Good afternoon.
Something quite remarkable might happen on the programme tonight so I am keener than normal that you don't miss a moment of it. I am not yet referring to a fleeting visit by the fabulous Will Smith nor the gloriously naughty presence of Rupert Everett, who may or may not be dressed as the Headmistress of St. Trinians. Not even a madly optimistic weather forecast from Robin - a White Christmas for those who want one, and Caribbean warmth for those who don't. No, none of the above though all will happen. Apart from the forecast.
Something quite remarkable might happen on the programme tonight so I am keener than normal that you don't miss a moment of it. I am not yet referring to a fleeting visit by the fabulous Will Smith nor the gloriously naughty presence of Rupert Everett, who may or may not be dressed as the Headmistress of St. Trinians. Not even a madly optimistic weather forecast from Robin - a White Christmas for those who want one, and Caribbean warmth for those who don't. No, none of the above though all will happen. Apart from the forecast.
I am talking about something that might save young lives, would make our streets safer, certainly save taxpayers' money and suredly make us all feel that there is some good in humanity after the trials and tribulations of 2007. We believe it can do what it says on the tin and that you will all want to support it. Join us at 6 and feel better. Glen is the man with the means and we have a powerful cast of supporting players to dig deeper into what we are aiming to achieve. I am quite excited and I haven't even had my chocolate fix yet.
From Sunday, were I a regular user of Liverpool Street Station, I would probably need the entire output of Cadbury's Bournville factory to stop my spirits slumping to depths not even plumbed by Jules Verne's heroes in Journey to the Centre of the Earth. They, and here I mean the combined forces of Network Rail (you begin to smell a rat) and Transport for London (this body is now putrid), are shutting the place for 10 days. The new East london Line requires nothing less and while they are about it they are going to level a Victorian Viaduct too. So if you had hoped to escape this madness from Stansted airport, steady your nerves for a bus ride. And if you work in the City but live in airy East Anglia, contemplate a bike or a ten day sickie. I know it has to be done but, like drilling root canals, there must one day be a better way. Jon is the man with the white coat and an ample supply of straight jackets for the commuters he will be interviewing. Victoria Tube station is closing on Sunday, too, so the world really has gone to Croydon in a hand-cart.
When they used to cry "Bring out your dead" during the plague, the mortal remains of those tragic victims were often taken to their final place of repose in a hand-cart. Nowadays it can be anything from a modified Daimler limousine, for most, to a horse drawn, glass-sided piece of morbid Victoriana, especially popular in the East End. In parts of Essex? Who knows. Possibly a long wheel base Cortina or two Robin Reliants, back to back, welded in the middle. Anyway, it is to the final resting places of Essex that we turn our sombre attentions tonight: the authorities want to level many of them with bulldozers -no, I couldn't believe it but Faye, draped thoughtfully today in high-fashion widow's weeds, assures me it is true. The allegedly elected leaders of that shire don't like the head-stones in many of their cemeteries and feel everything needs to be squeezed up a bit closer. I think some of those Councillors may be in a "dust to dust, ashes to ashes" situation, politically, a little sooner than they had planned at this rate. Liz wears a long, black veil and sheds a tear for sanity.
Boris has a green successor to the Routemaster which is red but ecologically better. TfL say it's not on. Whether they mean the bus or the thought of Boris in charge will be tested by Piers who loves an oyster and says "ping ping" better than most.
I think that is it but, looking back, I find myself agreeing with Faye when she says, as she just did, "This programme is packed: there won't be much time for chat". Chat? This is all a carefully and economically crafted masterpiece. I may storm back to my caravan and seek out that chocolate and that season ticket to Clacton, before it is all too late.
See you at 6.
Alastair and Nina.
