National treasure

The phone rang last night, I picked it up and it was our friend Tania. ‘God, I hate my ****ing husband,’ she said. ‘Oh, Tania, don’t be silly, Jamie’s a sweetheart,’ I said. ‘Oh, shut up, I don’t want to be talking to you, you’re a man. Pass me to your wife, she’ll understand,’ said Tania. So I handed the phone to the wife and she made all the right noises. It seemed that Jamie had arrived home late and hungry to discover that Tania had eaten all his sausages. Jamie had called her a ‘****ing bitch’.

I felt similarly divided loyalties watching English Heritage (BBC2, Friday). It was made by a likeable chap who lives down the road from me called Patrick Forbes, but it stars my dear old mate Simon Thurley, who is chairman of English Heritage. Clearly, hardly anyone these days is going to want to sit through four hour-long documentaries about agreeable old toffs and the sunlight glowing amber on the stone of 16th-century hunting palaces, no matter how exquisitely shot.