Good afternoon.
Unless any of them are flying into Heathrow's T5, we have the promise of a remarkable line up of guests this evening for you.
Westlife would, I imagine, be loyal nationalists and fly Aer Lingus anyway so they should arrive safely at T1, or Gatwick, and Lucy will be there to greet them ahead of their Wembley gigs this weekend.
Ade Edmondson has probably been banned by a range of airlines for his Young Ones behaviour and certainly Bottom performances. He, I predict, will come by train and, subject to yesterdays' postponement of industrial action staying firmly in the lost luggage box of threats, he'll be with us to talk about his new and very promising ITV sitcom.
James is frightened of flying so he'll be with us to give an expert's view of 27 Dresses, which is about the wardrobe of a magpie-esque perpetual bridesmaid, and The Hottie and the Nottie which "stars" Paris Hilton but not in a way that has you searching the internet at strange times of the night.
So, chocs away for a bumper package of entertainment as a spring board to a successful opening of your weekend.
BA and BAA are still waiting for a successful opening of their new T5. If there were an organisation called the British Association of Angry Air-passengers it would begin to sound like a crescendo of angry sheep, wouldn't it? BA, BAA, BAAA.....
I've just been told Lewis Vaughan Jones, who is from Wales but has wisely defected to London, will tell you all you need to know about the Boat Race from... a small rowing boat, on the Thames. I thought all you needed to know about that bizarrely one dimensional sporting event was that it involved two teams and Oxford normally won: perhaps I am missing something.
Ken may be missing something in his timing as he launches his crime manifesto, promising a 6% reduction in crime as we report on the death of two more London teenagers. Perhaps he is saving his solutions for a third term?
Theft is a crime as is impersonation so I end by warning you Salma will, yet again, offer you her increasingly elaborate What Not To Miss in full knowledge that it should have been my turn. Trying to pretend that she didn't seize upon my unfortunate need to visit my physiotherapist at lunchtime to tell the Big Boss that she was me, cuts no ice. I am the injured party, now in two ways.
I feel defiled but you will feel informed so you probably won't care.
I will join her, if I can force myself to mix in such sordid company, at 6.
Hope you can bare the tension to be with us.
Alastair and That Woman.
