” – a beloved feature in which a celebrity is interviewed during the lunch break – and I went with him to the Oval for one of the best days of my childhood.

My abiding memories are of Marcus Trescothick and Graham Thorpe scoring lots of runs, but what really stuck with me was standing at the back of the commentary box and watching the likes of Aggers, Henry Blofeld and Christopher Martin-Jenkins at work.

Putting faces to the voices that were such a key part of my summers blew my tiny mind.

Years later, I was a guest myself during a Test match at Edgbaston – the same ground where Flintoff had destroyed the Aussies all those years ago – and when Aggers first started asking me questions, it felt like an out-of-body experience.

So I am unashamedly biased in my affection for the show. But that is also the beauty of TMS. It is personal to all of us for different reasons.

Next year will mark 70 years since it began and, throughout that time, it has been the warm background noise for millions of people. We associate it not only with the highs and lows of the England cricket team, but with the highs and lows of our own lives.

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The media landscape is changing rapidly, and so is the way we consume our sport. I certainly don’t envy whoever has to make the difficult decisions further down the line.

But from a purely selfish point of view, I hope TMS remains a massive part of our lives for years to come.

It just wouldn’t be an English summer without it.