Hugh Dennis? He went to Cambridge you know - like all the best people...
I spent most of today asleep. Not purely as a sign of appreciation of my new bed (which, incidentally, is high enough off the ground that grown-ups could play at forts underneath it) but also to try and avert corporeal spurnage-disaster.
Le soir I took myself off to White City, where I met Liss. Possibly she was not expecting to find me curled up impersonating a statue between the bannisters, but sometimes these things will happen. Mostly to me, but I am sure other people too. Yes. We then pobbled along down to the BBC television centre. I had my crutch x-rayed (presumably to prove it was not packed with drugs/explosives or a modern sort of sword-stick) and Liss managed to set off the metal detector. Cos she is a special squeen.
We were escorted into the building by a young man who informed me it was his job to protect me. It was like having an adolescent bodyguard. Bless him. And then Liss and I went and found a dalek. As one traditionally does on a fine summer evening. And Helen came and found us, which is possibly less exciting than finding a dalek, but if so she was too polite to suggest any such thing.
We were given a special escort along a special route into the studio & we managed to save a seat for the Katie, which was splendid. Hopefully we will not be appearing on TV as we were right at the front; although there was much filming of the audience to prove we were real and actually there, as a demonstration of the integrity of the BBC. Oh, how we laughed.
There was much mirth during the recording. As one might expect with Mock The Week being comedy. And of course the audience having been drilled in both laughing and applauding. I sometimes think guns to heads would be more subtle. But there you are. Anyway, so as to avoid making people hate me because I have spoiled their televisual whatnot, it was class & you should all watch. Oui. There was quite a bit on the Tour de France as Hugh had cycled a stage yesterday & he also provided some genius things-you-would-not-want-to-hear-over-a-tannoy (e.g. "You are the only one who can hear me" and "The lift doors are closing, leaving you trapped in a tiny metal box. Claustrophobic, isn't it?") and provided some beautiful visual moments - the raptor walk (inherently funny owing to the whole Apter the Raptor thing at College); turning himself into a sabre-toothed tiger with the help of a Twix, and twiddling about with his clothing between shots, seemingly purely to annoy the dictatorial floor manager... I decided that Jo Caulfield's thinness is disturbing (I assume she is anti-HP because her tiny limbs would snap under the weight of the later books) and that Mark Watson is quite cute in a straggly unkempt way. I was also reminded I love Dara O'Briain's voice; but then realised he does remind me slightly of the (now) Headmaster of my Junior School, which was a little perturbing. Ho-hum.
The journey home was a bit pants. The person showing us out told me about 74 million times to watch out for the cables (you would think they were prone to leaping up and strangling people from the way she was going on) which of course made me want to fall over just to see what she'd do. However I refrained from such childish behaviour. Yes. I managed to get a tube straight away at White City but then the Northern Line was utterly broken because someone went under a train earlier (mind you it was broken before then as well, so I feel the poor sod may be being unfairly blamed) so I was sat at Tottenham Court Road for quarter of an hour waiting for a tube down to Charing X. Bah. I just managed to make it onto a Hither Green train when I got up to the mainline station, meaning I got home not too hideously late. Huzzah.
Plans for tomorrow = sleeping, mostly. I need to be awake in the evening though as I am going to see my LQ person running Brownies & indeed making her Promise as a Guider. Exciting stuff, non?
Le soir I took myself off to White City, where I met Liss. Possibly she was not expecting to find me curled up impersonating a statue between the bannisters, but sometimes these things will happen. Mostly to me, but I am sure other people too. Yes. We then pobbled along down to the BBC television centre. I had my crutch x-rayed (presumably to prove it was not packed with drugs/explosives or a modern sort of sword-stick) and Liss managed to set off the metal detector. Cos she is a special squeen.
We were escorted into the building by a young man who informed me it was his job to protect me. It was like having an adolescent bodyguard. Bless him. And then Liss and I went and found a dalek. As one traditionally does on a fine summer evening. And Helen came and found us, which is possibly less exciting than finding a dalek, but if so she was too polite to suggest any such thing.
We were given a special escort along a special route into the studio & we managed to save a seat for the Katie, which was splendid. Hopefully we will not be appearing on TV as we were right at the front; although there was much filming of the audience to prove we were real and actually there, as a demonstration of the integrity of the BBC. Oh, how we laughed.
There was much mirth during the recording. As one might expect with Mock The Week being comedy. And of course the audience having been drilled in both laughing and applauding. I sometimes think guns to heads would be more subtle. But there you are. Anyway, so as to avoid making people hate me because I have spoiled their televisual whatnot, it was class & you should all watch. Oui. There was quite a bit on the Tour de France as Hugh had cycled a stage yesterday & he also provided some genius things-you-would-not-want-to-hear-over-a-tannoy (e.g. "You are the only one who can hear me" and "The lift doors are closing, leaving you trapped in a tiny metal box. Claustrophobic, isn't it?") and provided some beautiful visual moments - the raptor walk (inherently funny owing to the whole Apter the Raptor thing at College); turning himself into a sabre-toothed tiger with the help of a Twix, and twiddling about with his clothing between shots, seemingly purely to annoy the dictatorial floor manager... I decided that Jo Caulfield's thinness is disturbing (I assume she is anti-HP because her tiny limbs would snap under the weight of the later books) and that Mark Watson is quite cute in a straggly unkempt way. I was also reminded I love Dara O'Briain's voice; but then realised he does remind me slightly of the (now) Headmaster of my Junior School, which was a little perturbing. Ho-hum.
The journey home was a bit pants. The person showing us out told me about 74 million times to watch out for the cables (you would think they were prone to leaping up and strangling people from the way she was going on) which of course made me want to fall over just to see what she'd do. However I refrained from such childish behaviour. Yes. I managed to get a tube straight away at White City but then the Northern Line was utterly broken because someone went under a train earlier (mind you it was broken before then as well, so I feel the poor sod may be being unfairly blamed) so I was sat at Tottenham Court Road for quarter of an hour waiting for a tube down to Charing X. Bah. I just managed to make it onto a Hither Green train when I got up to the mainline station, meaning I got home not too hideously late. Huzzah.
Plans for tomorrow = sleeping, mostly. I need to be awake in the evening though as I am going to see my LQ person running Brownies & indeed making her Promise as a Guider. Exciting stuff, non?