I'm at the York Racecourse, midway through what must be the longest awards ceremony ever!
We're celebrating Yorkshire. It's a diverse county, and the news it generates is, well, diverse. We've had people nominated for reporting stories about pigeon races, and people getting blocks of marzipan mixed up with Semtex explosives, alongside more conventional hard-hitting journalism.
My musicians played brilliantly. I was so proud of them all. Everything slotted together perfectly, and everyone did their bit; the wonderful saxophones, the tender string players, the red-blooded vocalists, the remarkable Circus Envy, and, of course Ed, the best electric violinist north of Watford Gap!
I ended up having to sing in the ensemble, rather high as it happens, as Olivia, the symphony's black siren, was indisposed. We don't know how or why. We just know she didn't show up, which was fairly poor form. I'm not sure I should have been singing so close to my operation, but needs must and all that.
The Racecourse is an amazing venue, and as we waited for our slot, we watched the sun setting, whilst hot air balloons floated into the sky from the field behind the race track. I'd love to go in a hot air balloon. I'm scared of flying, and scared of heights, but somehow I'm not sure that would matter!