‘What was that?’ she barks at Faith, Poppy and me as we huddle on set after the episode has wrapped. Alex Sutcliffe is here. Harry is not. He had other business to attend to. I missed him today. But, given my terrible dream last night, it’s probably good he didn’t show. He’d sent me a text, Remember, you’ve got this. H. ‘You have a hottie from Love Island as a special guest and – somehow – this episode lacks anything remotely steamy?’ Joanna determines.

The hottie was the guy Faith met at Soho House. I’ve not seen Love Island, but Poppy told me the contestants have sex with each other right in front of the cameras – Faith didn’t sleep with Jerry, nor was she planning to, but we all agreed he’d make an interesting on-screen date. Jerry was well up for it throughout the planning process, though Poppy had warned that many ex-Love Islanders require psychological counselling after they exit the show. Today, on Eat Me, this poor hunk froze. The chemistry fell flat. Alex hadn’t helped by suggesting, right before we started, that comparisons could be made between his gonads and pieces of fruit in the bowl. ‘Will it be the oranges, the plums or will these saucy ladies be popping your metaphorical cherries in a bit, mate?’ he’d quipped. For food, we’d cooked spaghetti bolognaise.

‘I’ll see what can be done in post-production.’ Joanna rolls her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Perhaps the animators can sprinkle some thought balloons to cover those silent patches...’ She packs up her things to leave. ‘And you were supposed to be an observer. Nobody asked for your opinion,’ she swipes at Alex.

‘Completely my fault,’ Alex grovels. ‘Joanna, I’m so sorry. I will of course make it up to you. I’ll do a special feature, some extra publicity, before the episode airs.’

‘Yes, fine. Good. You can run ideas past me in the morning,’ Joanna sighs. And out she marches.

Alex is the first to speak. ‘Pub? Perhaps we can put our heads together for ideas over a drink?’ I noticed he smelled of whiskey when he’d arrived on set early this morning. I’d thought fondly of Howard, and less so of Alex. Extra publicity or not, I’d trade this two-bit journalist Alex in for Howard nicking my cooking sherry any day of the week.

I’m meeting Liz Martin at 5 p.m. today. At some point, I have to go home, collect Benny and all of his accessories, and return him to Faith. After all that, I’d quite like to sort things out with Jordan, once and for all. If we have to brainstorm story ideas, I’d sooner do it here and now and get it over with.

‘Pub,’ Faith agrees. ‘Come on, Gracie. I need a wine.’