Dear {{first_name | Friend}},

I can’t tell you what it felt like in that coffin. 

I can’t tell you what went through my mind when I saw the letter. I can’t tell you what went through my mind when I read the letter. I can’t tell you about the utterly bonkers emotional rollercoaster I’d been on before I got to that chapel, wondering if I’d been recruited, murdered, both or neither. 

I can’t tell you why I will never, ever, ever, forget the sight of James Acaster, bathed in that angelic light, as I entered that hideously cold house of God. I can’t tell you what it’s like, when you’re a claustrophobic sort, to lie down in a cold wooden box and feel as if your future is on a knife edge, because it actually is. 

I can’t tell you who, going into that chapel, I had suspicions of that I kept to myself. I can’t tell you what I thought when those Traitors approached in those very dark olive green cloaks. I can’t tell you what I thought when they revealed themselves. I can’t tell you what it’s like, when you’re feeling somewhat fragile and cold and terrified and emotionally exhausted, to see Claudia Winkleman approach you from the dark innards of a Scottish chapel. 

I can’t tell you about my best mates in the castle, or what the food is like, or the inside of those Land Rovers, or whether James Blunt sang “You’re Beautiful” to us in downtime, or what the vibe is really like between Rob and Romesh, or what Jerry said to me about her proficiency with crowbars. 

I can’t tell you any of these things, yet, my friend, because there are rules, rules and more rules regarding the public control of information. And these rules are… fair enough. 

This is the biggest show on British television. So much thought, and time, and care, goes into it, and I don’t want to jeopardise any of those heroics. 

I can’t tell you whose coffin lid closed.

I can tell you everything that you want to know, truly, and will do so in a BONUS Newsletter, delivered straight to your inbox, as a thank you for signing up at amolrajanconnection.com

I just can’t tell you when that will be. 

*** 

I had my leaving bash from the TODAY Programme on Saturday. Joni Mitchell was so right, wasn’t she: you don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone. I adore those guys. My treasured colleagues for 5 years. They really are the best in the world at what they do, which is work utterly hellish hours, for less money than you think, in service of ideals like ‘public service’ and ‘the Truth’ which have become both less fashionable and more important than ever. 

We went to The Ship, a lovely pub in Fitzrovia, central London, not far from the BBC, where you can book out the upstairs and it’s all very relaxed. There was a great turnout, and Justin did a lovely impromptu speech. As ever with these things, there was an elite crew who lasted until the bitter end, and then some. Once upon a time I wore it as a badge of pride that I was the first name on the team sheet for that elite squad who made it to the end. But these days, the prospect of taking my daughters to Sunday morning gymnastics and soft-play in a state of emotional disrepair (me, not them) is too much, and I ducked out at closing time. There was a wonderful old crooner singing away, and Mike Williams, the Sports Presenter, went all out on the dancefloor. He knew all the lyrics to whatever the song was (I can’t remember), and he and I boogied with vigour. I’m sorry to say there is video evidence of this occasion. 

The next morning, I woke up to a WhatsApp video from Mike suggesting that the moment I left was just the beginning for him and a few others, who evidently put their extensive experience of night shifts to very good use.

***

One thing that pretty much everyone on the team asked me was ‘How’s the sleep?’. It was said with affection, but I didn’t feel I could give an honest answer, because to be frank, I feel guilty about it. It is hard to overstate the degree to which working on TODAY destroys your sleep. And it is even harder to overstate how critical good, deep sleep is for your health - or the inverse. That is, how lack of sleep destroys your physical and mental health. 

I mentioned in the first of these newsletters that for years I had crippling insomnia, intensified by 4 young children. And actually my experience on Traitors was a revelation. It turns out that, if you have your phone taken away, and you sleep in a dark room, and you don’t have to get up at 3am - or indeed, until 9am - you suddenly sleep very well. While on that show, I slept better than I have at any time in the past decade. 

Now I’m off TODAY, I’m trying extremely hard to get back into good sleep hygiene. I had several sessions with sleep therapists when I was at near-critical lows. Their essential message is that sleep is the art of letting go. I’ve certainly not nailed it yet, and being in the house with the still-young kids means my sleep is often interrupted or, if I wake at 4am, I struggle to get back to sleep. 

But I’m trying to avoid looking at any screen after 9pm, and I’m going to leave my phone out of the bedroom twice a week. I’ll report back.  

***

A weekly selection of life-enhancing delights, curated by your humble correspondent, in response to popular demand. I think you will enjoy them.

Visit:

A few years ago, my son Winston got into Harry Potter in a big way. I read them to him, then we read them together, then he read them alone. Someone mentioned that you can do a tour of the actual Harry Potter set, and Universe, by visiting the Warner Bros set in Watford. So we did. I bought tickets for a couple of my god-children, and we had a truly wonderful day out, drinking butterbeer, eating ice cream, touring Hogwarts, trying on Sorting Hats and so forth. Not to get too heavy about it, but the crisis of reading among young people - basically, they’re not doing it nearly as much as they used to - is so urgent that anything that captivates young minds by bringing the creative world of books to life is great. You’ve got to get the train to somewhere near Watford, and then a giant double decker picks you up. You probably can’t get a ticket for half-term, but it’s worth trying thereafter. Be warned, it gets busy. 

Read:

Talking of kids’ books, my new hero is Katherine Rundell. She is the remarkable Oxford academic whose Impossible Creatures series was the big unlock for my son. That is, the first time he found a book unputdownable. Katherine is a wonderful soul who doesn’t just write books for kids, and has done more to champion reading and literacy than almost anyone I know. I read the first book in the series (there are 3 out now) and loved it. One of her books has the excellent title, Why You Should Read Children’s Books, Even Though You Are So Old And Wise, and she’s spot on. If you have a kid who is, say, 9 or over and not really into books, give Impossible Creatures a try. If they’re a bit younger, say 7 or 8, try her book Rooftoppers. And if you’re an adult, read everything Katherine writes, even though you are so old and wise.

Watch:

Very, very few people who bother with the subject understand the extent to which the health of the BBC is determined by a six year old cartoon puppy from Australia. Bluey makes millions and millions (and millions) of pounds for the Corporation, and it’s mostly pure luck: the Corporation just got the rights at a good time. I suppose you could argue that was great judgement. For an entire generation, including my kids, Bluey has replaced Neighbours as an introduction to Australia. I’ve always had a thing about Australia, but never been. I watched Neighbours and Home and Away religiously as a kid, and wanted to be Shane Warne. Now that I run my own business, I’m thinking about a big family trip Down Under. The way I’ll sell it to my younger kids is that we’re off to meet Bluey. If you haven’t seen the cartoon, they’re basically ultra-digestible, 7-min morality tales following a suburban family. It’s Aesop’s Fables for the streaming age. Wonderful, finely calibrated, family-friendly fun - and much less naughty than The Simpsons.  

Listen: 

I have a bit of a bug-bear about audio books that are not read by the author. I know some authors are very busy. And I get that Stephen Fry has an erudite, exquisite, timeless voice, so is very well placed to read Harry Potter to me. But if I listen to an audiobook, I want the author. Tony Blair reads his own memoir, A Journey, and gets really into it. Gordon Brown’s memoir is read by another Scottish chap called Gordon. I’m sure he’s lovely, and he does a great job, but he’s the wrong Scottish Gordon. Anyway, if you enjoy audiobooks, especially those read by the author, and if you’re interested in the utter madness of British politics over the past 15 years, Sarah Vine’s How Not To Be A Political Wife is unbeatable. It tells in excruciating, hilarious detail what was actually going on in the families of those who run the country. Sarah was married to Michael Gove, which turns out to be a wild ride. Her book is gossipy, bitchy, score-settling, brutal, and a bit saucy. It is also very affecting, with plenty on her post-natal depression, unusual father and largely Italian childhood. Also listen to or read this book if you’re thinking about going into politics, because it might stop you making a dreadful mistake. 

Have a great weekend!

Yours ARCfully,

AMOL