My doubts about the format have been tempered by all the fuss and care that everyone has been throwing at us – but not extinguished by the pressure. This time, there won’t be blithe indifference for what we achieve. This show will need to be a recipe for success from the get-go.

Nervously pottering about the set, wearing a flattering, turquoise shirt with turned-back cuffs teamed with ultra-slimming Nicole Farhi black trousers, I remind myself: I’ve got this. And I’ve got Faith here if I flounder. Between us, we’ve definitely got this, is my current mantra. With her bag of tricks, Poppy has again worked her magic on my face. My blue eyes shimmer, enhanced by powdery creams and silvers over the lids. The blusher over my cheeks smells heavenly of raspberry. My lips smack of matte cherry stain. As he fiddles with his technical equipment, our cameraman, Jacques, looks up and comments, ‘Tu es tres jolie.’ ‘You are very pretty,’ he repeats in English, in front of everyone.

The glass shelving on the back wall of the kitchen has bottles of wine and boxes of cereal on display. While I appreciate this isn’t a formal cookery show any more, I hope I’m not expected to be up here slurping on warm Chardonnay and serving bowls of Rice Krispies? I’m still unsure, exactly, what is going to happen. We’re organised, but this show is unscripted. Of course, so was Gracie Porter’s Gourmet Get-Together, but that was different. I know how to talk about food. But relationships? And sexy stuff? On television, no less? I’m distinctly less sure. The old shelves once held scales and some potted parsley. Although, I could do with a sip of something strong to calm the nerves, we’re otherwise stocked full of ingredients. Whatever the penny-pinching Brian Bunce thinks of it, there’s no skimping on budget for this programme.

I open the doors to our noiseless and glacial American-style refrigerator. Inside, front and centre, is a carton of eggs with a note ‘You got this’. It’s signed ‘H’, for Harry.

‘Was it the eggs that got us into this?’ asks a smooth voice from behind me, another American accent.

I whirl around and come face to chest with a handsome black man. He looks at me out of the greenest of green eyes. Seriously, they’re the colour of jade.

‘Toby Ellison.’ He smiles warmly. ‘Faith’s – um – colleague. Friend? Date?’

I close the refrigerator doors. Of course, Faith talked Toby into flying in from New York to see her for a few hours on set, to be her first date on our fledgling production.

‘Gracie Porter,’ I hold out my hand. ‘Faith’s best friend.’ Toby shakes my hand firmly and warmly. A good handshake. ‘I believe you’re known officially around here as her man-candy, Toby,’ I inform him, trying not to giggle.

‘What’s she roped me into?’ he laughs openly.