When Catherine Jones (aka Kate Lace), Judy Astley, Phillipa Ashley, and Katie Fforde wafted in, curiously chipper after their night in the hotel celebrating, we were taken en masse through the labyrinthine corridors of the Beeb to the green room, which to my uneducated eyes looked as if it were situated in a basement loading bay. We’d been told to bring three different outfits, and we were told to lay them out on chairs, awaiting the Wardrobe Fairies. The Wardrobe Fairies would pronounce judgement on our taste, select an outfit, and press it beautifully for us to wear. They appeared as if by magic and bore away our case-crinkled clothes.

After being briefed on the show and what we would be expected to do, we were led through more corridors to a very swish communal dressing room (including those trendy sinks that are just bowls on a shelf), where our now-impeccable outfits hung awaiting us. A quick change, and another trek to makeup.

Makeup was great. We sat in comfy chairs while chattering women made us look ten years younger. Most of the conversation was about television shows that I’d never watched (I’m on a strict TV diet of CBeebies and Star Trek due to baby and book research), so I was free to let it waft over my head and enjoy being made gorgeous. One of the Eggheads, CJ, wandered in sporting a pink t-shirt and a cold and Katie cheered him up by offering him a Santa tissue. Judy and I were the first to be made up and, wandering around the set, we encountered Daphne Egghead who greeted us cheerfully.

Then it was time to be miked up and shown the set. As the Fairies had chosen a dress for me to wear, I had nothing to attach the mic pack to on my back and was whisked away to try stuffing it down my knickers. Even M&S’s best didn’t hold up to such an assault and I had to tie a cloth pouch around my waist. Television is so glamorous, darling.

The confidentiality agreement I signed back in the green room forbids me from discussing the contents of the programme before it’s broadcast, but I think I’m allowed to state some of the non-competition highlights: team captain Melanie comparing CJ with a Regency dandy; discussing sex scenes with a rather scrummy presenter Jeremy Vine; having to crowd together at the challenger table because we were too “tiny” to hide the chair backs behind us; and the women who appeared periodically to dust our noses with powder and adjust our miked-up cleavages. We were nervous beforehand, but once things got going we had a lot of fun. And the tension was unbearable for us, so it should make good telly.