Before I have a chance to narrow it down, Faith emerges from the dressing room in a slinky black dress that skims her bottom and reveals her dimple-free thighs. High black boots hug her slender calves. It’s apparent Poppy has also attended to her grooming. Faith’s long blonde mane, often frizzy at the ends, is shiny-sleek. Her body is moisturised with bronzer, the small spots on her chin skilfully concealed. Her eyes, outlined with kohl, look exactly like a cat’s – though the overall effect is full-blown minx.

Faith is first to bestow a compliment. ‘Gracie, you look incredible.’

‘And you, my darling, are an absolute vision. I’d kill for those legs.’

‘You’ve warned me before.’

Toby kisses her hello, smack on the lips.

Faith brushes his cheek.

‘Are we ready to do this, bestie?’ She reverts quickly to me. ‘I’m ready!’

All the old crew are on board. There’s Jacques on camera, Lola on sound, Tom on lighting, James and Joyce on go-for. Other technical and prop people come and go. The new cameraman, Pugsy, looks exactly as you may imagine. Robin is back at the helm, though we all know it’s Joanna, as executive producer, who’s running the show.

Poppy crosses the studio. Her angelic face is overdone with colour and sparkles, her wispy blonde-dyed hair in pigtails. She’s mismatched a rainbow woollen poncho with a lacy pink tutu, sparkly silver tights and ballerina pumps.

We’re all here, ready to go…

Except I’m not. I may look fabulous. And yes, I signed up to this (almost) entirely of my own free will. We’ve brainstormed and prepared for over a week. But I’m not ready.

Seated next to Harry, in one of the professional-looking deckchairs, Joanna calls out, ‘This is it, team. Eat Me.’

Someone yells, ‘Ready on ten.’

Harry winks at me.

‘I’m so excited, Gracie,’ Faith says. ‘Thank you!’

Robin begins the countdown. ‘Ten. Nine. Eight.’ Do I have the skills to pull off unscripted, on-action steamy? Time to give it my best shot. ‘Three. Two,’ so help me, here we go, ‘Action!’

I’m standing behind the stone bench. Faith sits atop it, her long legs crossed. I’m nervous as hell. Faith epitomises calm, yet is brightly animated as we introduce ourselves to our future audience. A natural, she’s already mastered the art of pretending the cameras don’t exist and simultaneously playing up to them. As we’d practised – loosely, because the show is unscripted – we recount Faith’s previous kitchen catastrophes. We let them know I’m on board as her culinary mentor. ‘I’ll be sharing some hot tips of my own,’ Faith promises.

Poppy pirouettes into shot in her rainbow poncho and tutu, carrying a clapper board, her cheeks flushed soft pink. Faith slides off the bench and helps her steady it to camera. The board informs the following facts about our first guest.