I arrived in London this evening by train. I took a taxi from Waterloo to my hotel next to Broadcasting House where I have to be first thing for Woman’s Hour. Turning into Oxford Street I had the impression I had landed in Hong Kong as opposed to arrived by train from France. Cheap shops, bright lights, crowds of people; all quite horrible. In fact we passed about 20 shops, none of which I would even want to go into (and I’m not averse to a bit of shopping) let alone buy anything from. I then got to my hotel which appears to be staffed exclusively by East Europeans. Not only that, but Borat seems to have designed my room. It is brown; everywhere. The walls, the cushions, the sofa, the tables, the chairs, even the telephones. This room is so dark Borat’s flourescent g-string would be lost in it. The only thing the hotel has to recommend it is the view. I am on the so-called executive floor – it costs £20 more than the others and is higher up. The view across London is wonderful. I have yet to venture out into the mean streets, but can’t help thinking that it might be safer to stay here, the appalling decor notwithstanding. Down there seems a noisy, bustling mess.