I don’t have a telly in my bedroom. I think the bedroom should be saved for more appropriate things, like sleeping, eating biscuits, sorting through your knicker drawer and, of course, the thing that should only be done with someone you know really well – naps. You can’t nap with just anyone. It’s weird. I can honestly say I’ve only napped with six people. Separately, obviously. It wasn’t some kind of nap orgy.
I do, however, have a telly in my kitchen. It wasn’t my idea. It was on the wall when I moved in and while I may have done some terrible things in my time (dumped someone by letter, had rude thoughts about Darth Vader after we met him downstairs in Binns department store, eaten a croissant out of a bin), I have never got rid of a television.
I like to think that I listen to Classic FM while domestic goddessing and, truth be told, I often do, but you know sometimes classical music can get a bit hectic and I just want to turn all the violins right down. That’s when I pop the telly on.
Tonight, I baked in my kitchen for three hours and had the telly on the whole time. First, I made a cake with Britain’s Got Talent. Not just any cake. My own birthday cake. This time last year I wouldn’t have known how or even had the time. I had to concentrate so barely looked at the screen, which meant a fair few acts just seemed to be music, but I suppose they could have been dancers.
Then I made madeleines to The Apprentice. I’m new to baking and this was my first attempt at madeleines. I’d bought a mould during an excitable wander around Lakeland and I felt the French were mocking me from the cupboard. Who knows why they’re always harping on about madeleines. They’re just little cakes.
At the start of The Apprentice, one of the contestants said they knew Dubai like the back of their hand. Oooh, destined to fail from the start. It’s going to be a good one. If I was on that, I’d never say I knew somewhere like the back of my hand. I’d be reluctant to even say I knew the back of my hand like the back of my hand. Old-lady knuckles and not enough hand cream, at a guess. The only slight problem was that when I used my hand blender, I missed all of the boardroom scene so just had to watch for who Alan pointed at.
EastEnders works very well with any kind of chopping. If you’re a lifelong fan like me, you can recognise all their voices anyway and just imagine the drizzle and fluorescent puffa jackets while keeping your digits intact.
THE “JETS” WIN MY VOTE
I enjoyed Clare Balding’s documentary on the suffragettes. It reminded me that a friend at school wrote an essay calling them the “sufferer jets” the whole time. Like out of West Side Story.