The Art Guy (18+) COMPLETE, FREE to READ

The Rock 'n' Roll Chef's Debut

London, June 1993

Katrina had wanted to watch it in secret—Mick's TV debut. She wanted privacy to see him on screen for the first time, or that's what she insisted to herself. Perhaps her biggest fear was that he would be absolutely...shite.

It was difficult to watch a TV programme, knowing that everyone you knew was tuned in at the same time. Up and down the UK, people would be switching on their tellies, consulting their TV guides and pressing the remote—Channel 4, Friday 8.30pm, The Rock 'n' Roll Chef.

The Friday night slot was a bold move on Channel 4's part. Did people seriously want to watch cookery on a Friday? Weren't most folks either in the pub, or too old or too young to be interested in what was being promoted as the zeitgeist for Generation X?

Channel 4 took the chance, anyway. The poster campaign that had targeted mainly London, but also Edinburgh as a nod to Mick's Scottish heritage, had given enough positive feedback for them not to pull the show from its prominent position.

Debbie and Tony wouldn't hear of letting the occasion go unmarked. They insisted there must be a party, albeit a small one. She supposed she owed it to Tony. Thanks to him, Mick was in the position he was in now. Once upon a time, Tony had invited a food critic to the town where they lived and pointed the critic in the direction of the Star Tavern where Mick worked. The critic had raved about the food. As a result, Mick had got a job in Edinburgh where Dee found him.

She'd never have discovered him in Kirkcudbright. Not in a million, billion, zillion years.

"I'll do some food," Tony said, his face lighting up. "Invite your friends round! And Daisy can do the same. We'll all watch it together. It'll be fun."

In the end, the thought of watching it in company seduced her. So what if he was shite? No-one knew about their relationship. She'd taken that request seriously, deciding after a while that it helped her as well as him. Daisy, she knew, would scrunch up her face, and talk about Mick's terrible reputation. If and when Katrina split up from him, Daisy would be jolly and kind, and mutter lots of 'plenty more fish in the sea' type clichés, but would she ever be able to resist 'I told you so'?

She could watch the programme surrounded by people and know it wasn't as if they would all be muttering to themselves when she left the room. 'God! That was terrible, wasn't it? I don't think anyone will bother watching the next episode, do you?'

They'd do that in front of her. And if Mick turned out to be the world's worst TV presenter, she'd wholeheartedly agree with them.

In the end, they were a smallish party—Debbie, Tony, Daisy and the Ghastly Graham, Matthew, and two of Debbie's work friends.

Tony had made canapés. He'd spent his afternoon consulting Delia Smith and coming up with tiny bits of baked bread spread with little smears of pate, cranberry sauce and goat's cheese. He'd also done something with quail's eggs. Everyone was given a glass of Cava and invited to choose their viewpoint—the sofas, armchairs or the beanbag that Katrina opted for.

When it got to half-past eight, the chat stopped, and Tony stood up. "Right! Here we go! The Rock 'n' Roll chef!"

The TV screen flickered, and everyone held their breath. Tonight was not the night for electrical histrionics. Then, to a collective sigh of relief, the screen came to life. An advert for sofas finished, and the announcer told the audience that a new show was about to start. It was cooking, but not as you know it...

The music started up, an up-and-coming band singing about free time and the deliciousness of life. It played out over a backdrop of a man fast-forwarding his way around a kitchen, back and forth from a sink to the counter, up and down to shelves and cookers, and then at the end, he slowed to a normal pace, turning to grin at the camera.