So, Apparently I’m Repulsive

A weekend that was meant to be quiet turned into one of the most emotionally raw — and unexpectedly viral — broadcasts of my life.

All I wanted was a few days of silence, a hotel lie-in, and a break from British politics. Instead, I ended up hosting a national breakfast show on 20 minutes of sleep, fending off a Twitter storm, and being called “the most repulsive man in British politics” — live on air.

---

It was supposed to be quiet

A lazy weekend, just the two of us. I’d booked us into the Park Plaza in Waterloo — very nice, by our standards. A bit of a splurge, but we’d earned it. People assume I live some kind of media whirlwind — dinners, drivers, drama. We really don’t. We’d had a rough month — my workload, his personal situation — and it was time to switch off.

But then the phone rang…and I answered.

I nearly didn’t. For the second time I nearly missed the call.

It was Phil Dave — weekend producer at TalkTV, chaos merchant, and the man who gave me my first shot. Guest slots, paper reviews, the pairing with Alex Phillips that launched me into this gloriously deranged world of political broadcasting. I owe him more than I can say. But it was Friday. And I knew what a Friday call meant a request to appear over the weekend.

He asked if I’d host the Saturday morning breakfast show. Live. Four hours. My second time ever hosting live television. I jumped at it. I won’t lie — I’d caught the bug. It had been a month since my first time, and I wanted back in.

But what followed wasn’t just a show. It was a reminder — brutal, intimate, and unfiltered — that behind every broadcast, real things are happening to real people.

And sometimes, the story crashes straight through the camera lens.

“While I was in the studio talking about the state of the nation, something was about to happen just a few streets away. Something small in the scale of a country, but massive in the scale of us.”

The night before the show, I was doing my usual Friday slot — The Political Asylum with Kevin O’Sullivan. Routine. Studio around the corner. My partner offered to nip out and pick up a few bits while I was on air. The plan was simple: meet back at the hotel, have some fun, an early night. I’d write my monologue on Keir Starmer. He’d watch TV. Early bedtime — call time was 5am.

But when I got back to the hotel… he wasn’t there. Fine, I thought. Maybe I was early.

But minutes passed. Then more. Then too many.

Messages. WhatsApps. Calls. Nothing. I even tried contacting friends. No one had seen him. The last online status was hours ago.

My frustration turned to panic.

No signal. No clue. No partner.

I was pacing a hotel room on the eigth floor with the feeling that something awful had happened — and no one was coming to help. I genuinely had never felt fear like that. I felt powerless.

Then, finally, my phone buzzed. The ding.

A WhatsApp. A photo. His arm: scratched, bruised, bleeding. followed byt a garbled message. Broken English. But it was clear he had been attacked

He had low battery, I needed as much details in the moments we had. Funny how your brain kicks in. Having been in Westminster, working at the top, I know what’s needed, the details that matter. I had some power back.

Thankfully, some good Samaritans had found him and got him on a bus. Headed right for the hotel. I threw on whatever clothes I could find, ran with my phone and hotel key card, and waited by the nearest bus stop like my life depended on it.

I will never know who helped him but know that you did a great kindness and I owe you a debt.

When he stepped off that bus, he was looking for me. He ran. I ran. I grabbed him and said, “I’m not letting go.” He gasped, “You have to. I can’t breathe.”

And then — his first question to me: “Please tell me you’ve had dinner.”

That’s him. Bruised, shaken, and still worried I hadn’t eaten.

---

We got him cleaned up. Showered. Ate what we could. No sleep

Then, almost as quickly as it had all happened, the car was outside. Time to hook in. Now getting to the studio was comical. I forgot how empty London roads are at 5am — I arrived way too early, Luckily Davis was there to get me in the building. It’s a long running joke that after 3 years I don’t have my own pass to enter the studios, someone one has to collect me. thankfully Davis was early as well.

Once in, I realised I’d forgotten my laptop charger. Of course. Called my partner and begged him to bring it over. He got in an Uber and raced across, Tommy from production had to go downstairs to collect it from him all while I was in makeup. Quickly brushing up on the stories I was supposed to talk about. Entire palaver. I think it’s just standard for me now.

I will say that mentally I was done, I had this waffle written about one year of Starmer but was I really just going to pretend nothing had happened? Everything was different for me now I felt different. At the bus stop waiting for him, alone, I began thinking - well there’s a strong chance I was ranting it aloud - of what I’d really love to say to the world. It flowed out of me like a gospel preacher, the anger at the city, the people in charge, the rot and even my role in it. I couldn’t shake this speech out my head. It nagged at me. Even when I sat down in the chair , checking the camera, fixing my collar the words were reverberating around my mind.

I knew then what I had to do.

I made a choice.

I threw out the script.

I went on air with a mission and honestly, to hell with the consequences.

---

No one knew I was going to talk about the night before in that way. Not the crew. Not my partner. Not even Peter Bleksley — former Met detective and my “presenter friend” for the morning. I didn’t tell anyone. Because I knew they’d try to stop me.

But I needed to say it. And when the red light came on, I did.

The first word caught in my throat, stumbled the first sentence — a flicker of doubt in my voice. Rare for me. But then it rolled out. The fear. The anger. The collapse of trust. The weight of knowing the country is broken and pretending it isn’t for the sake of a tidy link. Introduced Peter Bleksley and then I felt a wave of panic, relief and oddly hunger.

Bleksley steadied me. That god for that man.

He knew how to de-escalate, how to take control when someone’s spiralling, which I really was. He was brilliant. I enjoyed myself almost immediately. We fell into a rhythm — two Peters, somehow holding the show together. We bounced off each other, some remarked we were like father and son.

It was natural. We talked Oasis. as thre show progressed I had genuinely great segments with Ryan Sabey, Sophia Sleigh, Lucy White. I had a delightful chat with Charlie Rowley. He was meant to be in a head-to-head, but the other guest never showed. We carried it. Charlie is sharp, calm, quietly devastating in his delivery. I respect him enormously. Watching it back I barely remember any of it. I won’t lie I was happy with it. Many may not know but near enough everyday I read 5 newspapers and consume hours of news from all over the place. It allows me to dip in and out, really contribute. When I presenter friend I take tha preparation seriously and I like to think it’s my mcontribution to the shows production. Be the guy that knows the details.

To Will Hobbs and talkSPORT — my deepest apologies.

I told everyone I didn’t know sport. Grew up between Manchester and Liverpool, sure, but I’m a rugby league guy. Played for years. Even refereed. But actual day-to-day football, cricket, tennis analysis? I’m useless. I only have the sports app on my phone so I know when Chelsea’s at home — to avoid the Tube crush.

So when I had to talk sport live on air?

Chaos.

Thank God Bleksley was kept on set. Production were that nervous they asked him to stick around. And they were right. In was clueless, I just let Peter and Will talk. I had a little bit I could add and I was actually rather proud. However the chaos was still there. I tried — three times — to throw to break. Three times the gallery threw it back. “Not yet.” It became a loop of misery. I panicked, screamed hawkeye, said a farewell to Peter too early, I may have even said the word “Pimm’s” like it was a relevant fact.

“At one point, I genuinely considered faking a technical fault just to make it stop.”

To the entire TalkSPORT team and all sports fans, I apologise. I just can’t engage with it. I will be better. I promise

And then — the real chaos was yet to happen.

James Mathewson.

---

The guy was infamous. He had previously messaged me saying I was an awful person. He’s been oddly obsessed with me it seems. God’s truth, I wasn’t planning to fight. I really wasn’t. I thought I could keep him on air without incident. But James is… James. Loud, uinterested in actual debate, with a superiority complex and ego that Muhammed Ali would have said is a bit much.

He started swinging — at me, at the show, at the audience. That’s where I drew the line.

You can insult me. I’ve been called worse by better. But you don’t insult the people watching. They can’t respond. So I did it for them. I hope I did them proud. From the rafts of comments I think I did. This video is everywhere.

Gloved off. I challenged him on his comments about Jeremy Corbyn being “a decent guy.” He didn’t answer. Just some smug face pretending not to hear a question, intentionally obtuse but I landed a few comments hot the major points

And then he said it:

“You are the most repulsive person I’ve ever spoken to in British politics.”

Right then, I knew this was going viral

My father and grandfather told me to never go looking for a fight but if you find yourself in one, fight, fight to win and end it quickly. I threw out some good one-liners. I kept on the single point of James comment about Corbyn being a decent guy. I refused to engage with the erratic insults and nonsense, that’s what people get wrong, they jump with him, stick on a single point and force the issue. He was scrambling, repeating himself, I started to pity him and after nine minuetes, I said thanks and threw to break.

I was later told that he swore at the producer was frankly unprofessional and just foul. Hardly a surprise. Apparently I was something called something that isn’t worth repeating and showed the guy’s character.

I’ll be honest in the break I actually waited for someone to pull the plug. Instead, the gallery applauded. those last 20 minuets a blur.

Came back from break and talked Oasis. Did a handover with Peter Cardwell that I barely remember. Said the thank yous. Heard the music. And then — gone. Finished

And I was just glad it was over.

“The adrenaline will lie to you. The fear will shout. But eventually, you’re left with the question: Did I say what mattered?”

I was drained. Checked my phone. So many messages. The support was immense, I never went personal with James, despite his at me. I don’t stoop, I stand, I was annoyed that many had sunk to his level.

However he only message that mattered was from him. He said he’d never been prouder of me. And that was it. That was the one that got me.

I will always thank TalkTV for giving me that seat — and I meant it even more this time. I needed to say many things that morning. And from what I’ve heard and read as even now people message me about it, a lot of you needed it said.

So if they ever ask me back — and I hope they do — know this: I take every word I say seriously. I know you are listening and I will always listen back.

You might not always agree with me. You might think I’m awful but I will always try to voice what so many feel they can’t.

It was pure insanity, so much happened. Even writing this I am amazed. And, I do you know what? I can’t wait to do it all over again.

My God — what the hell is wrong with me?