Today's alienated thirtysomethings are spurning iPods and switching on to Terry Wogan. Viv Groskop explains why

If you had told me 26 years ago that one day I would come to love Terry Wogan, I would have cheerfully hit you. It was 1978, "Floral Dance" was climbing the charts, and Terry was mer-rily jangling around in ribbons and bells, premature comb-over bristling in the breeze. I was only five years old, but I knew embarrassing when I saw it.

How times change. Three decades on, and that Morris-dancing fool is my idol. Wogan has turned out to be one of the most versatile, talented, original and consistently entertaining presenters we have. Most of all, the man is an independent and kowtows to no one: his Radio 2 breakfast show, Wake Up to Wogan (weekdays, 7.30am-9.30am), gleefully lampoons the BBC on a regular basis. He despises the powers that be, dislikes politicians, is rude about almost all celebrities and ridicules his own listeners.

He is the ultimate politically incorrect antidote to the unrelenting "love-me-I'm-young-and-hip" coolness with which we are assaulted everywhere.

I am in grave danger of becoming one of the undercover army of Terry's Old Geezers (or Gals), aka TOGs, as fans of his show call themselves. And I am far from alone: several of my friends have recently outed themselves as thirtysomething TOGs. To us and to millions, Terry is the Togmeister. Crucially, as the official website (www.togs.org) explains: "Togginess is a state of mind, recognised by many, as that feeling of being old before your time."

This is the key to Wogan's new-found appeal. It is not just Terry-worship (though that comes into it, and rightly so); it is about rejecting the all-pervasive youth culture. There is a huge, alienated stratum of society which does not understand what an iPod does, insists on correct spelling and punctuation when sending text messages, and uses tea leaves instead of tea bags. We are not necessarily old - many of us have just hit 30 - but we are sick of our generation's "kidult" status. We are not interested in PlayStation, Busted or HMV's DVD sale. We do not wear trainers or own Bluetooth technology (whatever that is). We want to sit down with a cup of Earl Grey and listen to someone talking sense and playing tunes with words on Radio 2.

This is where Wogan cleans up. He has always existed in an unembarrassable, blundering parallel universe, and four decades after he entered the entertainment industry, the rest of the world has caught up with him. His breakfast show has eight million listeners (compare this with Chris Tarrant's heyday on Capital's breakfast show of 1.5 million and Chris Evans's mid-1990s show on Radio 1's seven million). All this after picking some career howlers that would have destroyed many lesser mortals - Celebrity Squares, Auntie's Bloomers, Come Dancing (long before its ironic "Strictly" make-over). When I was at school in the mid-1980s, teachers would offer Wogan as the dictionary definition of "ubiquitous". We all nodded grimly and understood.

But somehow he has made these naff and cheesy choices his own and forced us to be interested in them - simply because he is. His annual commentary at the Eurovision Song Contest is priceless, unmissable. I am sure he is far too professional to drink on air, but he always contrives to sound as if he's had a few. ("I tell you, I've quite taken a fancy to the girl with the fiddle.") I doubt the Eurovision would have even survived in the UK without Wogan. He brings class to everything he touches. He even gets away with plugging the commendable but dire Children in Need on his show most days by being tongue-in-cheek and gently nagging.

He comes close to being some sort of postmodern gay icon with the Eurovision connection, but there is nothing cool or knowing about TOG-love. You love him because he is the real thing in a world full of fakes. He genuinely could not care if anyone thinks him fogeyish, old-fashioned, middle-of-the-road or hackneyed (for I fear he may be all of these things, especially with his self-parodying "Oirishness"). He just does his thing - take it or leave it. He has the courage of his convictions and is more than prepared to be disliked - a rare thing in the media.

He has time on his side. Wogan is 66, but I reckon most of his fans aged 30-plus are only just starting to appreciate his oeuvre. He is also riding high on a nostalgia tsu-nami that is washing over anyone who had to endure a 1970s childhood.

If you were born between 1965 and 1975, you will notice a lot of your early favourites suddenly flooding back on to the small screen. The Two Ronnies returns to BBC1 next year. Syd Little is about to publish his autobiography. Cannon and Ball are the frequent subjects of "Where are they now?" documentaries. I am patiently waiting for Little Jimmy Krankie to come out of retirement (although he/she would probably look a bit too old for the school uniform now).

Wogan is part of this movement, but also transcends it. He is an unstoppable force of nature. Also - I'm sorry - there is something kind of sexy about him. It's the devil-may-care thing. OK, I'll shut up now. I'm off to visit eBay to look for some Blankety Blank chequebooks and pens.

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