I'm constantly taken aback by how rude people are. If listeners to the Today programme don't want you waking them up, they let you know
Three o'clock, when my three alarm clocks go off, is an evil hour. They say more people die at that time than at any other because the body is at such a low ebb. I can believe it. And to make things worse, I'm seven months pregnant. As any mother knows, something happens late in pregnancy that redefines your sense of tiredness.
Getting up, I apologise to my bump, knowing that I'm probably now setting up a routine which means that when this baby is born it'll be payback time. The early starts are one of the curses of presenting Radio 4's Today programme; one of the benefits is that I'm back in bed by 10am.
I haven't made life easy for myself.
If you believe the papers, just when I should have been scratching rival female presenters' eyes out for the best job in broadcasting - the treat of sitting alongside John Humphrys or Jim Naughtie - I get pregnant. It's obviously a life-changing event, but I hadn't thought it would affect my ability to do the job. What is clear is that it does affect how other people view you. The sight of a pregnant woman must surely be one of the most natural things in the world, so why do so many interviewees look positively shocked when I stand up, and from behind the microphone my bump rises into view? Or perhaps the look of surprise may have to do with what I'm wearing, as I only seem to have mastered the Waynetta Slob school of maternity wear. Have some sympathy, though: it's hard enough dressing at 3am even when your body is in a sensible shape.
My biggest worry has been what you might call "preg-head" - a condition that reportedly affects pregnant women's brains. I've been on my guard against it and thought I was doing rather well - that is, until this week, when poor Allan Little had the misfortune to present with me. At ten to nine, just before coming off air, Allan was conducting a serious interview. I confess that after three hours of broadcasting I was not paying the attention I should have been and was deep in a tabloid story about Big Brother. One of the housemates, Jade, has been making some great comments, eg: "My first ever birthday was when I was one" and "Don't make me an escaped goat". Now can you see why I was gripped? Then something brought me back to the Today programme studio and, thinking it was my turn, I launched into the next item. I could tell from Allan's face that something was wrong; it was only when we went to a tape that I realised how wrong. He had been halfway through his interview when I had interrupted, leaving his question hanging, his two guests dumbfounded and presumably millions of listeners bemused. And there I was thinking Jade was the dippy one.
More letters from listeners who obviously despise me. They don't like changes on the Today programme - and although I first presented it two years ago, to some people it is clearly an affront that after nearly 20 years Sue MacGregor has gone, and I am here.
When I worked in television, the weirdest letters were from viewers asking for particular photos - me in a black basque and thigh-high boots - that sort of thing. My favourite letter was from someone who was obviously bothered by the gap in my two front teeth. He gave me the address of his dentist with the recommendation that, like him, I should have a whole tooth inserted into the gap. I can only imagine it would look like some sort of proboscis.
The joy of radio is that people take more account of what you are saying. But, sadly, also how you say it. I had a letter the other day noting every annoying glottal stop and every perceived pronunciation error through the programme. John and Jim advise me to ignore the madder letters, which is somewhat reassuring, but when I hear about their mail, there's also the realisation that I had better get used to it.
I'm constantly taken aback by how rude people are, but then there's something about the Today programme that, like no other programme I've worked on, makes listeners feel they truly own it. And if they don't want you waking them up, they let you know.
Still, their grumbling is a small price for what I am doing. I feel privileged to have a ringside seat on the most important events happening in the world. I came off air a few days ago to be asked: "Could you fly to Ireland to interview Bill Clinton?" It was - as it sounded - too good to be true. But it's the nature of the Today programme that it could have happened - and at some stage probably will.
Away from work all anyone wants to know is: "What is John Humphrys really like?" I was yet again reminded of his fearsome reputation this week. That rather strange man who chose to be crucified for the sake of his art was in the studio. He even held his hands up above the desk to show us his scars from where the nails had been driven in.
Given what he'd been through, you wouldn't think much would scare him, but it was clear from the look on his face that John did. As I've learnt, there's one question that will turn John into a big softie: just ask about his young toddler, Owen. With what's ahead of me in the next few months, I'm grateful to be getting a proud father's advice.
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