Of Sense and Sense-celebrity

So I have an email, asking if I’d like to audition for a new cooking programme on Channel 4.  Good grief.   I’m the last person who should ever be on telly doing anything.  In fact it’s a wonder I’m allowed outside on my own, unsupervised.  But cooking, competitively, against professional chefs?  Crumbs.  I get anxious just writing a shopping list.

Nope.  I will not be going on the gogglebox. No way.   Probably… but wouldn’t it be a hoot?

In preparation, I embark upon a self-induced technical challenge.  The Greek God encourages matters by ‘interviewing’ me, Noel Fielding style, as I whisk and whirl around the kitchen.  Well, I say that; he mainly pretends to wear a terrible shirt and gets in my way a lot.

I’m not sure daytime TV is ready for me, effing and blinding, falling over as I search for the wooden spoon and wearing blue plasters all over my hands and face.  In fact, I had a terrible premonition when I wrote this blog post yonks ago.  But I’m wondering… cooking, whilst holding a conversation without swearing, and remembering to hold my stomach in… I could do that, couldn’t I?  And let’s face it, if you’re going to have a complete nervous breakdown, why not do it on national telly, right..?  Hmmm…

Imagine the joy it would bring to my friends and family, ever-supportive:

‘She’s always been a liability but it turns out she can’t cook either, the poor old girl.’

(You could do it though.  Go on.  You can borrow my hold-it-in knickers?  This is the link)

6 thoughts on “Of Sense and Sense-celebrity

  1. Dare you to apply!
    By coincidence I recently got a message inviting me to apply for a cooking show. I felt flattered but wondered if they were getting desperate for contestants. Out of curiosity I did apply for some baking show that takes place in a tent this year thinking I didn’t have a hope in hell of getting anywhere but it was either fill in the application form or tackle the ironing mountain. I chose the former, which, I hasten to add, took far longer to complete than the ironing would have! Much to my utter amazement I got to round two of auditions. I started having visions of me being chosen as ‘the mature’ contestant and wondering if anyone would be able to give me a hoist up on the stools after the technical challenge. Being a shorty with poor climbing skills, me mounting a bar stool is not a pretty sight! Anyway, I’m waffling. To cut a long ( sorry) story short, my chocolate fondant tarts did not travel well and that was the end of that. Shall I enter the cooking show? Maybe, but only if I can be guaranteed a nice little kitchen chair to park my ample derrière !

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    • Ahahahahahahaaaaaaa… the Greek God and me are laughing our arses off reading this as we stand out in the rain, wearing pinnies, in the back streets of Cambridge. I’m glad someone else shares my woe with stools. They are definitely in my Room 101! Shall we both go on the cooking show? We’d have a hoot at least!!

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      • Is that what people do in the back streets of Cambridge? I must come one day and look out for people in pinnies. Most people wear a sensible coat but then I come from the south west where we are far more convenientonal than our East Anglian counterparts! It would be a right Royal hoot indeed, but alas my show is not your show. Mine has the right honourable Mary Berry judging and you get to stay in a house like they do in the Apprentice but you don’t have to get up at 4.30 and you are allowed to be nice to each other. Fancy my show? I’ll send you the link! xx

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