Footfall

On my 21st Sunday Show I had Judy James, body language expert, who is so smart she manages to make politics as accessible as ‘The Beano’.
Bill Oddie, talking about being bi-polar, generously revealing all about himself which enabled you lot to talk about yourselves.
The London Gay Mens Chorus – we asked for ten men to come in, about 25 turned up. It was a hoot with dancers, beat boxers and pianists. Our little studio felt like The Chelsea Flower show.
Then Ana Isobel came in to talk about what to plant, what to prune and where to begin this month in the garden, all guided by the moon.
Then I had to dash as I had an event I had to go to.

I had been invited to a double birthday bash in Kentish Town. The bloke I had met once and the female I hadn’t seen since 1972.
She looked fabulous, as did most of her guests. The champagne flowed and sausage rolls were lying around to be nibbled, fresh ones that is.
At the designated time we all climbed aboard a Route Master Double Decker which was taking us for a picnic at Kenwood House.
The bus filled up with sandwiches, bottles, pink champagne flutes, a lot of noise, fruits and cakes.
We hadn’t been on the road for five minutes when the big red bus was stopped by an efficient policeman who wanted to ruin our day.
I photographed him as he nicked the driver for using a mobile telephone. The party goers, though dismayed by the party pooper, weren’t depressed for long thanks to Monsieur Cliquot.
We set off again and arrived in Highgate just as the sun came out. The wind whipped up so the ground sheets had to be secured by bums and bags. Then the eating begun. From bags of sweets, to crisps, to roasted chickens, salads, skyscrapers of sarnies and much music from a portable machine with speakers. At 3.45, with military precision, we left the park and headed for Swiss Cottage.
A panoply of people piled out of the double decker, some tiddly others bubbly. We decamped into her flat and the party continued over now ice-cold champagne and huge baskets of crisps, nuts and ever more cakes and sandwiches.
I left after 6.00 hardly able to walk. Not through booze but all the bread and merangues which had stuck to my artery walls. Rushed into the tube only to be met by closed gates. Staggered up the stairs and sat on a wall waiting for a bus.
Grabbed an 82 to Victoria, fell asleep only to regain consciousness when I heard a voice shouting, not for the first time it seemed,
‘WAKE UP….’
I did and stumbled onto the 170. I hit the flat, brushed my teeth to get rid of the taste of carbofuelled food and watched Louis Theroux and finally fell asleep at 2.00.
This morning I nearly missed the alarm. Got ready in ten minutes and left the apartment at 6.40a.m.
Walked fast over the three bridges, down through Victoria and into St. James Park, I had intended to go past Buck House, up The Haymarket and down through Mayfair to The BBC.
I was thwarted.
Men in green jackets and health and Safety rules tattooed on their eyelids refused to let me through the barriers. There was a sweaty moi, two tourists and an Italian with a duffel bag. I about turned but no amount of my pleading with
‘I have a Live Radio show’
would change their healthy minds. So I had to walk down Birdcage Walk, past The Horse Guards Parade, round through Trafalgar Square, Leicester Square, up Regent Steet and finally into Egton House. I had been walking for an hour and a half.
I had fifteen minutes to find my voice so that I could tell Paul Ross what we had on the programme.
Actually the show went swimmingly, Becky even made me a tub of porridge mid show since I had forgotten to factor in breakfast.
The show concluded and I wanted to find another route, another way in, another version of flat to studio so I went right down Cavendish Street, across the square and over Oxford Steet, down Brook Street and into Hyde Park. Lovely, big, gorgeous, Hyde Park. The lake was full of tourists and the tourists were full of bon homie. Through the gates onto Knighstbridge turf, down Sloane Street onto the Kings Road where I decided to have a coffee to celebrate my footfall.
The waiter took so long in coming I left. Missed three buses and ended up taking a short cut through Old Church Street – I WANT TO LIVE THERE- over the embankment where I missed yet another bus.
I had bought a lettuce and a cucumber, instead of the coffee, so I munched as I marched.
By the time I arrived in the flat i had lost at least three inches from walking so fast. I meditated for ten minutes to stop the throbbing in my feet and washed out my foot spa, which I haven’t used for 8 years.
Hot water and posh oil, worked wonders as I dipped my aching feet into the watery emollient, I talked on the telephone to a girlfriend as the bubbles worked away at my balls and souls.
The reason for the barriers, well a 10k run was happening as were two marathon try outs for the Olympics.
When 2012 comes I think I may leave the country.
Highlight of the show a personal trainer, on a yacht, in Beirut, talking to me about pumping up the abs of a Hollywood superstar he was working on in an action movie. He would not reveal who the exercising actor was but said if I nipped over to Beirut he would introduce me.
After my long day of walking and my miles of re-routing Beirut will be doddle.
Roll on tomorrow…..