LBC

I know it’s shameful five days since blogging BUT.
Well excuses are just that arn’t they an exemption from a task and then seeking pardon for the said exemption.
I hope you will pardon me I am exhausted and I’ve only been back two days.
Radlett looms.
I’m not sleeping.
Getting back into the rhythm is hard.
I’m not exercising.
I feel miserable, anxious and now I have to go out to the theatre.

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i finally got my earphones from the travelling agent but I cant use them until I go back to the country, which I will do on Friday and then you won’t see me for dust.
The snow has melted, the ratings are out and Tottenham scored 4-4 with Arsenal.
My lovely Sybil the soothsayer, out in sunny California, hates me for watching football but it’s a family thing past down from father to son to nephew to radio broadcaster. My father would be turning in his grave if he thought I didn’t care about Harry Rednapp….
Now I’ve been a bit quiet for three reasons.
1) I was worried about my audience figures.
2) I was worried about interviewing Michael Parkinson (Sir)
3) I was worried about interviewing Leona Lewis.
In the end it was all okay, of course, but at the time………

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I went to my acupuncturst. Chatted for a bit and then I lay down on her couch.
The room is tiny. One little white sink on the wall, a mirror hanging over it. A trolley with needles and assorted acupunctual accessories stands in front of an antique medical chest of drawers. in front of which is the aforementioned bed.
The distance between the trolley and the bed is big enough for the patient and acupuncturist to hug.
A chair sits in front of a small desk which sits in front of the window. Books, a malleable skeleton with all the meridian lines drawn on it, various pen pots, card holders and files are neatly laid out on the desk top. A vase, which today held three ‘penis on plates’, you know those lovely rude flowers, stands on the windowsill.
The patient takes the seat. A big, wooden and metal in-laid,antique Chinese chair. It is rounded at the back, has two arms, inner arms, foot holder and a red cushion on the seat. It’s extremely comfortable. The consultation takes place from the chair to the desk, afterwhich I have to pull out the step from under the bed so I can climb on top of it.
I am only small.
Today I had needles in my head, my belly my toes all to help me sleep.

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One minute I’m talking about Prince Phillip and his prostate gland, the next Buckingham Palace have taken out a complaint against the Evening Standard.
I must say though, that it did feel just a little bit personal talking about the Princes privates.
It’s 18.30, I’ve tried to watch the news but the sun was shining in through the window and I couldnt see the screen. The flat feels like a Chinese Laundry, hot and steamy.
Last night was a reall tosser – at 3.00 I left the marital bedroom and slid onto the cool settee, unpeeling my body and hour later, I left the top layer of my epidermis on the brown leather to get back into bed with the hot husband. And by that I mean his temperature – we’ve been togther for 32 years for Gods sake.

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Dear all,
I love that many of you want me back on UKTV food, but here’s the thing:
When GFL came off, last April, I mourned and moaned, wept and wished. However, the powers that be decided that having a hugely successful, highly rated, fun, brilliant, informative show, was not as good as having Market Kitchen.
Your guess is as good as mine as to why they felt I had to go. Age? I doubt it. New brooms sweeping the corridors of power? Probably. But more importantly they didn’t take into account the millions of you who watched it for all the wonderful chefs, their stories, and the cultural importance of understanding the politics of food.
When food becomes the province of the middle and upper classes you know we’re in trouble.
And we are. My industry is panicking, its arms flailing.
LBC has not only been a life line for me, but in 8 months I am constantly surprised by the power of real public broadcasting. I feel I have a usefullness matched only by GFL.
The fact that I am an unashamed exhibitionist makes being unseen a new experience but I love my job and heres why:

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Today Sanjeev Bhaska talked about his role in SPAMALOT.
I went last night with BB to see the show. I always thought the Palace theatre was huge. Actually it’s quite small and sweet with wonderful ceilings.
There were two hysterical moments in the evning and Sanjeev was totally charming on stage.

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The rain has lifted the humidity.
I have enjoyed the heat though.
I travelled through London with the roof down on my car, the 30 degree sun pounding down. I played Stevie Wonder very loudly on my car stereo and wondered why I was SUCH an exhibitionist.
Had tea with my agent on his balcony – the Gherkin to the left of us – and arrived back at the flat in time for Coronation Street which I forgot to watch.

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