VICTORIA COREN MITCHELL HOW I SEE IT

Now is the moment for women on television to take a stand – and put an end to this make-up madness

Samira Ahmed’s employment tribunal is making for a great daily read. It’s got fame, money, gender, politics… serious and fibrous enough to feel worth reading about, without being of life-or-death importance like, say, climate change. It matters and it doesn’t matter. Nobody really cares how much anyone on telly is paid. Having said that, you’ll forgive me for being frustrated they haven’t spelt out exactly what Jeremy Vine gets for Eggheads.

I am an admirer of Ahmed (an assertion that feels like a palindrome, but isn’t), though I won’t write about the meat of the case because it’s moving fast and might end before this article’s printed. I will restrict myself to the line that scratched most vigorously around the ears of my particular bugbear, which is when she told the tribunal: “It is likely that

Jeremy Vine spends less time in make-up than I do.”

It’s very funny how the whole thing keeps coming back to Jeremy Vine. That’s presumably because of a salary comparison, but the constant reappearance of his name in the case makes it feel as though Jeremy Vine is some kind of absolute yardstick for everything. I find I’m now inadvertently doing this in my own life.

“I love Elton John, but not as much as Jeremy Vine loves Elvis Costello.”

“Excuse me, have you got any size 12 trousers, about the colour of Jeremy Vine’s hair?”

“Stop, thief! That man there, the one who’s approximately three inches shorter than Jeremy Vine, has got my bag!”

Anyway, it is likely that Samira Ahmed spends longer being made up than Jeremy Vine does.

“Likely” in the sense of: it’s likely that Rafael Nadal will do better at next year’s Wimbledon than Tim Henman will. (Or, as I prefer: than Jeremy Vine will.)

The amount of time that women are expected to spend in the make-up room before going on television is absolutely bizarre. You are told to arrive so far in advance of recording, you genuinely can’t imagine what they’re planning to do to you in there. An eyelash tint? A moustache wax? Breast implants?

You can refuse, but then you feel difficult and rude. The make-up artists have their job to do, after all. Besides, it’s all relative: if every other woman on TV is having a long, careful application of make-up, you will look awful if you’re the only one who doesn’t.

Only this week, I was appearing on The One Show to talk about the new Only Connect quiz book (in shops now; there’s no better way to ruin someone’s Christmas) and they kindly explained I should arrive at 6.15pm for a 7pm start, “or 5.30pm if she wants make-up”.

Now, I would generally choose to have professional make-up to cover a small imperfection I have: my face. But not 90 minutes’ worth! Or even 45 minutes’ worth. Jesus! I didn’t have that much make-up for my wedding!

As it happens, my wedding make-up was done by Juliet Ireland, the make-up lady from Only Connect. Not only is Juliet a brilliant artist, she forgives my impatience with all the aesthetic jiggery-pokery. Putting eyeliner on me is like trying to give a cat a bath. Juliet is so uniquely able to finesse the job at top speed as I wriggle about shrieking “Have you finished? Have you finished?” that I had to teleport her in from Cardiff on my wedding day or I wouldn’t have been able to get married.

In studio, Juliet understands that what I want to be doing with the precious time before a show is revising the questions and answers, familiarising myself with the contestants and other professional admin. It’s always a rush. What I want in that chair is what a man would have: anything that can be managed in 10 minutes, and we’re DONE. Before Mastermind, John Humphrys has not spent an hour in make-up. (Or if he has, I’d hate to wake up with him.)

At least on The One Show there’s no mental prep to do, it’s just a chat. Before comedy or political panel shows, women are hugely disadvantaged by too much time being primped: staring into the mirror, with a critical and increasingly disappointed eye, at our own flawed visages. Male performers are spending that time relaxing, or preparing for the job ahead, building their confidence. Women are having ours sapped.

One time, I actually had an email from the make-up department a full week before a panel show recording, reminding me to use moisturiser on the morning of the show. Moisturiser! What am I, immortal? Our bodies are already 60 per cent water. If that’s not moist enough for you, sit in a puddle.

Of course, this particular problem may soon be a thing of the past. Watching His Dark Materials on BBC One, I realised the answer to this is surely CGI. In Hollywood, computers are increasingly used more than make-up to “age” or “de-age”

Why are we expected to spend an absolutely bizarre amount of time being primped?

EQUALISER Samira Ahmed is pursuing an unfair pay claim against the BBC