Philadelphia is the city of brotherly love – or it’s supposed to be. William Penn, good Quaker that he was, wanted his city to be a place of religious and political tolerance; a haven for those who’d been persecuted for their beliefs. There are quotations inscribed on walls everywhere about the power of love, selflessness and charity. Given how vicious and divisive this presidential election is, the message seems lost on both parties. I flew out to Philly this week for a special Question Time episode, the first time the programme has been to the US since 2008. One of our panellists has had to pull out at the last minute, so the hunt is on to find a replacement. This is a usual problem for QT. I’m more worried about the studio audience, since they will be unfamiliar with the format. Will they speak up enough and get stuck in? Perhaps I should have other concerns. I’m told every member of the audience will be frisked for guns. Blimey. The most I normally have to worry about is people getting overexcited and shouting. QT in Rotherham next week is going to feel like a meeting of the local WI.
I’m often asked how I keep passionate (but generally unarmed) audiences under control. The boring answer is that nothing beats extensive preparation. The day before each programme is spent discussing and distilling copious briefing notes, which I read late into the night. In the end, everything is boiled down to a single page of A4. We only know exactly what the audience will ask when they submit their questions after they turn up an hour and a half before we go on air. The panel don’t see any of the questions beforehand, which can make for a very nervous green room. In the end, I have to accept that much is beyond my control. Not long after I’d started on QT, a woman went rogue and instead of asking the question she’d submitted, she wanted to talk about the closure of her local cattery.
We do a team run to the famous Philly Rocky steps early in the morning before getting our heads down to decide on our panel (we’ve found a replacement, phew) and start adding to and refining our briefs. It’s the last stretch now and all I focus on is facts, facts, facts, given the presidential nominees are playing fast and loose with them.
Since much of my daily life consists of scanning papers, newswires, etc, more than anything I look forward to the chance to ride my horse Woody across the fields of south Oxfordshire. We managed to get out together on Saturday morning. The September rain had finally abated and the sun cast a golden glow over the fields with their hay bales stacked into neat piles. Last autumn, I came off going over a jump and broke my hand. I was patched up with a white bandage and a black plastic mould fastened with blue tape. When I presented the news, just after 7 October, people started asking online if the white bandage and blue tape were my coded message of support for Israel and against the Palestinians. Words fail me.
Just before I set off for Philadelphia, I got a last-minute call from the Fake or Fortune team to see if I can extend my stay to do some filming about a Swiss neoclassical painter, as a painting of hers might have turned up in Pittsburgh. The juxtaposition of Antiques Roadshow, QT and FoF all in the same week takes a bit of getting my head around. News and QT are a constant drumbeat, but mostly I can mentally set the other programmes to one side when I need to. Last week I went to Audley End in Saffron Walden, a 17th-century manor house, to film an Antiques Roadshow special about the history of food. In the kitchen, complete with coal range and glowing copper jelly moulds, we recreated dishes from the recipe book of the house’s 19th-century cook, Avis Crocombe. The crew declared the winner to be a mound of a suet sweetened with a whole jar of marmalade and served steaming hot. We all tucked in.
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