I was suspected of spraying "arse" on Paxman's desk because I wanted his job. Now that I'm said to want Jimmy Young's job, keep an eye on surfaces at Radio 2 . . .
My dad feels a right mug. He answered a bang at the door and found a pair of concerned roofers. "We're working in the area, mate," one said cheerily, "and obviously, we saw the damage." Damage? Apparently, it was the lead flashing. "But we can repair it cheapish, since we're passing." Dad couldn't help them with the ladder fast enough. Sure enough, they found the mysterious problem: "Lead strip's all ripped, guv. Came off in our hands; £400 and we'll fix it for you." Not happening to have £400 in cash around the house, my father - and this is the bit he still can't quite believe - drove to the bank and withdrew it at the counter.
Returning, he apologetically handed the roofers a wad of banknotes. But then they glanced at a lone cloud in the sky, made an excuse about the weather and drove off. That, it seems, was the end of that; they never came back.
When I hear the story, I furiously suggest setting Trading Standards on them, You and Yours, a pride of lions - but my dad's reaction demonstrates why he has lived a long and happy life. "Don't worry, Jeremy. It's a fantastic yarn. I can dine out on it. Let's leave it at that."
Speaking of extensive repair work, we are about to change the set on Newsnight. This means carpentry; designers; a gaggle of producers on their knees around a cardboard cut-out; and, at last, a solution to the missing dot. Look closely at the backdrop any night of the week and you'll see that, on the orange part of the set, the dot on the "i" in Newsnight has disappeared. One small benefit of the rebuild is that we get a new wooden dot. No ordinary dot, either: it will be in a font called Gill and, we are assured, this dot will be committed to the programme. The last one apparently wanted to reach a wider audience, and after a difficult period freelancing in radio, finally got a break working with the "i" on Crimewatch.
Incidentally, Newsnight doesn't have a studio of its own. Visitors always marvel that the programme shares space with Newsround and BBC Breakfast - and the scenery needs to be lugged into storage every day. Recently, while it was leaning against a wall, someone painted the word "ARSE" across it. The tale ended up in the Mirror under the headline: "WHO DAUBED **** ON PAXMAN'S DESK?", complete with a list of suspects. Michael Howard was 10-1 (perhaps that should have been 14) and I came in at 25-1 on the illuminating grounds that I was "thought to want Paxman's job". These days, I am "thought to want Jimmy Young's job", so producers on Radio 2 are doubtless looking out for the word "arse" on all smooth surfaces.
The World Cup's exotic setting has made my agent recall a painful encounter with the Japanese media. "I am Alex Armitage, director of the Noel Gay organisation," he had announced, warming up the room for a client in Tokyo. The assembled company went quiet for a full ten minutes. Afterwards, he asked what had happened. A local journalist explained: "I think perhaps you should not make any more references to your organisation Enola Gay."
Fish and chips in the BBC canteen brings together a dozen colleagues, including Jasmin Buttar, a producer departing for the Washington bureau - and for marriage to her partner, Alan. We discuss proposals as I have also, excitingly, got engaged. Jasmin transfixes the table with the story of how Alan asked her to marry him "dramatically, at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, with a breathtaking view". And where, my colleagues ask, did I pop the question to Rachel? Um, I explain hesitantly, it was round the corner from the tile superstore on the Goldhawk Road, with a magnificent vista over the roundabout. Well, at least we didn't have to walk uphill afterwards.
Celebrating among friends at the weekend, I raise a glass with a man who has the same name as me. Three years ago, while I was correspondent in South Africa, Jeremy Vine wrote a moving piece in the Sunday Times about the death of his father. He had suffered the same brain disease as Dudley Moore, and the family watched in anguish as he gradually disintegrated. At the time, Jeremy was production editor on the Sunday Times, but the article didn't say that - and I arrived in the office in Johannesburg one Monday morning to be deluged with mystifying condolences. After a while, it was too exhausting to explain the mix-up, so I just accepted them. My father quoted Mark Twain at everyone who inquired whether he was dead. As a result, Jeremy Vine and I met and discovered that we both support Chelsea, which is all you need for a meaningful, lifelong friendship.
I was determined not to go on about the World Cup here, but that reference to Chelsea draws me irresistibly to the subject of underperforming foreign superstars. The rout of tournament favourites has made a mess of the Newsnight sweepstake, in which we all took a stab at the semi-finalists and winner. I am the only person in the office to have backed England to win, which I did simply to avoid dividing my loyalties. You may have seen the Brazil result by now: am I right to think it's all coming my way? The fee for this article will go towards my father's roof.
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