Mrs Blazing is on the sofa with two hairy bikers when I get in from work. We sit, salivating at the Welsh lamb cooked three ways that beats the local chef’s best efforts with some fabulous looking duck.

At six it is over. Half an hour break before the Great British Menu comes on, and three chefs from Northern Ireland promise to do wonderful things with lamb, beef, and champ.

That’s not much of a gap.

“Salad?”

“Fine.”

This wall to wall cookery on television is a waste of bloody time isn’t it?