Good afternoon. Friday. Terrific. Salma has left two cups of tea and a Snicker bar for me. Short of winning the Eurolottery and booking one-way tickets to my private nirvana, what more could a chap want?
Lighting, on Waterloo Bridge, perhaps.
Most nights I go over it to escape the madness of the metropolis and am usually on the phone to my dear Dad. Fair to say then that I've never noticed the state of street lighting on the bridge. Nor have I ever sunk so low as to have nothing better to think about than which Borough or City authority is responsible for changing the lightbulbs when they fail. Tonight, we talk to the cyclist who nearly had an accident, blamed the bad lighting, took an age to find out who was responsible, and grew angry as it took even longer for the responsible party to do anything about it. We hope to have put a spring in their step for the future.
Spring. My favourite season. As the Good Book says, "to everything, there is a season". But not anymore according to the pruners and weeders of Kew. We have, it seems, misplaced some of the natural geometry of the year: summer and winter have merged into one hot-cool climactic morass. I am saddened and want to learn more. I think you may, too. So let us both join Marcus, our very own Capability Brown, down among the floribundas.
Most elderly people love floribundas and all manner of flowering lovelies. They also like the right to a safe and secure life. And when their relatives judge that a private nursing home, perhaps replete with a garden, is the safest place to secure contentment, they have every right on God's earth to expect it. You will share in my anger and incredulity when Nick unwraps the story of one elderly gent who, like his family, thought he was safe and well.
As, I am sure, did the families in Bromley, two years ago, think they were safe and well until subsidence put part of their homes several feet lower in the ground than it had been, moments before. Bits of wall also seemed to wander off, up the road. It was uninhabitable. The local council were, no doubt, too busy checking on lightbulb responsibilities to do much to help. Eventually, we have good news for them and Phil, our man on loan from Pickfords, wants to share it with you.
Salma has been talking to Nic Cage as , you may recall, Katie talked to Jeff Goldblum last night. I have been talking to the Editor. Something is going on here. What is more, Salma sent me an e-mail at 10.05 AM (yes, that is 10:05 this morning) TELLING me she "bagsied" doing What Not to Miss. I'll tell you what I want not to miss: the chance to conduct an occasional interview with a star. Not much to ask for a man of my experience, charm and contacts. But, No. I am seeing my agent and my lawyer this weekend. The powers that be and Ms Siraj have been warned.
"There will be blood" is both a prediction of the outcome of my meetings with the powers that be, and the title of one of the films James will review for you. The other is Juno which I thought was a space probe but apparently it is a movie, too. I'll be glued, though I can't speak for you.
But I know you will be glued to our weather forecast and possibly to the papers: do those headlines make you rush out and buy a copy, or go online, or wonder why anyone would bother reading it in the first place?
I have often wondered.
Lighting, on Waterloo Bridge, perhaps.
Most nights I go over it to escape the madness of the metropolis and am usually on the phone to my dear Dad. Fair to say then that I've never noticed the state of street lighting on the bridge. Nor have I ever sunk so low as to have nothing better to think about than which Borough or City authority is responsible for changing the lightbulbs when they fail. Tonight, we talk to the cyclist who nearly had an accident, blamed the bad lighting, took an age to find out who was responsible, and grew angry as it took even longer for the responsible party to do anything about it. We hope to have put a spring in their step for the future.
Spring. My favourite season. As the Good Book says, "to everything, there is a season". But not anymore according to the pruners and weeders of Kew. We have, it seems, misplaced some of the natural geometry of the year: summer and winter have merged into one hot-cool climactic morass. I am saddened and want to learn more. I think you may, too. So let us both join Marcus, our very own Capability Brown, down among the floribundas.
Most elderly people love floribundas and all manner of flowering lovelies. They also like the right to a safe and secure life. And when their relatives judge that a private nursing home, perhaps replete with a garden, is the safest place to secure contentment, they have every right on God's earth to expect it. You will share in my anger and incredulity when Nick unwraps the story of one elderly gent who, like his family, thought he was safe and well.
As, I am sure, did the families in Bromley, two years ago, think they were safe and well until subsidence put part of their homes several feet lower in the ground than it had been, moments before. Bits of wall also seemed to wander off, up the road. It was uninhabitable. The local council were, no doubt, too busy checking on lightbulb responsibilities to do much to help. Eventually, we have good news for them and Phil, our man on loan from Pickfords, wants to share it with you.
Salma has been talking to Nic Cage as , you may recall, Katie talked to Jeff Goldblum last night. I have been talking to the Editor. Something is going on here. What is more, Salma sent me an e-mail at 10.05 AM (yes, that is 10:05 this morning) TELLING me she "bagsied" doing What Not to Miss. I'll tell you what I want not to miss: the chance to conduct an occasional interview with a star. Not much to ask for a man of my experience, charm and contacts. But, No. I am seeing my agent and my lawyer this weekend. The powers that be and Ms Siraj have been warned.
"There will be blood" is both a prediction of the outcome of my meetings with the powers that be, and the title of one of the films James will review for you. The other is Juno which I thought was a space probe but apparently it is a movie, too. I'll be glued, though I can't speak for you.
But I know you will be glued to our weather forecast and possibly to the papers: do those headlines make you rush out and buy a copy, or go online, or wonder why anyone would bother reading it in the first place?
I have often wondered.
As I have about the genuine level of interest in sport news, unless it involves Lewis Hamilton. So, park-up, slip into neutral, and enjoy our 30 lap grand prix tour of the capital's news and features. Chequered flag falls at six and waves excitedly again at 6.30.
No pit stops to distract.
We are revved up and ready to go.
Alastair and Salma.
