The problem with venison stew with parsnip mash is that there is a fare bit of sugar in it – innit.
I’m all a bit spinny and nauseous.
My evening with the girls was short but sweet.
Thursday at LBC went well if a little frantic.
Jim’s at home with the apples and B is on reading week which means he’s having a lie in and so is she.
I, however, am sleeping too little, watching too much Obamatelly and trying to cram in a book a day. The result is that my eyes close at the drop of a lid and my head is rattling with information.
This morning was a pre-record with Sir David Attenborough. He is publicising his new box-set of DVD’s. His very own encyclopaedia of life on earth.
Sitting opposite this most eloquent of men with his familier, fluid voice was surreal. Me trying to have a conversation about conservation at 11.30 in the morning was not easy as the morning had got off to an explosive start.
I had my teeth whitening gum shields in and a rosewater face-pack plastered over my face. The mud was brought back from Morroco.
My tightened facial muscles did not stop me calling the daughters letting agency.
I calmly threatened law-suits and negitive publicity if they didn’t mend her kitchen tap by yesterday. I sounded angry, but more interestingly I sounded like a South African Bushwoman with braces, surprisingly I was still able to to assert myself despite my rubber teeth and stiff upper lip. Joanna, the estate agent, talked at me as if I were unable to understand english, not surprising really..
Anyway by the time I arrived at LBC I was all maxed out on anger and adrenlin, Sir David is so laid back he’s practically horizontal.
After the interview it was head down to make the running order,a phone interview, organise my thoughts by the time it got to 12.30 and my cross over with James O’Brien, I was exhausted.
James and I had a bit of a run in yesterday. He was rude to me on air, and rude to my editor off air. I told her, on the stairs that I thought JOB was a rude man and I didn’t like the way he talked to her. No sooner had I finished my sentence than Mr. O’Brien came down the stairs. We faced each other, he had heard every word. I grasped the moment and told him I didn’t like the way he talked to me either. It was an encounter that had undoubtedly been orchestrated by the pixies just to cause trouble. Trouble was bypassed, however, as we laughed about it on air.
The 12.30 exchange was fine, after a quick pea soup it was up and ready for the show, which surprisingly went very well.
Then Rob The Agent turned up, although I had forgotten he was coming, and we drove back to the flat where I made a horrible cup of coffee.
After a brian-storming session I drove him back to the Elephant and Castle, and then it was thirty minutes of Obamatelly before seting off to Hammersmith for dinner with the girls.
The venison has made me sick, the horrible coffee with the boiled quinoa milk has made me sick, the bread dipped in olive oil and balmasic, although lovely, also made me queasy. I have a headache from watching too many Presidential programmes.
But them girls are young and hip, they remind me of a good time in my life. Food and fun.
I am having a good time now but tomorrow is yet another celebrity interview. Interviewing celebrities is tiring since they all need to be listened to properly. Not that normal people don’t need to be given the same amount of attention it’s just that celebrities know the score so you have to be vigilant, and I should know I’m a D-Lister myself.
I dedicate this blog to Elaine because she told me off for not blogging enough. Sorry Ms B.
Have this one on me.