8 hours ago
Keir's kitchen sink drama (that wasn't just a big act after all)
J ust seven minutes stood between the sweat-saturated mass of pasty flesh in the mirror and my profound need to be in a visual state to not scare people over their dinner on national television. Sloughing the glistening moisture from my torso with paper towels in the men's loos as my long-suffering producer, Ryan Thrussell, didn't quite know where to look was the definition of being 'a bit tight on time' for my show.
Ryan raced through the running order and list of guests as I hastily dabbed down the inevitable results of one of the hottest days of the year, the 12.58 from Uttoxeter via Derby running more than half an hour late, and a sprint from the Tube by a profoundly unfit 41-year-old.
As Ryan handed me a dry shirt and I inserted my earpiece, we both knew the prime ministerial interview I had chased for four months was recorded, almost ready to go, and this was just a temporary, albeit rather damp, interlude.
