Don't cry for me: Elaine Paige in full flow performing a song from Evita at the 2012 Olivier awards. Photo: Getty
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The day Elaine Paige went quiet

She had you longing for the days when she would just pipe up, laughing dementedly, or refer to herself in the third person.

Elaine Page on Sunday
BBC Radio 2

Among the questions nagging the listener after the annual Radio Academy Awards a few weeks ago – in which a special prize was given to Nick Clegg’s jockstrappishly uncomfortable and now possibly redundant call-in show on LBC – is that of Radio 2’s inexorable rise. Taking home the UK Station of the Year award for the first time since 2005, it currently has more than 15 million listeners a week. Pick of the Pops, Steve Wright’s Sunday Love Songs, Sounds of the 60s – all of them are slam dunks. It’s inexplicable beyond, perhaps, a subtle upping of the ratio of music to chat during shows. I don’t think I’m imagining it. Sometimes the station has the air of Magic 105.4 FM: a glassy, do-not-disturbness to the playlists, a sense of the spoken word being ushered off.

Even Elaine Paige has picked up 19,000 more listeners for her 1pm Sunday show (ten years old this September) featuring hits from musicals. Although still conducting the occasional sympathetic interview,  these days she seems to be doing less – creeping on to confirm that, yes, that was indeed Howard Keel singing “Bless Your Beautiful Hide”, then creeping off again, like an iguana. One wonders (and not for the first time) how Paige occupies herself between links. The other day she admitted to making her way through a plate of sandwiches, which sounded innocent enough and had you longing for the days when she would just pipe up, laughing dementedly, or refer to herself in the third person. I liked to picture her sitting with a large bag of Haribo, CCTV cameras mounted in her tiara. There was a crazed edge.

This episode, she roused herself momentarily to articulate a bat-squeak of desire for Hugh Jackman (“a busy boy and terribly talented”) – but otherwise all the life in the show was located in the messages left on its answerphone by amateur singers plugging local shows, relayed to listeners in a section called “Break a Leg”. “Hi Elaine! My name is Samuel and I’m playing Nanki-Poo, a wandering minstrel, at the Cotswold Savoyards’ 100th show . . . Bye, Elaine!”

“Byeee,” responded Elaine, with what sounded like increasingly heavy eyes. “Or rather goodbyeee. Whatever.” A drowsy bee seems to have found welcome in Paige’s bonnet. And still the ratings rise.

Antonia Quirke is an author and journalist. She is a presenter on The Film Programme and Pick of the Week (Radio 4) and Film 2015 and The One Show (BBC 1). She writes a column on radio for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 28 May 2014 issue of the New Statesman, The elites vs the people

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Why does food taste better when we Instagram it?

Delay leads to increased pleasure when you set up a perfect shot of your dinner.

Been on holiday? Take any snaps? Of course you did – but if you’re anything like me, your friends and family didn’t make it into many of them. Frankly, I can only hope that Mr Whippy and I will still be mates in sixty years, because I’m going to have an awful lot of pictures of him to look back on.

Once a decidedly niche pursuit, photographing food is now almost as popular as eating it, and if you thought that the habit was annoying at home, it is even worse when it intrudes on the sacred peace of a holiday. Buy an ice cream and you’ll find yourself alone with a cone as your companion rushes across a four-lane highway to capture his or hers against the azure sea. Reach for a chip before the bowl has been immortalised on social media and get your hand smacked for your trouble.

It’s a trend that sucks the joy out of every meal – unless, that is, you’re the one behind the camera. A new study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology suggests that taking pictures of food enhances our pleasure in it. Diners at the food court of a farmers’ market in Philadelphia were asked either to photograph their meal or to eat “as you normally would”, then were questioned about how they found it. Those in the photography group reported that not only did they enjoy their meal more, but they were “significantly more immersed in the experience” of eating it.

This backs up evidence from previous studies, including one from this year in the Journal of Consumer Marketing, which found that participants who had been asked to photograph a red velvet cake – that bleeding behemoth of American overindulgence – later rated it as significantly tastier than those who had not.

Interestingly, taking a picture of a fruit salad had no effect on its perceived charms, but “when descriptive social norms regarding healthy eating [were] made salient”, photographing these healthier foods did lead to greater enjoyment. In other words, if you see lots of glossy, beautifully lit pictures of chia seed pudding on social media, you are more likely to believe that it’s edible, despite all the evidence to the contrary.
This may seem puzzling. After all, surely anything tastes better fresh from the kitchen rather than a protracted glamour shoot – runny yolks carefully split to capture that golden ooze, strips of bacon arranged just so atop plump hemispheres of avocado, pillowy burger buns posed to give a glimpse of meat beneath. It is hardly surprising that 95 million posts on Instagram, the photo-sharing site, proudly bear the hashtag #foodporn.

However, it is this delay that is apparently responsible for the increase in pleasure: the act of rearranging that parsley garnish, or moving the plate closer to the light, increases our anticipation of what we are about to eat, forcing us to consider how delicious it looks even as we forbid ourselves to take a bite until the perfect shot is in the bag. You could no doubt achieve the same heightened sense of satisfaction by saying grace before tucking in, but you would lose the gratification that comes from imagining other people ogling your grilled Ibizan sardines as they tuck in to an egg mayonnaise at their desk.

Bear in mind, though, that the food that is most successful on Instagram often has a freakish quality – lurid, rainbow-coloured bagel-croissant hybrids that look like something out of Frankenstein’s bakery are particularly popular at the moment – which may lead to some unwise menu choices in pursuit of online acclaim.

On the plus side, if a diet of giant burgers and salted-caramel lattes leaves you feeling queasy, take heart: if there is one thing that social media likes more than #avotoast, it is embarrassing oversharing. After a week of sickening ice-cream shots, a sickbed selfie is guaranteed to cheer up the rest of us. 

Felicity Cloake is the New Statesman’s food columnist. Her latest book is The A-Z of Eating: a Flavour Map for Adventurous Cooks.

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser