To say I’m appalled by Harry’s explanation of the new format is a gross understatement. In short, Harry explained the premise of this new show as Faith inviting a man onto the set and me guiding her to cook him a three-course meal. Which sounds innocuous enough. Except, after selecting some ingredients, Faith’s date then goes off camera to ‘have a looksy through an FHM mag, or whatever floats his boat’ – is exactly how Harry put it to us moments ago – and while we’re cooking, Faith and I are supposed to discuss on camera the ‘dramas’ of being single (her) and in a relationship (me). To again quote Harry directly, such dramas as ‘receiving a very respectable dick pic’ via Tinder (Faith) and ‘perhaps circumnavigating the sometimes chore-like romance that creeps into a “proper relationship”’ (presumably, me). Faith will have a different date each week, making her look like the town bike on national television. Whether she’s bothered by this or not – and no matter how she lives her life in private – I think it’s outrageous.

I cannot fathom how Joanna, or anyone in that meeting, got from a note on a carton of eggs to this.

Harry put it all to us just so, without flinching.

‘I don’t know, it might be fun,’ Faith says.

Harry had the gall to remark, ‘Gracie, I’m not suggesting your relationship is at the point where sex has become a chore.’ He couldn’t have known, but Harry hit a nerve with that one. I almost choked. I definitely blushed.

‘Harry is too familiar for my liking.’

‘I think he’s funny.’

‘His wall of fame is more wall of shame – look at all those boobs! Who are these women?’

‘No idea. He’s very handsome.’

‘Does that matter?’

‘It doesn’t hurt.’ Faith smiles. ‘Gracie, he was joking.’

‘About which bit?’

If Harry was never a fan of my old cookery show, I can live with it. As for the rest of it, joking or not, I’m more than rather mortified.

‘I don’t ever want to hear the words “dick pic”, Faith.’

Faith bursts out laughing. I can tell, at me. ‘Oh, sweetie…’

At this point, I’d rather be back in the bistro – back to the long hours and crappy pay, where no one cares what I look like or wants me to talk dirty to them.

‘It’s vulgar. And creepy. In any event, I’m not interested in hosting a dating show.’

At that moment, Harry returns. At least, I hope he wasn’t in the room when I called him creepy.

‘It’s not a dating show,’ he insists, abandoning the theatrics of earlier. Taking the SC6 contract in one hand, Harry perches on the thick arm of my squeaky chair. Leaning in, he reads aloud. ‘The show will be crafted as a revolutionary fusion of our appetite for food… and our hunger for passion.’