DIARY
JENNIFER PATERSON The terrible editor is making me write the diary again, as if I didn't have enough on my plate already what with various Christmas copy being demanded at this early date. It always puts me in a tizz-wizz, and I get my saints confused, let alone my cooking ingredients. So what have I been up to? A very grand party at the Four Sea- sons Hotel in Park Lane held in the ball- room upstairs. It was wonderfully done with really delicious food being cooked on little stands all round the room, not to mention huge, carved ice tableaux keeping things chilled in the centre. I stood by the caviar stand for some time munching hap- pily. I took our `food stylist' from the televi- sion series with me — a splendid, huge Australian called Pete Smith, who drew much admiration from many of the ladies present who wished to have a food stylist of their own. He was dressed in a scarlet rid- ing jacket and looked divine. We ended up at the Groucho and had a merry time with Francis Bissell and her husband.
Being on Have I Got News for You was in fact great fun, apart from the hanging about. They were all very kind to me, and Paul Merton, who was my partner, was per- fectly delightful but much taller than I had expected, about 6 foot 3 inches. I was col- lected from home at 4.45 p.m. and we didn't start until well past 7 p.m. They take you down endless corridors, then leave you in a little dressing-room to await orders, then a man takes you down more steps and corridors to the make-up room where you are swathed in a cowl and the charming lady starts her little tussle with time and you end up looking much better and glow- ing with health — takes ages. When the audience is comfortable and warmed up, they announced us in turn and we settled into our places. The recording went on so long that I got a severe attack of cramp from the curious chairs, but Paul said I couldn't get up so I had to bear it without a grin. All went well, I think, and as it was the last in the series there was a festive party afterwards, which was very jolly, and the head of the programme invited me back again for another go. So that's all right.
On Friday, Clarissa and I were joined together again at the New Exhibition Cen- tre in Birmingham, a very terrible place indeed and a very terrible station to arrive at, a sort of Kaffka-type building with very little sign of life. We were driven from there in a 'hospitality bus' to the nearby Metropole Hotel which was even worse, with fake Christmas trees glittering in the foyer and packed with every strange form of human life, including hundreds of screaming schoolgirls on the hunt for some boys' band — God help them if ever found. A very surly receptionist took half an hour to sort out our bookings, by which time we had to get over to the exhibition to sign books at the Dillons stand for a couple of hours for lots of lovely people who were kind enough to buy our book and express their pleasure, which is always nice. Then we strolled over to the Daily Tele- graph/BBC/Safeway Good Food Show to do a question-and-answer session with the public. It was organised by the splendid Thane Prince who was on terrific form, pre- senting the panel and rushing into the audi- ence with her microphone akimbo for the questions. Returned to the hotel for a well- deserved drink at the bar, where a new influx of black-tied solicitors was now hold- ing sway. Clarissa was staying with friends, so I beat a hasty retreat to my room, had a filthy supper there, watched Have I Got News for You and went to bed. Next day, more book-signing at the House of Fraser store in Birmingham proper, then returned to London to present awards for the British Comedy Awards on television again. This was an extraordinary affair, as I didn't know who most of the comedians were, but thank God I did know the one we had to present an award to as I had met him at one of the Oldie lunches — Richard Wilson from One Foot in the Grave. We were a curious bunch of presenters, from Tony Blair to Ivana Trump, through a weeping Cilia Black and other such entertainers. What a day!
ot being a reader of Counuy Life or the Daily Mail, I had never come across the drawings of Annie Tempest until last week, when I was invited by her to the O'Shea Gallery in Mount Street — just near R. Allen & Co., the great game-purveyor — where she is having an amazing exhibi- tion of her cartoons. They are heavenly, rather reminiscent of Osbert Lancaster through Pont, and mostly based on her father's house, Broughton Hall, near Skip- ton, North Yorkshire. Having seen Two Fat Ladies on telly, she says that we are exactly like the ladies she draws and would like us to film up there, so perhaps we will become cartoon characters as well. Anyway, go and see them, they are there until 23 December together with the artefacts, ties, teapots, mugs etc., that go with the collection; also, she is a great charmer.
Last night, back with Clarissa again (she must be the best-known passenger on the Edinburgh flight to London by now), off we went to Teddington studios to be on the Des O'Connor Show. What next? I was rather against this idea, but in the end it was enjoyable as we met the most charming two-humped camel with a sweet face. He was doing something or other on the show as well as relieving himself with gusto on the floor, reminding me of the story of Sir Thomas Beecham when he was rehearsing Aida with a tiresome soprano. In the mid- dle of her aria one of the elephants relieved itself loudly on stage. 'What a disaster!' screamed the soprano. 'But what a critic,' answered Sir Thomas. Mr O'Connor was terribly nice and I must say works hard for his living; he was going on for hours after we had gone with many other people to record the show, which is to be seen at Christmas or thereabouts, so that will be a treat to look forward to, and how.
We still have to go to Cambridge, Norwich and Bristol this week and maybe film for American television next week, after which I hope we can rest and get the laundry done and other such larks. Too- dle-pip.
Previous page
