Being, as you doubtless are, an avid fan of this blog, you will no doubt remember the Bacon of Doom. The temptation to have bacon sandwiches every morning at work did wear off as I settled into my job, and I've since settled into a habit of toast and the occasional croissant. Last week, however, my culinary world was thrown into disarray.

I strolled down to the canteen for lunch one day, expecting the usual fare of mediocre slop which is unobjectionable and fairly cheap, but hardly cordon bleu. However I was shocked to be served a sweet and sour chicken, resplendent in a tasty sauce with highlights of ginger. I hardly knew what to do. I ate with haste and enjoyed my meal with the zeal of a man who is regaining the sense of taste after some previous freak accident involving major burns on his tongue. I offered a casual thanks to the chef as I returned my plate, noticing that it was not Captain Grumpy (as we sometimes call our usual chef, assuming he must be related to the equally mardy chef at Wood Norton) but rather a woman sporting... dare I utter the words... a smile. "Not bad for a plumber, eh?", came the witty reply. We chatted, and it was friendly. I returned to my desk slightly unsure of the world. Did I imagine the whole thing?

A week of glorious lunches proved that no, good food at the BBC is not an impossibility. (Actually the White City canteen proved that to me long ago, but it bankrupted me in the process). To make matters even more glorious, Lily - as I later discovered my culinary saviour was called - even provided variations on the usual deep-fried gloop for breakfast. I enjoyed scrambled eggs on toast on Thursday, and she even kindly provided poached eggs on Friday at my request after I discovered I had missed some earlier in the week.

But alas, it seems that Lily is not to be a permanent fixture at Kingswood Warren. I mustn't be too despondent - the food isn't bad really when she's not here. But I gather she will be back a few times over the next month or so, and let me tell you, those days shall shine like beacons of light in an otherwise grey swamp of midday meals.