We broadcasters like to comfort ourselves after making mistakes on air with the thought: “Oh, the listeners or viewers love it when we make a mess of things.” I hope they do after a recent edition of The World at One. I read an introduction to an interview with army chief of staff General Sir Mike Jackson, who turned out not to be there. The producer had tried to tell me in my headphones just before we went on air. She thought the reason I hadn’t flinched was that I was super-cool. If only. In fact what happened was that she had pressed the wrong “talkback” button as the Sellotape with my name on it had slipped. Do you think Nasa has these problems in their control room?
Mind you, incidents like that were pretty run-of-the-mill at the first radio station I ever worked for – LBC in Gough Square just behind Fleet Street in London. I remember one news bulletin being interrupted by a woman entering the studio with a vacuum cleaner. This week I met up with some of the other women who worked there for a meal and to exchange some reminiscences. Many are far too scurrilous to repeat but I do love the story about the presenter (once a nationally known DJ) who used to fall asleep regularly on air during his live phone-in. The producer used to have to dash into the studio to wake him up. At least that’s never happened to me on The World at One.
Several of my male friends have taken to cycling in a symptom of the kind of midlife crisis that used to be reserved for fast cars and trophy wives. One has eight bikes, including a gold one that is “too good to ride”. All he does is stroke it and lift it up by one finger to show how light it is. Then there’s the Lycra. Another friend is a GP and a watchword for his conservative attire. Yet at the weekends he proudly squeezes himself into black-and-yellow cycling gear and terrorises the Suffolk countryside by turning into his alter-ego The Wasp.
I have a bike myself and, after I’ve checked several weather forecasts to be sure there won’t be a drop of rain, do enjoy going out for the odd ride, needless to say, not dressed in Lycra. My main problem in cycling, though, hasn’t been the dress code but the aches caused in my backside after any length of time in the saddle. The aforementioned male friends all claim that those pencil-thin leather saddles are really comfortable “once you get used to them”. In the same way, I suppose, that prisoners of the Inquisition got used to the Iron Maiden.
But I made a wonderful discovery this year on a short break to Le Touquet, on the northern coast of France. While we were there, we hired bikes with the most comfortable saddles I have ever experienced. These couldn’t be further from the Masoch model beloved of my friends. In fact I would describe them as the La-Z- Boy of saddles, fully padded and perfectly suited to my Miss Marple style of pedalling, which is at the other end of the spectrum to The Wasp.
I once spotted the wife of a Conservative MP dressed in full ball gown cycling out of the House of Commons. “Just off to Buckingham Palace!” she cried. I certainly wouldn’t risk cycling either to a posh event or wobbling home afterwards. So I went by cab to the National Liberal Club, a splendid late 19th-century neo-Gothic building just off Whitehall, to celebrate the 30th anniversary of the London Review of Books.
I had that awful moment when I arrived and didn’t recognise anyone I knew, so had to pretend to be very interested in the panelling of the library. Eventually, some old mates turned up and I ended up meeting an eclectic group of people, including the poets Hugo Williams and David Harsent and a Serbian academic who is a cousin of Radovan Karadzic.
There was also one of those scenes that form a familiar motif at literary parties. I witnessed a Booker judge apologising to an author for not including him on the shortlist. I am judging the Guardian First Book prize at the moment so will have that particular guilt trip to face soon.
There was one very dramatic moment at the LRB party. I was utterly surprised when writer and political campaigner Tariq Ali leapt athletically on to a table and thrust his arm into the air. Luckily this wasn’t the start of a long political denunciation of our Liberal surroundings but a vote of thanks to the LRB’s editors. I remarked on that to one of the Review’s staff on my way out. “Oh he always does that at our dos,” came the reply. “He’s a serial table climber.” No harm in keeping your hand in, I suppose, in case the barricades are piled up again.
That same evening, I also went to a reception at Lambeth Palace. No one leapt on the table there – possibly deterred by the stern glances of various archbishops of Canterbury through the ages, whose portraits line the walls. I had a brief chat with the current holder of the office, who told me that he’d hosted parties every night that week for several charities. This reception was for a charity called Five Talents, which provides microfinance for people who want to start small businesses in the developing world.
I will always remember interviewing a woman from Nigeria who had been given a small amount of money to buy some chickens who ended up employing several of her neighbours in a flourishing business. I am full of admiration for anyone from whatever background who can make a success of a small business. I used to harbour a secret fantasy about setting up a chutney business. Not after this week. I never thought I would miss a marrow. Normally we have far too many of the things as delicate little courgettes turn into boring tasteless marrows as soon as you turn your back. But at least they do bulk up the chutney. This year we grew a new type of yellow squash that was so inedible that I couldn’t even risk it in heavily spiced chutney. My recipe does get more and more ridiculously lavish every year, so something that is intended to use up spare apples has become a concoction involving balsamic vinegar and posh dates. Delicious except that lacking a marrow, I got the proportions wrong and it’s far too liquid. I don’t think the market is ready for a pouring chutney.
Martha Kearney is the presenter of ‘The World at One’ on BBC Radio 4 and of BBC 2’s ‘Newsnight Review’
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