From Countdown to Westminster Abbey

Sunday 5th December. The end of my ring finger is throbbing  like it’s been dipped in acid. It looks like Rudolph’s red nose. I’ve been awake all night with it and I am dog tired on the train to Manchester. I send the final version of a specially commissioned poem to be read on Wednesday at Westminster abbey. The service is called  “Together at Christmas” hosted by HRH the Duchess of Cambridge. The service will be broadcast at 7.30pm, Christmas Eve on ITV. Disclaimer: it’s not guaranteed that my new poem will be included in the final edit - more of which later - so here’s the first four lines of ‘To the Day’.

Last year to the day when we were apart

With one more eve of snow filled dreams

Socially distanced at a window’s persistence

We spoke to each other through screens

Monday. With the poem sent a car arrives to take me to the television studios in Manchester to record five days of Countdown episodes in one day. My finger is on fire. Victoria the medic  decides to lance it to alleviate the pressure. It  is excruciating and stomach churning all at once.  I have a bad case of Pronychia. I walk into the tv studio. We finish Recording at 9pm. It will be on TV in February. Back to my hotel. Klimptons. Can not sleep. Keep waking every two hours. Tuesday morning I make a short film for the University of Manchester and then travel to London. The pain is subdued by codeine Ibuprofen and paracetamol thanks to the medic.

Wednesday. Morning. London. My finger has flared up again and so I lance it myself with a sterile needle.  I won’t go into detail.  Catch train to Westminster Abbey. 1pm.  The adrenaline takes away the creeping pain.  After rehearsals Leona Lewis, Ellie Goulding, Kim Daybell,  Kate Garraway, Tom Felton and myself meet The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. In no time the congregation for the carol service appear. There are reindeers!!

Then comes my. turn. I have been asked to stand in the allotted place and wait until the last echo of the choir disappears. I am stood for what seems like an age. I read ‘To the Day’. The poem is one minute and fifteen seconds long.  I give it too much voice tone. Too much chest puffed out. I over emote. I get a bit Dylan Thomas! He was the master.  Understatement in these environments is how words find their voice and then the ears of the Lister. Still. It is done. But the best speech all year is by the venerable Tricia S Hilla. The reverend’s meditation on ‘love and imagination’ is spellbinding and delivered so powerfully and calmly. It s a masterclass of orature. The Reverend Tricia Hillas is a Canon of Westminster and Archdeacon. I could say more.

After the service. Anna and I walk to Chinatown. It’s cold. The painkillers are wearing off and the adrenaline has gone . My finger is once again on fire and worse than it’s ever been. Anna is adamant I should go to hospital. I  am not. By 8 pm I am at Saint Thomas hospital. Anna was right. After x rays and blood tests the plastic surgeon gets to work. I am under local anaesthetic. My finger tip is stripped of its skin my nail is removed and the infection is washed away. I can not look at any of it. Anna says my finger looked like the inside of a fig.  It will take a year for my nail to grow back and months to fully heal. My finger is drenched in iodine and bandaged. My arm is in a sling. Today is also the cover reveal for my. first children’s book. Out in March 2022.   Happy days. Merry Christmas. Postscript: I am fine. Nothing to worry about. This blog is a point of record for me.