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I staggered out of my hotel room at 3.35 on Friday morning to discover that there was a party in full swing in the bar. It's one of those oh-so-funky minimalist hotels in West London; furnished with plasma screens and modernist (thoroughly uncomfortable) sofas. The party-goers looked like a collection of cool and happening dudes from the entertainment business. Record company execs, C-list rock stars, assorted hangers-on. As I walked through the debris of beer bottles, spilled crisps and dazed bodies I was overwhelmed with a sense of dislocation. Think Bill Murray in the Tokyo-based film 'Lost in Translation'.
What the hell was I doing here?
It's not as though London is foreign territory. I lived here for years before becoming a foreign correspondent, but, having spent the last fourteen years based overseas, coming back for ten days to be the summer relief boy on 'Today' has been a strange, strange experience. For a start there's the whole business of living in a hotel in a city which used to be my home. I could stay with friends... but who wants a guest who sets the alarm for 3 am and then clatters round the house while listening to News 24 at full volume?
Then there's that marvellous institution: 'the presenter's car'. It purrs up to the hotel at precisely 3.36 to whisk me to TV Centre. On the back seat a copy of every morning paper. But you know what? Even reading the front pages at that ungodly hour in a moving car makes me want to vomit (and that's before setting eyes on the Daily Star).
So I've been arriving at work these past few days feeling nauseous, and weirdly out of sync with life beyond TV Centre.
But no matter. 'Today' engages you with the real world whether you're ready or not.
It's been
'A' levels results week of course which meant much pre and post-publication analysis of our eighteen year olds' 96 per cent pass rate.
David Miliband, the Education Minister, will clearly go far given the success of his pre-emptive slag-off of those who were preparing to slag-off the A level success story.
Mr Miliband even coined a phrase about the achievements of the youth of 'Middle England' which left many of us baffled. Did he mean the middle class or the solid working class? Was he referring specifically to the stunning results in mid-Leicestershire? Polly Toynbee and Daniel Finkelstein decided the minister's usage, while sounding Shakespearean, is actually an Americanism - for 'Middle England' read US politicians' constant referencing of 'Middle America'.
By the way, without wishing to sound like an old grump, how come Government ministers now look young enough to be taking A levels themselves?
As the new boy on the programme I've been doing quite a few of the colour stories that come after the lead item. And that can be a treat. Take last Tuesday when we had in a master of epic poetry from Kyrgyzstan. He was heading to the British Library to recite the most famous poem from Kyrgyzstan's vibrant culture of oral story-telling. It's 500,000 lines long and Rysbek Jamabaev can declaim it all from memory. I can't even do the weather forecast from memory. Accompanied by flute, we set him off in the studio.
As he didn’t speak a word of English, I simply pointed at him when he was to start and pointed at him again when it was time to stop. Thing is, I didn't want him to stop. His delivery was hauntingly beautiful. Amazing use of his voice box, wild gesticulations and something trance-inducing in the overall effect. Listen to it again,
then listen to Ben Haggerty's explanantion of it, and you'll end up wishing you'd spent Tuesday in the British Library....
But the most memorable moment of the week for me was my encounter with Rose and Maxine Gentle - mother and fourteen year old sister of 19 year old Gordon Gentle who was killed in Iraq on June 28th - less than a year after he joined the Royal Highland Fusiliers. Maxine, full of anger and grief, wrote a searing letter to Tony Blair. They wanted to hand it in to No. 10 in person and ended up having a meeting with John Prescott, which ended abruptly when mother and daughter marched out in disgust.
I met them in London before they headed back to Scotland. We wanted to hear their story, and it was one of those interviews that could only work face-to-face, not 'down the line'. The force of young Maxine's anger toward Tony Blair and his Iraq policy will linger with me for a long time, and it prompted a thoughtful response from MP and staunch advocate of the war, Eric Joyce.
The Olympics has been a running sore, I mean story, this week. I particulary enjoyed the report from my Brussels friend and colleague Tim Franks on the island of Lesbos, where the disgraced 100m Sydney Olympics champ Kostas Kenteris came from. It prompted fascinating reflections from former athletes Jonathan Edwards and Mark Richardson on the corruption and cynicism that lies beyond all the guff about Olympic competition.
Time for me to make a (caffeine-boosted) sprint back to my temporary home. Wonder if the party's over in the hotel bar - more to the point, I wonder if the staff have made up my room? Its 10.00 am and I need a kip.
Stephen
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