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From the editor, Kevin Marsh
If you've been listening for the past couple of weeks, you'll know that Sarah Montague is back from her holidays. And about time too. While she was away absolutely NO-ONE did any washing up and the guest area of the studio was getting pretty whiffy. We did get Martha Kearney in from Woman's Hour for a few days but I think there was a bit of a misunderstanding here because it now seems that Woman's Hour doesn't do things about domestic science any more. Martha presented the programme brilliantly and we got a lot of emails welcoming her back onto the programme… but I'm afraid on the matter of the daily chores in the Today kitchen, she was a bit of a dead loss. And then of course, this week, it got very hot - in fact, Sarah was just peeling off her marigolds as the mercury nosed above the 30 mark… or was that the 80 mark ? Which was, and is still, the big question: Fahrenheit or Celsius: or, more accurately, what age do you have to be now to have no instinct on what temperatures expressed in degrees Fahrenheit actually feel like ?
One of the Editors - a bit too hip for his own good, if you ask me - claims that he can't think in Fahrenheit. But then, he can barely think in any known earth language either, despite a first from Cambridge. Jim just happened to drop that into one of the items this week… and within seconds, the Today email inbox was electronically groaning under the weight of what is clearly now the debate of the summer if not our lives. That debate's turned every which way - and has become a metaphorical self-examination of life in Britain; it IS the British existentialism.
The heat ALSO got us debating the etiquette of men's sandals: with or without socks ? At least, that was the idea. But that discussion soon turned into the merits of the pedicure - and in particular, the male pedicure. Now, I don't know the designer Mr Wayne Hemingway at all, but based on what he had to say on the programme, he is my candidate for Sensible Man of the Year - and that's not just because, from the sound of his voice, he seems to have been born about three streets away from me. No, it's because as far as he was concerned men just don't do that sort of thing - like they don’t suppress flatulence; think two pints are enough or admit to ignorance of the offside law. It was all going quite well until Sarah cooed that SHE was wearing spangly flip flops - which was all right, if a bit racy. But she then went on to accuse Jim of wearing sandals - WITH socks. Jim spluttered a - frankly unconvincing - denial and thrust both feet into the Peruvian hand-crafted waste-bins he keeps under the studio desk. Ever the professional, though, he put the slight to one side for the rest of the programme.
But once we came off air, I caught sight of him lacing on a pair of steel toe-capped Doc Martens, muttering menacingly to himself as he watched Sarah make light work of the croissant plates and latte cups. And moments later, as I went into a meeting, I watched him clump in an ungainly way around the office, making innocent sounding inquiries about Sarah's route home.
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