A Saint Among Herons

I was standing in the middle of an Essex wildlife sanctuary on Saturday, posing with a copy of my new book, ‘Fathers & Sons’, as a flock of migrating herons few over and broke my concentration.

‘Camera, Richard! Camera! Stop looking at the birdies!’

So shouted the guy 'The Guardian' had sent to photograph me. He was standing on a hide constructed from old railway sleepers and hardened clay. It gave him the proper elevation to photograph me spread out on the sandy bank, the sunlight catching the Vaseline he’d smeared onto my nipples so as to make the shoot feel like a hot summer's day.

‘So sorry,’ I replied, sitting up. ‘It’s just that I’m so used to being with Bill Oddie that I can’t let a heron pass by without my trying to see if it’s been tagged by Katie Humble.’

The cameraman lowered his lens and aimed a pair of wider angles my way. ‘You’re nothing like you are on the telly,’ he said as he jumped down from his perch and wandered over.

‘That’s because we’re two different entities,’ I told him. ‘Don’t let the Vaseline on my nipples mislead you. I’m the Richard Madeley who scoffs at everything I’ve become in the name of fizzing tea-time sofa sex. I’m not just a perfect body trapped within a pair of casual slacks and with a grin that can melt a cushion. I have ambitions to better myself as an artist. I want to transcend the daytime schedules and achieve a blogging omnipotence.’

‘Oh, I have a blog,’ he replied, the statement so flat that it slipped out like a pancake slick with syrup.

‘You do?’

He grew shy. ‘If you can keep a secret,’ he said, ‘I’ll tell you all about it.’

I threw my book to one side and turned my back on the herons.

‘My word is my 007,’ I said. ‘Tell me all...’

He blushed a little. It reminded me a female Tufted Dabchick during courtship and I half expected him to squawk and adopt a pose indicating his willingness to receive the male.

‘The thing is,’ he began, ‘I pretend to be a sexually active young woman from Dagenham. My blog is a series of explicit posts in which I relate the intimate details of my latest conquests. I have quite the readership and a book due out next summer based upon my sultry adventures.’

‘I bet you do,’ I said. ‘I’ve heard things about Dagenham which lead me to think that you’d be highly successful in what you do. You’re certain to top the charts.’

‘Oh, I’m certainly successful. I’ve had quite a few marriage proposals and a gentleman from Humberside recently offered to pay for a holiday in Copenhagen. Of course, I had to refuse. He was already married and I don’t think he had the money to keep me in the luxury to which I’ve become accustomed.’

‘As good a reason as any,’ I agreed, ‘though, if you don’t mind my being so blunt, I would have thought that the biggest hurdle to a freebie holiday like that is the fact that you’re not actually a sexually active young woman from Dagenham. Not unless appearances deceive...’

He dropped the big lens into his bag. I took it as the sign that the shoot had come to an end.

‘That’s just it,’ he said. ‘When I’m writing my blog, I do feel like a sexually active young woman from Daggernam. It’s always a disappointment to look in the mirror each morning and realise that I’m just a balding photographer who occasionally gets a nice celebrity gig from a mate I know at The Guardian.’

‘I face similar problems,’ I told him as I began to wipe the oily residue from my chest. The sensation was not unpleasant, though not exactly the sort of pleasure you want to be caught enjoying in an Essex wildlife sanctuary. ‘Woman are continually writing to me, offering me their bodies in exchange for a stab at the celebrity lifestyle. It’s hard to explain that I’m really after something much more meaningful.’

‘Ah,’ he nodded. ‘You mean love!’

‘I was actually thinking of something more like a publishing contract for my comedy. In exchange for that, the right person could have my body two weekends a month and any three bank holidays of their choosing.’

‘A decent offer,’ he nodded.

‘More than generous,’ I said as I began to put on my shirt. ‘But that’s the problem with the world. Nobody wants me for my wits. They just want me to break their hearts with stories from my unfortunate upbringing and tales of the strap. My new book will be a chart success, of course, but it’s hardly going to make people feel like they’ve just wandered through a ray of sunshine. And that’s all I really want. I want people to associate my name with laughter and feeling good about the world.’ I sighed as I finished buttoning up my shirt. ‘But enough about me... Show me these photographs you’ve taken.’

He played with the back of his camera a moment and then broke out into a smile. ‘Would you look at that!’ he declared.

I examined the back of his Nikon. ‘That’s typical of the heron,’ I explained. ‘Bill Oddie once told me why they fly in such a tight formation but I’ve forgotten the details.’

‘But it’s such a fortunate coincidence how they form a natural halo above your head,’ he laughed.

‘Quite fitting,’ I said. ‘But then, the heron is a perceptive creature. They see things hidden from the human eye.’

Watching Autumnwatch With Bill Oddie

While it’s reassuring to see that your obsession with Judy’s breasts has lessened, there have been developments of a novel kind among the fair number of you who are Googlers. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. That’s right: I’m talking haemorrhoid cream. How the two things go together defies even the bounds of my seemingly limitless imagination but a number of you have been searching for ‘Richard & Judy’s haemorrhoid cream’. I should make it clear that despite the fact that this site ranks number 1 in the world for this search term, neither Judy nor I endorse any brand of haemorrhoid cream. We never have. However, if we were ever to give one our seal of approval, it would surely be the Korean favourite, ‘Bum Be Numb’, which is available only on import. Word of warning, though: don’t get it in your eyes on any pet to which the children have grown attached.

If that seems like an odd way to begin a post, it’s probably because you’re not familiar with the tricks of TV. Otherwise you would have immediately recognised that my opening paragraph was a cunningly crafted link to the subject of today’s post, which is indeed haemorrhoid cream.

My unhealthy and somewhat infantile obsession with randomly linking to Stephen Fry’s blog continued this evening but, once done, I turned the TV on and flicked over to BBC2. As you know, Bill Oddie is currently working on Autumnwatch live on BBC2. I don’t want that to mislead you, however. I was actually looking for Rick Stein’s latest odyssey through Italian food. Judy loves a good pasta dish and I’d settled myself down with a notepad ready to scribble down interesting uses for an pig’s congealed heart that’s been hanging in the pantry since last Christmas.

That’s why I was utterly disappointed to see that Rick wasn’t on and instead it was Oddie, sitting there and giggling as he does about some heron that had fallen over. Then there was a film about deer, some jaw ache about pigs, before it was back to Bill with his night vision camera. Then it descended into farce. He wouldn’t stop going on about beavers and chuntering to himself about his having made a rude joke. It left me completely bewildered as to how the man keeps his job.

After the show was finished, I turned to Judy and commented on his poor performance.

‘You should give him a call and tell him where he’s going wrong,’ she said from the armchair where she was reading Nabokov’s ‘Pale Fire’.

Well, it was either that or talk to Judy about Nabokov’s clever blending of metanarrative and paratexts and since I know Bill’s mobile number I thought I’d give him a call.

‘Oddie,’ he said and gave a whistle. That’s how he answers his phone. Always ‘Oddie’ followed by a whistle. He always says it’s meant to be ‘Hello’ in sparrow but I think he’s just a bit strange that way.

‘Hello Oddie,’ I said and gave a whistle of my own. ‘Great show tonight but do you have to go on about beavers quite so much?’

‘Ah, Madeley. I’ve been wondering if you’d be in contact. Heard about the tiswas with Channel 4. I suppose you want to borrow money again?’

‘Nothing of the sort,’ I replied, determined that I wasn’t going to allow the man to get up my nose like he did the time he took his Wellingtons off in the back of the Range Rover. ‘I was actually wondering if you’re actually getting any viewers for this self-indulgent load of old haddock you’re calling a show. Do people actually enjoy looking down the gaping maws of baby chaffinches?’

‘Hey, leave the chaffinches alone,’ replied Oddie. ‘They sweet little things.’

I could have gagged. ‘I actually turned on hoping to get some good pasta recipes from Rick Stein. Bit shocked to see you, if I’m honest… Don’t suppose you know any good recipes for pasta and chaffinches?’

Judy looked up from her book and gave me a shake of her head. I think she was impressed.

‘Look,’ I said, as Oddie fell unusually silent, ‘I just wanted to say that both Judy and I are really proud of the success you’ve become, but as a professional presenter, you have to learn to keep still. You’re always fidgeting. You should learn to stop moving around in your seat. It’s very distracting.’

‘Yes, well,’ mumbled Bill. ‘I’ve been out watching owls.’

‘Owls? And what the hell have owls got to do with your fidgeting?’

‘Not very much, really,’ he said. ‘Only, I was in this churchyard and it was late at night so I sort of sat down on some cold gravestones to have my tuna butties and hot cocoa.’

There’s a confession you don’t expect to hear from an ex-Goodie. ‘You were sitting eating your supper on somebody’s grave?’

‘It wasn’t like that. I did it proper and respectful, like… The trouble is that those ruddy stones went and gave me piles.’

‘I should hope they did,’ I said giving Judy the thumbs up and then the universal sign for the piles. She just rubbed her eyes and hid behind her book.

‘I don’t suppose you have any advice?’ asked Bill.

‘Me?’

‘Well, you deal with all that sort of thing. You know, personal problems. Men with enlarged whatsits and women who can’t get their thing to you know what…’

That’s when I explained to Oddie that neither Judy nor I endorse any haemorrhoid cream, though if we did it would surely be the Korean favourite, ‘Bum Be Numb’.

‘A word of warning, Bill,’ I said. ‘Don’t get it in your eyes on any pet to which you’ve grown attached. I should imagine that goes for chaffinches.’

He went silent as I believe he got Kate Humble to scribble down the name.

‘Listen Bill, if you’re ever in the area, pop in and we’ll chat. I’ve got some excellent tips about presenting.’

‘Funny enough,’ he replied, ‘I’m coming that way next week to do a film on voles.’

‘Fantastic,’ I said. ‘How does Tuesday sound? You could come around for dinner.’

‘Terrific,’ said Bill, who is always up for a free meal. ‘I’ll be there.’

I said my goodbye and threw down the mobile. ‘Excellent news,’ I said to Judy. ‘Bill’s coming for dinner on Tuesday.’

Judy lowered her book. ‘Does that mean I’m cooking?’

I waved down the very suggestion. ‘Nonsense,’ I said. ‘You can leave that to me.’

I picked up the phone again and dialed a number I rarely get chance to dial on account of my being a little in awe of the greatness of the man.

‘Rick?’ I said. ‘It’s Richard. Tried to catch your show tonight. It’s on tomorrow? Oh, fantastic! Listen, I was wondering. I’ve got Bill Oddie coming over for dinner next week. Do you have any good recipes for chaffinch? Perhaps in a pie?’