E4 Music:

I imagine this 'blogosphere' which people talk about, looks like a retail park just outside of Milton Keynes. So it is with some trepidation that I set my size 10 (stacked heeled) brogues into the fray once more...and enter the murky world of E4 Music.

Monday:
Walking into the reception of the Dorchester Hotel, all heads and stomachs turn. My vermillion blazer billows in the draft of the revolving door and I think I hear someone mutter 'hick', though it might have been 'slick'. It was probably 'slick'. Somewhere on the second floor Scarlett Johannson and Natalie Portman are waiting, I quicken my pace.

Walking into the interview room the obligatory 3 steps behind the presenter, Rick, I catch sight of Natalie and Scarlett, the stars of 'The Other Boleyn Girl' and monopolisers of the world's sexiest lists. There are bee-stung lips, sultry eyes and Harvard-educated brains everywhere. It's like falling into a skin silo.

Aware that the window of opportunity to make them fall in love with me is ever closing, I try to put as much smouldering intensity into my 'hello' and handshake as possible. Unfortunately I confuse intensity with volume and shout into their bright little faces with such vehemence that they both recoil and Natalie instinctively covers her vital organs with her hands. I'm told to sit behind the poster where I can't see them. Embarrassed, I feel 'The Clam' take hold of my body as I disappear behind the poster and sit down with an audible splash. They talk about the film, they engage with Rick, the interview ends, they shake hands, and I just sit there silently. A vermillion idiot.

Tuesday:
Day two of my 'insanely attractive women' week. Today is Jessica Alba, there are no presenters available to interview her – they've all been intimidated, paid or beaten into submission - so it falls to me as the interviewer by proxy. E4 ,being a discerning channel, refuse to include either my face or my voice during the interview, so I'm forced to react to her drole anecdotes by miming thigh-slapping hilarity or uncontrollable sobbing.

Let me say for the record that the lack of chemistry between Jessica Alba and myself was staggering, I might as well have been an alun key or a Shepherd's pie. There was no in-taking of breath, no eyelash fluttering, no spontaneous vomiting, none of the 3 staple signs of attraction. She asks me at the end whether I enjoyed her film 'The Eye', I answer succinctly and I think aptly, by sticking a finger in my eye.

Thursday:
Ah Soulja Boy. The author of 'Crank that (Soulja boy)' and 'Yahhh' is on his way to the studio, reportedly accompanied by an entourage of 18. I look around me at the crew, all of us are under 6 foot, and I wonder who I can use as a human shield. I look at the anaemic work experience girl chewing nervously on her bunches, Soulja Boy wouldn't hit a girl would he? Well if he does get through her, there's always the sound guy with eczema.

As it turns out, Soulja Boy doesn't have an entourage of 18, but just for safety's sake, I go to meet him with the girl in hand, just in case he gets a bit punchy. I feel ridiculous calling him Soulja Boy and ask if there's anything else I can call him, like Craig, he replies 'Superman'. I fight fire with fire and introduce myself as 'The Gland'.
 

Friday:
'The Gland' appears to have stuck.

And just in case you thought my life was all glamour, here's 3 non-celebrity related things I got up to this week:

1. Finished my Pulp-Nirvana re-mix, 'Smells Like Common People'.
2. Tracked down my childhood friend Paolo using 'Imaginary Friends Reunited'
3. Treated a pigeon with a broken wing using only plasters and latterly the wheel of my E-Reg Volkswagen.

See, even a researcher at a digital music channel can have a relatively normal life-style. It's not all eating taramasalata with Shayne Ward. But don't worry it won't last long because I'm already plucking my metaphorical eyebrows ahead of next week's interviews with George Clooney, Hot Chip and Irish luminaries, The Script (nor do I). Plus, don't miss the hilarious tale of what happens when I bump into Rick Mayall in a quaint little coffee conglomerate. It involves a 'Drop Dead Fred' quote and a scalding. Not to be missed...

Any diarist worth his salt needs some good, big events to chronicle - fires, scandals and plagues are ideal. Ask Pepys - he had the Great Fire of London and the Black Death. I had the fire of Camden and the Norovirus.

One man's Pudding Lane is another man's Hawley Arms, and I can only imagine the scene that met the first fireman as he entered the pub - winkle-pickers everywhere, skinny jeans still smoking, the scent of faux-celebrity chat hanging in the burnt air. Those images will haunt him forever.

Monday:
Met the cast of new Bourne-meets-Matrix film, Jumper. Bourne-meets-Matrix is a somewhat misleading tagline, unless it's the end credits of Bourne Identity meets the rubbish bits of Matrix Reloaded. I really wanted to like the film but from the moment Hayden Christensen's character calls us - the audience - 'chumps', he really struggled to win back my affection.  
 
Hayden turned out to be a very handsome (in a generic, American, built-in-a-laboratory way) kind of guy. He spoke slowly and thoughtfully about his pot-bellied pigs that he owns and about his sister, the former indoor trampolining champion. I whispered 'chump' to him as I left the room – he got up and did a triple salko on my spine. Apparently it runs in the family.

Ran into Rachel Bilson's room - was introduced as Sarah-Jane, our presenter. I made some Wildean quip, along the lines that my name was actually James. Rachel smiled good-naturedly and half-laughed. I almost fainted and threw up at the same time. I think she's in love

Thursday 14th February:
Duffy came in on Valentine's Day - two birds, one stone. I didn't have a date and my joker of a postman was still refusing to give me my mail. So I thought, she's a beautiful song-bird from the Valleys, I like the Valleys, let's see what happens.

I'll tell you what happened. I wasn't allowed to watch the performance - I asked why, they showed me the petition. It all dates back to my habit of singing along with the guests - if they can't harmonise with me properly, they shouldn't be in the music industry.

I walk home past a pizza restaurant, with its windows all fogged up with barely suppressed lust as a roomful of couples gurn at each other over a sloppy giuseppe. I gave some fairly serious thought to throwing myself down a well

Friday:
Our board in the office which tells us about upcoming interviews reads simply: 'Colin Farrell in Bruges'. Isabel (my producer) and I did a celebratory dance (including the worm) and announced to the office that we were off to Belgium and we'd see you LOSERS in a week.

On closer inspection, In Bruges turns out to be a crime-caper starring Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson set in Bruges. I wormed out of the door without looking back

Monday:
Sat around in the press room at Soho Hotel with our presenter Rick, waiting to interview Farrell and Gleeson. Rick insists on introducing me as 'The Anvil' because I'm heavier than I look. When shouted across a crowded room and heads turn to see who this 'Anvil' is, they don't expected to see a scrawny Indie version of Tim Henman.

Someone comes out of the interview room saying how Colin Farrell looks like he's from a Greek myth, and how the rest of us men have got no chance. Speak for yourself I think. I catch myself in the mirror and see I've got Marmite on both ear lobes. Sexy.

When we finally got in there, Brendan and Colin were charming. After I'd told Colin that E4 was a family channel, he only swore 27 times - 14 F's, 8 C's, 4 B's and a very inventive X.

Tuesday:
Get jumped by four men as I walk out of my Capoeira class. My martial art instincts immediately kicked in as I aimed a series of devastating roundhouses inches above their heads. However, without a tasty Samba beat, the art of Brazilian dance-fighting is no match for its Anglo-Saxon cousin, the pub brawl. I was dealt a terrific mauling.

Will James get his face in order for next week when he meets Natalie Portman and Scarlett Johansson? Will he and Hayden Christensen ever bury their differences? Will he ever be able to truly trust semi-retired mimes called Clive after last time? Find out in the next thrilling installment.

This blog is essentially like ‘The secret confessions of a call-girl’ but with a lot less emphasis on prostitutes and a lot more emphasis on bands and Hollywood types. Think Anne Frank had she lived in Camden, think Samuel Pepys in skinny jeans. It starts on Monday morning with a clip-board reading: ‘ARMY, POSH, LOTS OF RECORDS’, aka my James Blunt interview.

Monday morning:
As a dishevelled ex-public schoolboy myself, I was of the impression that James Blunt and I would have loads in common, that we’d probably slap each other’s backs, crack a couple of jokes in Latin and then he’d invite me to go grouse hunting on his Hampshire estate. So when he walked straight passed me and started talking to our presenter Rick, I felt affronted and made a mental note not to get so attached to our guests in the future. I tried to interject and talk about Harrow, his old school, but he just ignored me. I changed tack and tried gently singing his new song ‘Carry You Home’ to him, but he just kept staring at Rick, deep in conversation. On the 3rd attempt, my producer turned round, and shouted at me to stop interrupting the interview.

I was glad to be sent back to the office, as it left me more time to concentrate on my Westlife interview.

Tuesday:
A poll in our office reveals that over half of my colleagues would attend my funeral if I died tomorrow, the other 40% dissenters said it depended how far away the church was. It’s nice to feel loved. Blunt calls, I let it go to answerphone.

Thursday:
A band called ‘One Night Only’ drop in to the studio, who are so youthful, they look like their cells have only just divided. The frontman, George, is squeezed into religion-revealing skinny jeans and swaggers around affably recounting tails of hedonism – once they didn’t give their R.E homework in, and talking about their hopes and fears – notably next week’s BCG injections. Incidentally when I had mine done at school, my skin test came up and I presumed I was the new Messiah. Then I was told it was a false alarm. Then I got Tuberculosis.    

Tuesday:
Let’s skip forward in time to the 22nd January, aka Westlife day. I waited for the boys to arrive outside in the car park for three hours in a Leprauchan outfit, River-Dancing to keep myself warm, then I was told it was racist, so I nipped inside to take down the potato sculpture I’d made of them.

Owing to the chequered history between England and Ireland, I (the English oppressor) decided not to appear too controlling and therefore let the boys self-govern and chat amongst themselves – the interview ran over by an hour and an half. Despite this, the boys were on fine form, highlights included the 3 of them (Kian was ill) singing along to ‘This is your Westlife’ theme tune and Shane’s impression of Britney in her video ‘I’m a Slave 4 U’. His undulating bottom touched even the most hardened of cameramen’s loins.

Wednesday:
If there’s one thing I’ve learnt today, it’s that Mary J Blige does NOT like to be called ‘The High Priestess of Soul’, Grimshaw, our presenter, may just as well have called her the ‘Goebbels of R n B’, but she did eventually warm up and when Grim complimented her on her fashion, her expression broke out into a beatific frown.

Friday:
I tried out a sociological experiment where I call all of the men in the office ‘Babes’, and see how they reacted. And just as I expected, the reaction was almost exclusively through the international language of violence.

‘The Feeling’ came in for a chat and to perform their new single ‘I Thought It Was Over’. I don’t think there can be many more dapper bands around than The Feeling, with their emphasis on the winklepicker, the smart/casual jacket and in some cases even the neck-tie. Dapper however clearly translates into commercial success though, as in 2007 they shifted enough records to fill the void where Avril Lavigne’s personality should be (approx 12,450 cubit metres).

The five of them spoke eloquently about The Berlin Wall, moustaches, starting their own cult and sticking their hands up dog’s bottoms (for medical reasons – the dog’s, not their own). When I told them it had been one of the most scatological interviews ever seen on E4, they seemed genuinely pleased.

And so ends the first instalment. If you enjoyed it, check out next week’s thrilling episode, where I’ll be committing untold social faux-pas before some A-List types, and if you didn’t enjoy it, then just bellow your grievances into an envelope and post it to an address of your choice.

When I was told by E4 that they wanted me to write a blog, my immediate reaction was 'how much?’ After fierce negotiations, they agreed to pay me by the word, so sit back while I give you an insight into how my mind works; it’s a strange place, but I’m sure you’ll grow to be only mildly terrified. 
 
I blame Hawkings
Finished Stephen Hawkings’ ‘A Brief History of Time’ on the tube on the way to work. He explains that time is elastic, so I took some time out to watch pigeons on the park. Were 3 and a half hour late for work. Thanks a lot Stephen.

Moustaches
When I interviewed up and coming band ‘The Hoosiers’, I noticed that as well as being very nice boys indeed, their drummer Alfonso has a moustache that would have made Stalin blush. I’ve concluded that moustaches are becoming more and more influential to the success of new bands. You can have all the talent and all the attitude in the world, but without a good moustache you’re dead in the water.

Enrique Iglesias
I think it’s fair to say that Enrique and I are now best friends. We bonded over his love of my Mancunian accent. I taught him the word ‘hangin’ (meaning something’s horrible) and the phrase ‘Paul Scholes is a fox in the box’. He even gave me his e-mail, it’s Enrique@hotmail.com

‘New Grave’
I’m really pleased with my look at the moment. I’m calling it ‘New Grave’. It consists of black skinny jeans, dark shirt, black socks...I’m thinking of calling myself ‘The Shadow’.  

Hair
As for the hair, it has attracted many comments including:
“feral” – outraged vicar
“It’s making my baby cry” – outraged mother
And
“Who thought of that question you or your hair?” – Dylan Moran, at the junket for ‘Run Fat Boy Run’ (that actually happened).

JLo (or Jennifer Lopez as she must now be called).
Jennifer Lopez is beautiful. She’s so beautiful, she looks like a cartoon. I loved her in ‘Maid in Manhattan’ and I almost became a maid in a travel lodge in Maidenhead, before E4 picked me out of obscurity. She tells me I look like someone out of Tears for Fears, which I take as a compliment. Interestingly she’s decided against wearing Jade Goody’s fragrance ‘Shh’ and has gone for her own ‘Glow’. As a result the whole room smells, like ‘orange flower, grapefruit, and tones of bright citrus’ or... Tropicana.

That’s it for now. To be honest I haven’t even scratched the surface, it’s just that being a music/media type I’ve got music to listen to and gigs to attend, and as part of E4’s new ‘Care in the Community’ initiative I agreed to lunch with some tramps outside the studios. At least you know a little bit about what goes on under that ‘feral’ barnet and new grave clobber. From now on I’ll keep you updated when I get the chance.

Blogs. These days everyone’s got them. From David Beckham to Hilary Clinton and everyone in-between (and that’s a lot of people).  So at E4 Music we thought we would jump on the bandwagon.

Life’s one big adventure over here at E4; kind of like Wayne’s World crossed with Indiana Jones (our hair can get pretty big and there’s a lot of running around). We don’t mean to show off (obviously we do), but it can be quite fun when we check out new bands, go to festivals and see Grimshaw through his first ever live TV presenting job. From meeting Enrique Iglesias and realising we LOVE HIM (yes really), to realising we have nothing planned to ask Natasha Bedingfield, when the interview is due to happen in 10 minutes; it really can be nail biting on-the-edge-of-your-seat stuff (if you don’t have a lot going on in your life, that is).

So from now until Mr E4.com blows the whistle, we’ll be sharing all of this with you, updating you on the trials and tribulations of life behind the scenes, and what actually happens in-between waking up in the morning, getting E4 Music on the telly and beyond. From meeting bands, interviewing superstars, talking about music, and even partying after the show’s finished, we’ll try and keep you updated every step of the way.  And because our attention span is rubbish (we blame all of those 3 minute music videos; if a piece of information takes longer than five minutes to be delivered our eyes glaze over and our mind drifts off to wondering what happened to strawberry bon bons, and which is the better Haribo: Star or Super Mix), there’ll be lots of pictures as well. It will be like Dr Miriam’s Casebook, except less nudity and more celebrity. And before you ask, we tried to combine the two but unfortunately bands like to be taken seriously these days.

We hope you like it; let us know if you do/don’t.

Until next time.

E4 Music xx