meemalee

"I am here (It's Tim)". This text bleeps onto my phone as I emerge from the bowels of St Pancras Station. I text back, "Cool, almost there!" This is a lie - I've come out the wrong entrance and I'm desperately trying to find Eversholt Street to meet Tim Anderson , winner of this year's MasterChef at Asakusa. Finally I arrive, only to see Tim standing in front of the restaurant chatting on his mobile. Except it's not his mobile phone, but one belonging to a gentleman who is perched on his bike and looking at him half excitedly, half in abashment. It dawns on me that said gentleman has asked Tim to talk to his significant other/mother Tom Cruise-style , and I try very, very hard not to wet myself laughing. I smile at Tim and he smiles back, finishes speaking and hands the phone to the guy on the bike, who apologises for the intrusion. I contemplate offering to take a photo of him with Tim, and then decide it would just get too weird ... Anyway. Su...

Anyway folks, I'm off to Iceland for a bit. No, seriously. BYE!

" It is written that those who read or listen to the story of Dhruv will achieve devotion and their sorrows will be destroyed ." The Legend of Dhruv (no, seriously) So - here's the one you've apparently all been waiting for, an interview with the winner of the 2010 series of MasterChef, Dhruv Baker. The other day I had lunch with a friend of mine and his verdict on Dhruv was as follows: " He's handsome and he can cook. Men want to be him. Women want to be with him. It's inspiring, but I think I kinda hate him ". Yes, yes, we all love (or in my friend's case, hate) Dhruv. But despite our love for this angelic creature , at the same time he's been directly responsible for some of the most unholy puns known to man eg " Dhruvy Kind of Love ", "Dhruv is in the Heart" and even, slightly bizarrely, " Master Baker " (please don't go there). Although I guess I have to give some kind of credit to the Torygraph for gi...

Next up in my series of MasterChef interrogations is everyone's favourite former doctor Tim Kinnaird. Tim is magical in many ways, not least because he is six foot three (for reals). All of us were rooting for him as he staggered up those stairs at the Tower of London, our hearts were in our mouths when his green tea sorbet didn't set, and we cheered when the Maharajah tried to adopt him . Let's face it, the man's adorable. A quick glance at my Google Analytics shows me the question that appears to be on everybody's lips is: " What did Tim do to his ribs on MasterChef? " I don't know, people. I don't know . And I failed to ask him, so perhaps the answer will forever be beyond our reach. Of course the other question on everybody's lips was "Why did the BBC call him a Children's Doctor?". Various media outlets sought to mock this choice of nomenclature, so here's the real story straight from the horse's mouth : ...

It's funny, you go through life throwing peanuts at the telly when occasionally you see something that knocks you for six. Regular readers will know that I quite like MasterChef, and it was whilst I was watching this year's show that I had my "WTF?" moment. So there we were, my husband and I, sitting on the sofa watching the quarter-finals (confession - I don't watch the whole series - if I did, it would give me a stroke), when I poked him in the ribs and said "'Ere, I know that bloke. Kind of". "That bloke" was a gentleman by the name of Dhruv Baker. And when I say "kind of", I'm referring to the fact that he was one of my followers on Twitter (though to be fair, he didn't say much). Hubby said "Yeah, whatever, lunatic woman", but I was spurred to ascertain if it was indeed him . Long story short, it turned out that three of my Twitter chums were competing in MasterChef - @DhruvBaker1 , @DrTimKinnaird and @j...