The Great British Bake Off is on borrowed time. In paving the way for its golden goose to leave the BBC for Channel 4, Love Productions has put a bullet in the mighty bird. Three of the show’s on-screen talents have walked away, leaving behind only a format and a man who is very pleased with himself indeed.

I couldn’t be happier.

Not because I don’t want people to enjoy things that I don’t. Not because it’s impossible to be in a relationship without at least one party having some interest in it.

Not because The Great British Bake Off has more than a whiff of a kind of Britishness I don’t understand.

Not because Mel Giedroyc and Sue Perkins are endlessly irritating. Not because Paul Hollywood would bake and eat himself if he thought he’d survive to tell you about it.

Not even because of the show’s contribution to the fashion for shortening programme names to Come Dine, One Born and Strictly, or because of the implied assumption of universal recognition that comes with it.

No, I’m delighted by the slow suicide of The Great British Bake Off because it gives me hope that the use of the word ‘bake’ as a noun will die with it.

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