Jeni Barnett

I have finally mowed the lawn.
Cleared the woodshed.
My mothers three plants have just about survived the coldest of times. although I’m not too happy about the Rosemary.
I have taught the old man how to make soup, and by gum he’s good at it, we’ve been dining off Squash soup with turmeric and chili.
Last night I bought up a whole Italian meal from Camisa in Soho. The dawter and I drove home and five of us dug into – artichokes,zucchini, aubergine and freshly made pastas.
Not to mention the best Italian Jammy Dodgers ever.

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I was shamed into writing this by the delicious Jamie kelsey Fry, who graced my show this morning.
Megan and Louise wrote a book about teenagers, and equipped themselves so well as did my last guest Robbie Hance, who sung himself on and off the X factor. He came into the BBC London studio with his new manager, mother of three who had never done anything of the like in her life. Her heart led him to the man without a home .
She and two others have given him a dream to hold onto.
We were lucky enough to be part of his journey. I wish him every bit of luck that is coming his way.
It was a wonderful way to spend a birthday morning.
I decided to drive in, the snow blobbing down with the arrogance of the untouchable. It doesn’t matter how much the cold and chill is whistling around the hard times there ain’t nothing I can do about it so I wrapped up in a very old blue and yellow anorak, wrapped a scarf around my neck, put on two pairs of socks and whizzed past Sevenoaks.
Nibbled on peanuts I had in my pocket. I felt like a blue tit.
The radio – without Aled Jones – is dull. So I station hopped and ended up with a Bach Cantata that made my hairs stand on end.
The divine Miss Esther drove the show like a demon. I had a bowl of porridge. You take the lift to -1 and enter the world of the BBC canteen. The smell of baked beans wafts up the ramp as BBC staff sit round tables noshing toast and talking scart plugs,

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