Graeme Murty, the Reading captain, is late for his usual one-hour Monday morning phone-in show on BBC Radio Berkshire. Damn rain, damn traffic. Yet it is nothing compared with the ambush that awaits.

“So, anyway,” Andrew Peach, the presenter, says casually. “What’s this about Leroy Lita [the Reading striker] and his sex text video?” Although he is live on air, Murty barely pauses. “That he got a lady into bed?” he replies. “So what?”

Curveball avoided, Murty moves on. No question is out of bounds, no topic too hot. As it has been for the past two years since he and Karen, his wife, have regularly addressed the nation. Well, the Royal County.

Murty mentions Creating Chances, the Premier League’s flagship programme that involves its 20 clubs and 200 players in a series of community initiatives. It is woven into his script; he rarely forgets a plug.

“We, the footballers, are a vital part of the community and can play a leading role in it,” Murty says. “A lot of people think that we’re full of self-importance, too big-time. But we’re not; just come and ask us. The radio show, hopefully, gives the fans an insight into what’s going on at the club. It gives them a connection. And if they’ve got any grievances, they can give me a ring and find out what’s going on. I really enjoy it.

“Footballers have such a poor image. It’s a way in which we can become more approachable, more transparent. Karen can give an insight into being a footballer’s wife. If we’ve been beaten, she comes in and moans that I haven’t spoken to her for three days.”

The studio is tucked away in a corner of an imposing building that houses the security-conscious BBC Monitoring Services, near Reading. If there is a coup anywhere in the world, the multilingual spooks of Caversham Park will know about it first.

Across town, in the training dome next to the Madejski Stadium, Glen Little, the midfield player, does his stint. He is presenting the trophy and medals at a festival for clubs and resource centres that deal with mental health and learning difficulties, depression and schizophrenia, and recovering drug addicts and alcoholics.

“It’s an opportunity to interact, to meet people,” Liz Verrall, the county development manager for the Berks & Bucks FA, said. Hackney FC beat MK Dons 4-1 in the final. “We’ve made it, we’ve done it,” one of the victorious players says as he rolls a cigarette outside. “Today’s a good day.”

Little meets and greets, presents the prizes, poses for pictures and signs autographs. “We’ve got a roster and it’s my turn this afternoon,” he says. “The lads don’t mind doing it at all. It’s a way of giving something back.

“You might not always hear about it, apart from a few photos in the local paper, but players all around the country do it. You don’t ask for any credit and shouldn’t get it. It’s what we do; it’s part and parcel of the job.”

Er, Glen. Have you seen the Lita video? “No,” he replies. “I haven’t got the text yet. But I gather that it lasts 1min 53sec. Was that all? I hope that I’d last a bit longer than that.”

Back to Caversham, a plush hotel on the River Thames. The “Royal Families” – the wives and girlfriends of the Reading players – hand over cheques totalling £105,000, the fruits of their endeavours over the past year. There are cheers – and tears – as the representatives of local charities explain how the money has helped them.

Emily Shorey and Olga Gunnarsson have taken over from Karen Murty and Amanda Hahnemann as the leaders of the Reading WAGs. “It’s not a competition,” Mrs Shorey says.

“Yes, it is,” Mrs Gunnarsson retorts. “We want to do better than last year.”

They start well, with £5,000 from each of seven sponsoring firms. Ibrahima Sonko, the centre back, gets his kit off and a group of girls raise another £750 for a feel of his shimmering six-pack.

Sonko will need to use every inch of his physique this evening, when Arsenal visit the Madejski. Sue Roberts, the WAGs’ events co-ordinator, is sure he is up to it. “Someone paid my £50 for me,” she drools, postfeel. “God, he’s lovely.”

Murty is there. Little, too, as he hilariously conducts the auction and persuades the punters to part with ridiculous sums. But there’s no Lita. “He’s keeping his head down,” a teammate says, with a smirk. “So to speak.”