Derren Litten

Found myself on Primrose Hill this afternoon, I had some business in Swiss Cottage and had Charlie our dog with me who tends to get very excited when we drive along Regents Park Road, her wet nose frantically drawing patterns on the passenger eat window. So on our way back home we stopped off for a bracing walk over the hill. We walked around the back of the actually hill itself then attacked the ascent from the rear (steady) to arrive at the tourist scattered summit huffing and puffing like an overweight middle aged man (only "like" one, of course). While getting my breath back I noticed a strange green tent the size of a phone box flapping in the breeze, a video camera lens conspicuously poking out of the front. Looking in the direction to which the lens was pointing (about ¾ of the way up the hill) I noticed a pretty woman wearing a summer dress and long leather boots looking very awkward, standing next to a bored looking woman seated in wheel chair wearing the worst grey 'old lady' wig I've ever seen. As I got nearer I noticed the woman in the summer dress was in fact Carole Vorderman; oh how I love the madness that is London town. I got closer and wondered if she would remember me very drunkenly boring her to death at the BAFTA's; she did and surprisingly enough didn't run screaming in terror. We chatted briefly, she made no reference to the strange bewigged woman in the wheelchair and I didn't bring up the fact that she was standing in the middle of Primrose Hill being stalked by a man dressed as a portable toilet. It's bizarre moments like this that make living in dirty, expensive, noisy, cramped London so very much worth while.