Tag Archives: Notts TV

A day to remember

Subtitle: In which I meet an award-winning journalist and set fire to my own hair


I’m moving in rarefied circles these days. I’ve also learnt how to spell rarefied, I think. If you search for rarified it also seems to exist. Does anyone know which is right? If I’m moving in those circles I should at least be able to spell them.

Yes, award-winning journalist Andrew Cowper has been down to the farm to film an item on healthy eating. It seems that kids in Nottinghamshire are 38% heavier than kids in the rest of the East Midlands. Clearly, as obesity is thought to be a Bad Thing, I wasn’t going to feature heavily in the filming. I left that to Julia and Gail the Bread Lady.

I was allowed to construct the figures “38%” in salt dough and to load up the pizza oven. That was a drama in its own right. First of all it burned too well (which is unusual) and second, it set fire to the oven door. When I came to rake the embers to one side there were too many of them so I had to push them all round the perimeter, which prevents convection currents moving round the top of the oven chamber.

This led to burnt pizza, pizza with ash on it (though that was my fault due to inept handling of the peel) and pizza that wasn’t cooked in the middle.  It also led to pizza that was all three. As events have shown over the years, there are few faults that I cannot produce when left alone with a pizza oven and a load of dough.

Despite this, everyone ate their pizza and said they loved the outdoor pizza experience. In the interests of accuracy I have to report that the ones who had theirs done in the electric oven seemed pretty happy too, and didn’t have to spit as many bits of ash out.

It wasn’t all drama, of course, there was comedy too. I have no hair on my arms now (a sign that the oven has reached 600 degrees Centigrade. I have also managed to get rid of the bushier bits of my eyebrows and make the quiffy bit at the front of my head look even more ridiculous. Tonight I will be shaving my head.

That’s about it.

I will be watching Notts TV tonight. I won’t be making the 5.30 show, but 8.00 or 10.00 could be a possibility. I’m a bit hazy on details but it will be a short excerpt followed by something more substantial next week when they can get hold of a local councillor.

I’m tempted to end with a note about broadcasters who keep their promises (like Andrew and Notts TV) and those that don’t. But that wouldn’t be nice, would it?

Anyway, I have burns to see to and a head to shave…


Magic of the Media

As I said at the time, if anyone else had touched my wife like that I’d have taken exception. However, as he’s come to do a feature for Notts TV I allowed it.

It’s only 9.44 as I type and we’ve already had the first of the groupies turn up.

Pardon my cynicism, but such is the magic of the media.

I wonder if I should have worn make-up this morning?


Pride and publicity

Well, Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall, as they say in Proverbs 16:18. And so it came to pass that the BBC decided not to proceed with the filming, and failed to tell us until we rang. There is a fair amount of wailing and rending of garments going on locally at the moment as many spinsters of the parish (and a few married ladies) were looking forward to seeing Matt Baker.

Which all goes to show that it is unwise to count your chickens before they hatch.

The publicity would have been nice, but all is not lost as we have a journalist from Notts TV coming to film. It’s a slightly smaller crew than the BBC (in fact it’s one man with a camera) but it’s TV all the same.

However, talking of cynical media tricks, isn’t that a cute, but out of context goat in the featured image? It’s worth a dozen extra views.

Only a short post for now as I am busy with more salt dough. With only a week to go I need a 300 shapes for kids to paint and 100 tiles for our art installation. See, the media is rubbing off on me, I’d never have said “art installation” last month. I’ve handled so much salt in the last week I swear my fingers are beginning to mummify.


They look like alpacas but they are meant to be lambs

If archaeologists ever dig me up all they will find is my finger tips and three gold teeth. It’s not much to leave to posterity

On the other hand, what has posterity ever done for me?