Jamie's coming to (cook) dinner!

On Tuesday, a world-famous, multimillionaire-chef who's younger than me came round to cook my tea. I have never been all that good at prioritising, so rather than maybe clean my oven, or do my washing-up, I decided to shake and vac my entire house.

Now, I have seen Jamie Oliver on the programmes and on the Sainsbury's adverts where he slaps his own tummy with raw joy. I have seen him sliding down banisters, entertaining his friends with custard tarts and cooking for his sister's hen night. Frankly, I feel as if I know him pretty well already, but not at that point well enough to predict how he was going to react when he walked into a south London house that smelled exactly like a public toilet; that had one person in it he wasn't expecting (my sister was present - for fun), when he'd brought dinner for two (for me and him); and when he saw my cooker which is, to my certain knowledge and unlike the cook himself, older than I am, and hasn't been cleaned anything as often.

I never, ever get star-struck, but as I was checking up and down the street for signs of a scooter, I experienced real fear. He seems a friendly creature, Jamie, but fame can play hideous tricks on the brain. In fact, he didn't appear to notice the smell. He was very pleased to meet the sibling. When she asked him (I was out of the room) whether he'd ever cooked in such a kitchen, he said, "'course - most of my friends are students". He looked at the oven and all he said was, "Hmm, I don't trust your oven," which, when applied to an inanimate object, isn't rude at all.

"I've got some lovely things for you tonight, darling," he continued, followed by "Have you got a freezer? Because I've got a dessert as well; we're having a bit of coconut ice cream and a chocolate pudding, sweet pea." Upon this, it was clear that everything would be all right, a) because he was full of endearments, which is always nice, and b) because I did have a freezer, but the simple fact he suspected I didn't meant that he might not be too surprised by my lack of cutlery. Thus relaxed, I was able to concentrate on the phenomenon himself.

He is just about to embark on his revolutionary live cooking show with a difference. Before many thousands of people, he will re-enact two days of his life, packed into two hours, beginning with a stag-night, featuring much food, and ending, I suppose, with the mother of all hangovers.

It's very high-tech, with a sci-fi kitchen that talks to him. It'll be like a cross between a West End extravaganza, Starlight Express, say, and the Gary Rhodes road show. It is a bold move, and speaks of enormous self-confidence in his abilities as a performer, not just a chef.

But I'd guess that springs not from arrogance, but from a simple experiential curve - Jamie Oliver in person is like a ball of purest charm made flesh. The ceaseless enthusiasm which on the telly-box seems rehearsed, is actually the fabric of his entire being. He'd probably concur with that. Talking about New York, and the trip there he's just cancelled, he said, "The last thing they want is a chirpy p***k like me around, cooking tasty food. It's gonna have hit them all round the chops." This is not an insensitive man - but you do get the feeling that he's in a constant rush to get back to that swell of joy he had last time he checked on his little cakes.

So, that's what a love of food does for you: it puts you in a state of perpetual, infectious chirpiness. "I love cooking. And I love eating. It's the best thing in the world," he says, quite a lot. "Have you got a pestle and mortar?" "Kind of ..." "Never mind!" is another classic exchange.

The day before, he went mushroom picking, and they were the best mushrooms he'd ever seen. Not long before, he went fishing, and caught an eight-and-a-half pound trout, which he then took home. "And then I poached half of it, and the other half I ... have you ever heard of gravadlax?" "Yes." "Well, I thought I'd have a little go at that, so I packed it with stuff, and put it under a brick, and then [my wife] Jules threw it out because she thought it was just some minging thing I'd forgotten about!" "That's terrible". "It is terrible - it felt like a waste of, well, a waste of half that fish's life!"

He paused for a moment's silence. And was off again about the joys of hanging meat. Even before the ravioli (stuffed with ricotta and onion squash, served with crispy thyme and funny little Italian candied fruits, the most delicious pasta, seriously, I've ever had), the gourmand qualities were established.