In these troubled times we need the BBC. It's just a fact. I need a broadcasting corporation that still makes University Challenge and came up with The Great British Bake Off. Which, by the way, is one of the most enjoyably, comfortingly marvellous programmes that there has possibly ever been.
I am suffering from a rather lengthy bout of insomnia and, on occasion, night terrors. And do you know what I do at such times? Apart from knock back beta blockers and valerian tea? I put The Great British Bake Off on iplayer and let the sounds of Mary Berry and general lovely people murmuring gently about the best way to bake a cake. This programme is a work of absolute genius. It's somehow hit exactly the right chemistry with its hosts - anyone who doesn't like Mel and Sue are a) too young to remember their ace lunch time show or b) dead inside. Sue Perkins standing alone in a field wittering gently about history things is worth the entire year's licence fee for me.
The second best thing Sue has been in is The Supersizers series with Giles Coren. Not only did this have Giles Coren who fulfills most of my favourite male characteristics of being quite sexy in an undefinable way, very intelligent and more than slightly arrogant, it had Sue Perkins and history bits. It's basically made for me.
But back to the Bake Off. A beautiful setting, soothing music, plenty of breaks for the camera to pan across glorious and very British countryside to rest on the fattest, happiest sheep I've ever seen, a smattering of historical foodie stuff and a fiercely fought competition between 12 people who are alternately thriving and wilting under the pressure of having to make bread for the most critical baker person ever.
It's like sliding into a warm bath and having a hug from a giant cloud. With cake.