Good afternoon and what a lovely one it is. Saturday is just around the corner so we are determined to nudge you towards a state of informed and entertained contentment.... unless you are traveling to or, indeed, from Liverpool Street Station when the big hand is on the twelve and the little hand is directly south of it. If you are, you may live to regret it. I can't tell you more save to say the Big Boss is a fan of Rick Astley, knows all the words to "Never Going to Give you up" and is quite fond of East Anglia. These are all relevant factors and he seems to know a troubling amount about what is a foot.
What is not a foot is a prompt and efficient move of flights from T4 to T5. Personally, I like both of the premier BA termini but what I like even more is knowing from which one I am flying. Get that wrong, and you really can get your Karachi's in a twist: it could take almost as long to get from T5 - "Sorry, Sir: did you not see out announcement?" - to T4 - "I am so sorry, Sir - it has gone but there is another.... tomorrow". Lewis (no more Welsh jokes and certainly no flights to Cardiff, Swansea or even Llandudno) is there to add to BA's woes -The World's Favourite Punchbag.
Flip Wilson is a great black American stand-up -come to think of it, he may be dead but, hey, humour is fickle: a great one-liner from him to an airline worker: "If you can fly that jet at 500 miles an hour in the dark and find Los Angeles, you CAN find my bags!"
If bags and suitcases could shout and shout as loudly as Brian Blessed, surely they would all be re-united with their owners. Alas they can't and we shall ask Brian why this might be so as he comes in to chat, at several hundred decibels, about his new role as the latest narrator of Prokofiev's wonderful Peter and Wolf. He climbs mountains, too and was rather good in Black Adder the First. I like him even if he gives me a head-ache.
Nursing the mother of all soccer head-aches is the brilliantly led and impressively staffed Arsenal who despite the magic of the Emirates are having a season to forget. Man U loom large at the great despoilers on Sunday and Paxo, as we call him, will assess just how stuffed the Gooners are. He knows his onions and is really rather sage.
As is James on movies - we've a shocker from Spain the Big Boss, currently being distracted by the impishly elegant though clearly bored Faye, won't let us show you! It is that horrific! I fear for James' sanity at this exposure. And he looks at Leatherheads, not a plurality of county towns in Surrey but gorgeous George's latest offering which Lucy nearly got round to discussing with the Great Man himself when she wasn't asking for his hand in marriage. I'd call her a trollop did I not know her to be a woman of genuine and far from easy virtue. We have sent her to talk to Kevin Spacey tonight about black jack: not some dodgy friend of Spacey's but another name for "vingt et un" , my favourite casino game and the theme in his new movie "21".
We've all the news you could want including the void that is the whereabouts of poor Mark Speight - we all really hope he is OK but, like his friends and family, grow fearful. The latest with Phil.
A quick flash of weather from Chrissie and a crumpling of front pages from us then get packing for the weekend after you've luxuriated with us from 6.
Hope you're there.
Alastair and Romilly.... (I got rid of Salma - she is in Hastings, thinking she is on special assignment for an extended What Not To Miss! Foolish yet charming woman....)
