Editor-At-Large: They said I was no Angus Deayton. Well, have I got news for them...

¿I can exclusively reveal that Carole Caplin has decided to abandon her career as a "lifestyle" guru to Cherie Blair, and opted for a new career presenting Have I Got News For You. Meanwhile, Harold Brown has refused to confirm rumours that he decided to turn down the opportunity to host the show, preferring insteadto open a "royal" tea shop near his £1m house (soon to be a "palatial" B and B) in Tunbridge Wells, featuring china and cutlery "gifted" him by various former royal bosses.

Am I the only person who's not been asked to host this once-trailblazing comedy flagship on BBC1? Told I was "too opinionated" (ie not famous enough) to do the job, I settled for a supporting role in the programme broadcast this weekend. I'm not proud, I accept my limitations, preferring instead to sit next to Paul Merton and win the show comprehensively by a margin of five points, limbering up for my far more gruelling experience next week recording the Christmas special of Celebrity Mastermind against Vic Reeves.

I really enjoy any kind of competitive situation, and my evening with Paul, Ian, Fred MacAulay and Liza Tarbuck was no exception. Liza Tarbuck, I hear you ask? Well, the thoroughly pleasant and nice Ms Tarbuck is a big star in something on television called Linda Green and therefore qualified to host HIGNFY. Actually, Liza did a decent job, easily improving on previous "trial" hosts such as Boris ("where's my brain?") buffoon Johnson, Anne (my face is strangely immobile) Robinson, John (I've had a humour bypass) Sergeant. Still to come is "cheery" Charles Kennedy, leader of the Liberal Democrats.

Angus Deayton was sacked, according to the programme makers, not because he paid for sex and indulged in class A drugs, but because his off-screen activities made the headlines. It was thought that this impeded his ability to present a show about the more lurid aspects of the news, as he was part of the agenda the show seeks to lampoon. Fair enough, but does this mean the Liberal Democrats are so spent as a political force they will not be in the news in any meaningful or controversial form between now and Friday evening at 9.30pm? Has nothing even remotely scurrilous ever been said about Charles Kennedy, his love life and his relationship to a wee dram or two? Or now that he's a happily married man, unlike Mr Deayton, who merely has a "partner", has Mr Kennedy morphed into a fit and proper non-controversial person suitable to read autocue at a distance of 20 feet without squinting?

Of course I have a theory, born out of many years' experience as a television executive. I accept that Angus had to be sacked; it was a "heads must roll" situation. But, over the past few weeks, the audience research so beloved by the corporation will be showing beleaguered BBC bosses that viewers liked Angus, couldn't care less about his private life, and sadly don't relate to any of the "trial" hosts either. Some cynical people (myself included) might even think that these hosts have been selected with this end in mind. The stage will soon be set for the return of Angus Deayton after his period in purgatory, early in the spring, at approximately half of the salary he was earning before, looking suitably chastened.

Meanwhile, the producer assured me, they still had other options up their sleeve... "We could go for someone younger," he mused, "try something really different". No matter the show is largely watched by people over 35, that magic Y word still cuts a lot of ice in telly. Ignore the fact that Youth couldn't bail out the dreadful Fame Academy. Expect to see Damian Hurley cast off those nappies and ease himself into the frame as a serious contender.

Another great week for mockney man of the people Jamie Oliver. Sainsbury's announced that his advertising campaign has brought them around £153m of profits, a return of £27.25 on every pound they spent on advertising. His London restaurant Fifteen garners even more good reviews, and Mark Lawson writes a long adulatory piece in The Guardian. Mr Oliver earns a reputed £1m a year from Sainsbury's and his contract, not surprisingly, has been extended, even though he's criticised their products and doesn't use them in his restaurants. Much has been made of Mr Oliver's television series in which he took 15 ordinary young people and turned them into decent chefs. The profits of Fifteen, the restaurant he created for them to work in, go to charity. But have I missed something? Was any part of the training an exercise in how to actually treat the paying customers? Did the concept of "servility" get mentioned?

Having visited the restaurant for dinner last week, I would rather spend 24 hours locked in any branch of Sainsbury's where the staff are unfailingly courteous and helpful, than return to Fifteen and be treated like an inconvenience. The food at Fifteen is very good. But why I should pay around £50 a head to be served by people who act as if they're doing you a favour?

When we arrived in pouring rain a burly doorman wouldn't even let us in until he had confirmed on a list that we had booked a table. I felt like a gatecrasher at a trendy club, not someone who was going out to eat. Our table wasn't ready at the appointed time. So we were told to drink in the bar, where they wouldn't serve us until we'd given them a credit card.

I waited over an hour between my starter and the main course and it took ages to get the bill. Throughout this time, the staff kept coming up and saying food would be arriving "soon". In the open-plan kitchen all work stopped for five minutes while the staff had a chat. The basement dining-room features a long pink banquette, taking up too much space. Why oh why isn't the dining area upstairs where there is some natural light? Overall the design seems cribbed from an old issue of Wallpaper* magazine, a bit of a mess – like the main man, I suppose. No matter how good a piece of pheasant is, served with polenta, I don't think that customers will be racing to return to be treated like this. Jamie Oliver should realise that eating out is not just about food.

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Finally, as it's Christmas, time for the annual trip to the ballet: the Royal Ballet's Swan Lake at Covent Garden. The 1987 designs, by Yolanda Sonnabend, have not worn well, with over-fussy sets and costumes that look just tatty. The evil Von Rothbart looks like a leftover from a Sigue Sigue Sputnik tribute band. Unfortunately, Matthew Bourne's all-male version of this ballet has rather changed our expectations. But a new star is the gorgeous Ivan Putrov, from Kiev, dancing Prince Siegfried in this production. No matter that when I met the boy at dinner recently he smoked continuously, he's the star of the show. All that smoke doesn't seem to diminish his ability to leap six foot in the air at all.