Dinner with Portillo [amuse bouche]

I'd like to summerise this post but it doesn't actually make a point. I was just hypnotised by Michael Portillo's rubbery features as he presented the Dinner With Portillo series- if you will, his bouche amused me.

Since a casual discussion of Michael Portillo arose in the office he seems suddenly to loom large on my psyche - and my iPlayer. Recently he has had as many as three programmes on the BBC simultaneously.

Dinner with Portillo is a strange invitation, but none the less I joined him in the back room of some posh restaurant via the medium of television. He was hosting his various guests as they discussed the merits of the political diary. Portillo himself seemed to be animated by a passionate dislike of political diaries, and ruled out the publication of his own memoirs.

Surprisingly, the format worked, and there was certainly a sense that the food and the booze and the polite surroundings away from the harsh lights of the studio led to a more honest discussion. The success of the programme came from the window into westminster life that was afforded, at least, Westminster life as I imagine it: people referring to civil servants by first name, having read, as a matter of course, all the substantial political diaries and gently playing out their political views by needling on a personal level those of other persuasions.

It's undeniable that Portillo was excellent at stepping in when necessary, and letting the conversation flow naturally when he wasn't guiding it.

Anthony Howard was something of a treat. If a fossil of his dental palette is discovered paleontologists will certainly classify him a different species. We were treated to a shot of him browsing on some bread, which gave the sensation of a wildlife programme. In fact the whole thing had something of the aspect of trying not to interfere with the behaviour of an animal not normally seen in its natural environment, with waiters deftly sustaining the dinners with booze and food without upsetting the flow of these rare specimen's various calls and rituals.

Everyone had an anecdote they wanted to get out, except Gene Seaton, who came across as a rather kind, impartial and more mature character than everyone else.

One question did hang in the air a little - why must the programme be bookended by segments that feel like they've been lifted from News Round? In that crappy way that programmes about the world's worst car chases spin out their material we were introduced to each of the guests twice, we started with a monologue from Portillo getting ready in his bedroom, and the awed tones with which each of the guests was explained to us gave the impression that the programme makers thought that in the absence of the audience actually knowing who any of the guests were they were free to make them sound as grand as they wanted.

But, it seems to me, if I'm watching this kind of programme then I'll know who most of the guests are and that I don't need it to have some trite question to peg the discussion to (allegedly the point was find out if political diaries were dishonest, which was hardly the focus of the conversation), nor any of the other paraphernalia of crap TV. Can't TV be grown up just once? When your making TV for BBC four surely you can accept that your not going to steal views from Two Pints Of Larger And A Packet Of Crisps?

Of course, what I really want to know was what they talked about down the pub afterwards, when they actually got drunk, and actually spilled the beans. Fortunately, if I cared enough I could easily find out by waiting for any one of their diarised accounts of the event to be published.