The Sunday Telegraph Sunday 1 September 2019^ *** 9
squealed. I didn’t even remove my coat
or stow my suitcase for the journey
home. I just sat and stared into space, as
the demons of over-estimated self-
value began to take hold.
Over the next few months, many
more offers came in: crazy money for a
recipe; entire salaries for a day here, a
week there. It was hard work, but a walk
in the park compared with the nine-to-
five lives of my friends, with hellish
commutes and childcare struggles.
Before I knew it, I was living in Lon-
don and making an offer on a small flat
in Greenwich. My longing to be near
my family, which made me to drop out
of Oxford University, twice, was sud-
denly diluted by the lure of this lavish
new lifestyle. I didn’t know it at the
time, but my values and integrity were
melting away in the spotlight.
When I entered Bake Off, I didn’t
think I’d have a cat in hell’s chance of
winning. But that’s not to say I didn’t
want to win – of course I did. It’s a com-
petition, and anyone who says they en-
ter just for the fun is lying. What I failed
to remember, though, was that age-old
mantra: be careful what you wish for.
Because as the next batch of Bake Off
stars emerged, my appeal shrank. The
working days became fewer, the offers
smaller. The life to which I had become
accustomed slowly dissolved.A Flash in the
Pan: Simple,
Speedy Stovetop
Recipes (£20,
Kyle Books) is
out now.With more days
alone at home, my
already depressed
state of mind wors-
ened. I drank more
than I should have
and posted unwisely
on Instagram and
Twitter. Some days
I’d wish I had never
been on the show,
because in reality it
derailed me from a
steady life path.
It would be simple
to point the finger at
the production com-
pany or BBC and say
they gave me no ad-
vice on how to man-
age the transience of
the industry. They
didn’t, and perhaps,
in the wake of reality
TV star meltdowns
and suicides, there
should be reform of
the way contributors
are prepared for,
and guided through,
post-show life.
But I don’t think it
would have made a
difference even if
they had. Addiction
to the razzle-dazzle
came naturally to
the youthful me.
Luckily, my par-
ents had always
stressed the impor-
tance of financial planning. Despite a
bit of frivolity, I’d saved at least half my
earnings and invested it into my house.
And as the work died down, Berti-
net’s words echoed in my head. It took
that period of panic to remind me who
I was; to make the values, which I’d
buried deep, re-emerge.
I used some of my savings to reno-
vate a barn on my family farm, and
opened my cookery school. I stopped
caring about the “celebrity” side of my
career and focused more on the sub-
stantial part of it, as food writer and
chef. I moved back up north, where
I belong. I became calmer and more
confident. I moved to an independent
publishing house, to an editor who
wanted me to find my own voice rather
than cling to the crumbs of GBBO.
If I knew then what I know now,
would I do it all again? Absolutely. But
I’d approach it differently.
I don’t know whether I speak
from wisdom, waning exuberance or
perhaps a bit of both, but my advice to
these fledgling bakers is this: take the
opportunities while you can, take the
money and run if you want to, but don’t
take it too seriously.
Remember that the person you were
before the show is the best version of
you – the person you were always sup-
posed to be. LOVE PROUCTIONS/BBC/AMANDA SEARLEMy recipe
for surviving
the Bake Off
media frenzy
A
s this year’s cohort
of bakers seems
younger than ever –
seven of the origi-
nal 13 are in their
20s – I feel the need
to offer some ad-
vice, based on my
experience of the aftermath of
The Great British Bake Off.
I never envisaged when I filled out
that application form how much the
programme would change my life;
how much it would alter me – and
not necessarily for the better.
I was a 23-year-old law student
when I won in 2012. For 10 weeks, I
had balanced my degree finals with
the tension and scrutiny of the white
tent (not to mention a few nights
out). Bake Off is filmed months in ad-
vance, so by the time my success
was broadcast I was hooked up with
separate book and media agents.
When the show aired I had already
accepted a position on a postgradu-
ate scheme at the Royal Bank of Scot-
land. I had zero interest in banking,
but a mountain of legal training con-
tract rejections forced me to take
what I could get.
Then the media frenzy began, and
I gladly quit. I darted up and down
the country to meetings with pub-
lishers. They call it a beauty parade- meeting editor after editor, dis-
cussing slants on how to create a
bestselling cookery book. In hind-
sight, it was more like a travelling
meat market.
You see, the focus isn’t on you as a
baker or your talents, it’s on you as
Bake Off winner. You’re fettered to
the brand, no matter how much
your ego whispers “you can make it
on your own”.
One of the few people to warn me
of this was one of my culinary idols.
Richard Bertinet, the cookery writer
and teacher, told me to invest in time
and “bread and butter”. He meant get
some experience, find your voice and
ensure you have something in place
when the media interest fades. I guess I
already knew that: I’d enrolled for a
pastry diploma at London’s Le Cordon
Bleu – a lifelong dream.
After an anxious few weeks follow-
ing the initial publisher meetings, my
literary agent emailed me the news. I
remember it vividly: I was on Platform
One at London Euston. My hands
sweated as I opened the email. I had
been offered a six-figure deal to write
two cookery books. Six figures, at 23.
I squealed and rang my mum. She
squealed then told my stepdad. He
squealed, the cat squealed, we allPINT TO PINT
The Beehive,
Cheltenham
The Beehive is not your average street-
corner pub. Chic Cheltenham might be an
estate agent’s description of Montpellier
Villas, at the end of which it stands. The
architect was John Forbes, designer of the
Pittville Pump Rooms and nearby St Paul’s
Church, whose career was cut short when
he was imprisoned for forgery in 1835.
Shabby-chic might be a description of
the interior. Beyond the handsomely
engraved windows, the first things that
struck me were the worn and evidently
well-trodden floorboards in the main bar.
The next was an ancient advertisement
for the Nailsworth Brewery, on the
chimney breast above an ornate cast-iron
fireplace. The words were barely legible.
“It was based near Stroood,” said one of
two regulars perched on bar stools. “He’s
Scottish,” said the other. Ah, Stroud then, I
surmised, before pointing to a large jar and
inquiring: “Are those nuts?”
“No, dog biscuits. Do you want one?”
Despite my polite refusal, he plucked
one out. Then he tossed it to a hitherto
recumbent black Labrador that came
instantly to life, leapt high, opened wide
and caught it handsomely.
None of which seemed to distract two
crib players ensconced at the ancient,
well-scrubbed table closest to the “snug”,
a room almost as big as the bar but
harbouring a fireplace stacked with logs.
There was also a book case in which
nestled comfortingly old-fashioned board
games, such as Monopoly and Cluedo, and
second-hand paperbacks including the
Good Beer Guides for 2005 and 2003.
Nailsworth Brewery closed almost a
century ago but the name has been revived
as a micro. Not that its products were being
pumped at the Beehive today. I went
for the one regular among many ever-
changing guest beers. Timothy Taylor’s
Landlord is a perfectly balanced Yorkshire
bitter and a personal favourite.
It went well with a Greek salad that
tasted even better once some warm pitta
had been delivered on request. Better by
far than dog biscuits, I suspect – although
the leaping Labrador might disagree.Chris Arnot1-3 Montpellier Villas, Cheltenham,
GL50 2XE: 01242 702270;
thebeehivemontpellier.comMETEORIC RISE
John Whaite, winner of the 2012
series, lost himself when he found
sudden fame after the show
As the
next batch
of Bake
Off stars
emerged,
my offers
got smaller.
My life
slowly
dissolved
DARK DAYS
John Whaite,
and with judges
Paul Hollywood
and Mary Berry,
and fellow
finalists James
Morton and
Brendan LynchRELEASED BY "What's News" vk.com/wsnws TELEGRAM: t.me/whatsnws