Trying to fill Mary Berry’s shoes? I must be MAD!
In eight days, Bake Off returns with a new hostess. In this exclusive, soul-baring diary a nervous PRUE LEITH admits ...
As A former judge of BBC2’s Great British Menu, Prue Leith is no stranger to TV. But stepping into the shoes of Mary Berry on Bake Off, Britain’s best-loved cookery show, when it’s making a tricky transition to Channel 4, would make even the most confident woman nervous.
Here, in her exclusive behind-thescenes diary, she reveals how she really felt taking on the biggest TV role of her career — at the age of 77 . . .
September 22: I’m stringing runner beans in my Cotswold kitchen when I
hear on the radio that Mary Berry won’t be going with the Great British Bake Off to its new home at Channel 4. ‘Oh my God,’ I think, ‘I would love that job’. Then I tell myself: “Forget it — why on earth would they go for another old lady?”
December 8: My agent calls: ‘They want you to meet Paul hollywood. See how the chemistry works.’ Little flutter of excitement.
January 24: I arrive at a house in South London, expecting a chat with Paul and the producer, to find myself at a full scale audition — make-up artists, wardrobe lady, full crew, two home economists acting as competing bakers and a clutch of scary onlookers, there to scrutinise me.
And Paul, of course. Those famous blue eyes, usually steely, are surprisingly friendly. We judge some soda bread (not brilliant, I say, rather tentatively — definitely a soggy middle if not a soggy bottom).
I am horribly nervous. I’ve been doing telly on and off since the arrival of colour TV, and I do a heap of public speaking — how can I possibly be nervous in a kitchen?
In the break before we judge the brownies, Paul pulls me aside. ‘Don’t defer to me. Just go for it,’ he advises. So I do.
February 6: The press is full of speculation about who will be ‘the new Mary Berry’. The money seems to be on me and someone tweets: ‘Oh No, Disaster. Prue Leith is far too posh and she has the worst voice on television.’
I tend to agree with him. I hate my voice. It’s hoity toity, deep and bored. Perhaps a voice coach could rid me of it, I wonder.
February 8: The head honcho of the production company rings and chatters endlessly about how wonderful I am and how much of a fan he is. I stand there thinking: “This is a really nice guy who is buttering me up because he has to tell me I’ve not got the job.” But in the end he tells me it’s mine if I want it. Do I want it? Of course I want it!
March 16: The line-up is announced: Sandi Toksvig and Noel Fielding, Paul and me. My PA is fielding calls nonstop. By now I have realised that GBBO is a national obsession, but I’m still astonished at the interest.
I am going out to dinner with friends and I am amused and flattered to be offered a bodyguard to protect me from the paparazzi.
I don’t need one, I insist, I have a great burly husband, John, who is strong as an ox. When we get home we find a van in the drive containing a security guy called Mark. he is to be there for three days. Just in case.
Needless to say, he has a very boring time with no one to chase off. Still I do feel cossetted. Is this what it’s like to be famous?
April 1: Sleepless night. Am I completely mad? What am I doing taking on one of the most high-profile jobs in television in my eighth decade. how can I follow the national treasure, the adored Granny, Mary Berry? A woman whose knowledge of baking is boundless.
And then, I already have a great life, with novels to write, a few start-up food businesses to nurture, grandchildren, a lovely house, wonderful, new husband, and just enough ‘profile’ to stroke my ego, but not enough to be intrusive.
The occasional stranger in the supermarket who asks ‘are you the lady off the telly?’ is flattering. But do I want to pose for selfies wherever I go, like Paul? I’m 77, damn it. I should retire.
John (said husband) reminds me that Mary started on Bake Off at the same age as I am now and is still at it, hammer and tongs. And my competitive nature resurfaces. If Mary can, surely so can I?
April 19 & 20: Two whole days trying on clothes with the inimitable Jane Galpin, GBBO’s clothes queen. relieved to find she doesn’t insist I wear body stranglers to squish my spare tyre under tight dresses. Just stylish loose tops, flat shoes and very big, cool necklaces.
Just hope the sound men don’t object to the necklaces, which could interfere with the microphone hidden down my front.
April 29: Technical rehearsal day. It will be freezing in the famous tent so I arrive in a thick, fleecy purple onesie and moon boots.
We clutch hot water bottles between takes. Can’t believe what fun it is.
It’s an eight-camera crew, and they’re all lovely. The stand-in ‘bakers’ are brave volunteers, among them the warm and wonderful Deborah Puxley, who, with her husband, James, owns Welford Park, the exquisite Berkshire estate on whose lawn our tent sits.
They make scones and she wins. Well, she should — she bakes thousands of scones for the visitors’ cafe.
April 30: First glimpse of the bakers. Paul has always said that they’re the true stars of the show: their ups and downs, personalities and skills are what makes riveting viewing.
There’s a lot of strained laughter in the tent and the contestants are palpably nervous. But then, so am I.
I live in terror of falling flat on my face — old lady style — as I run onto the set. Great. Breaking a hip on camera would not be good.
These 12 bakers have beaten thousands of aspirants to get this far. The bakers who make it are
I hate my voice. It sounds so hoity toity
I am 77 damn it. I should retire . . .
I live in terror of falling flat on my face
astonishingly good before they even start, and, of course, they get better with the months of competing and practising.
I am so full of admiration. Imagine having to come home from work and practise your bakes, over and over again. Sometimes while bathing the kids and making supper, too.
One of this year’s bakers spent the finals week away at a conference for work, having to hire a flat with a kitchen to practise every night for the following week’s challenges and making excuses for not doing things conference delegates do, such as drinking and socialising in the evenings.
Everyone on Bake Off has to be able to keep a secret — the bakers are not allowed to tell anyone they’re taking part until the programme airs. It’s the most astonishing thing. This is the eighth year of Bake-Off, with literally hundreds of people in the know — contestants, their families, the crew, the office, the security guards, and the result has never leaked.
May 6: The security round the estate is tight. You can’t get in without a pass, and once inside there are guards everywhere, scanning the horizon for paparazzi. They’re super-discreet, and at first I didn’t notice they were tailing us all at a tactful distance.
I go for a walk around the estate and one of them — the jolly Mark who first spent those nights in his van in my drive — pads after me.
This is ridiculous, so I insist we walk side by side. No one jumps out of the bushes and we hike along, chatting happily.
May 15: Noel, Sandi, Paul and I have our green room in the library of the big house. What luxury — roaring fire, coffee on tap.
Stephano, the runner assigned to look after us, is ever present, holding umbrellas, fetching stuff and making tea.
My previous TV shows were never like this. I must guard against red carpet-itis, the disease that so inflicts the spoilt and pampered, who begin to think they are too important to make a cuppa. Sandi has been famous for decades and makes tea for the crew, the bakers — especially a teary one — and anyone else who needs one.
May 29: Johnny, the assistant producer, has downloaded an episode of Desert Island Discs from 1990 with me being interviewed by Sue Lawley. I was 50 at the time and I wonder now, listening to it, why I’ve always hated my voice. Back then it was lighter, younger and perfectly OK. Why don’t we appreciate what we’ve got when we’ve got it?
When I opened Leith’s Restaurant in 1969, I weighed 11st, and I looked pretty good. But I thought I was a stone overweight, had a horse face, crooked teeth and shapeless legs. If I’d known how much worse it would get, I’d have shut up and been grateful.
June 11: Back to the hotel at a reasonable hour. Such a luxury. When I was presenting Channel 4’s other competitive cooking series My Kitchen Rules UK, we sometimes didn’t wrap until 11pm or midnight.
I have a drink with the director, who briefs me for tomorrow — Paul doesn’t need any briefing, he really does know it all — and then go to bed.
I switch on the telly and, guess what, there is Paul Hollywood on some motor car racing thing. I change channels and there he is again, on City Bakes. He’s everywhere! Just as well I like the guy.
June 21: Heatwave! I think I preferred it when it was freezing. At 40 degrees it’s hotter in the tent than in Sicily, currently the hottest point in Europe.
Someone produces some ice lollies of the kind I really hate, all fake flavour and additives and the four of us are asked to sit on a wall, lolly in hand, for a picture for Paul to tweet.
Great, after a lifetime of campaigning against junk food I’m to be seen holding one. But I lack the courage to object.
June 27: At 6am I arrive blearyeyed at make-up. Everyone is belting out some pop song I’ve never heard of. Sharon, the wardrobe boss, is prancing about like a maniac, and the make-up truck is rocking fit to fall off its wheels.
The hilarity is infectious. That truck is like a club for the girls to let off steam. I’ve seldom heard so much gossip or such language, nor laughed so much.
July 7: Only one week to go and I’m still loving it. I’ve never enjoyed television so much. The producers go to great lengths to protect the bakers, who though frequently interrupted, are never asked to film when they’re desperate to finish some task.
Sandi and Noel work harder than me and Paul. They have to think up their jokes and write and learn their own scripts. Paul and I just say what we like.
I hope I’m kind, but I’m famously blunt and I do find myself occasionally saying: ‘Sorry, love, but it’s not worth the calories.’
July 15: Finals day. Everyone is excited, but the tent is quiet, not the usual joshing, wise-cracking scene. The three finalists know that this day could change everything, shooting the winner to fame and fortune.
I decide to cheer things up and walk on wearing a pink apron, given to me by my agent. The front is emblazoned with ‘What Would Mary Say?’ Everyone laughs, but the director calls ‘Cut!’ and that bit won’t make it to the programme, sadly. I send a picture to Mary, who loves it.
No one wants any of the three finalists to go. The bond between the bakers is real.
From the start it’s been hard saying goodbye to the leavers. But today is worse. It’s difficult to remember that this is just a TV programme about baking!
I worry about the winner. So much attention will hit after transmission, so many offers: book deals, telly, a real chance to get into the professional world. And a real chance of getting it badly wrong.
I quietly advise him/her (no I’m not giving anything away) to take some advice, get a good agent now, think carefully about what he/she really wants.
Later I find Sandi has advised exactly the same thing. Couple of clucking nannies we are.
August 1: Of course, I’m fretting a bit that we’ll not equal the BBC ratings, just because there will be thousands of people whose default setting is the Beeb, but I’m certain that those who make the switch will be comforted that it’s still good old Bake Off.
After all, it’s all about the baking, and who doesn’t like cake?
The Great British Bake Off starts on Tuesday, August 29, Channel 4, at 8pm.