Confidently he continues: “I have always had a female following and when women read that I steal other men’s wives that is damaging” — yep, he was accused of pinching “a Persian”. He might not have been to hell and back but he drove a long way down the motorway.
“Ending a long marriage is a form of bereavement,” he says, looking out over Hyde Park. “It was a hugely challenging period. How can you measure how depressed you were?” But if this is the point in an interview when the celeb is meant to break down, Edmonds shows his steel.
“It was no more than that really. I have always had good friends who had nothing to do with the business who have been there when it has gone wrong.”
Perhaps his anguishes have hardened him: he sounds almost as sorry to have lost his manor as his missus: “It was very difficult to sell the family home. I have moved on to a different level of relationship with Helen, focused on the children. We have had ups and downs but it is now amicable.” Helped by his relationship with Simmons, an estate agent: “I am personally happier than for a long time. I would like to be slightly happier still, but only because I am greedy.”
Will he remarry? “No, though I once said I would never get back in a television studio. My daughters are my main focus. We have become very close since the divorce. Little Alice is only seven and she didn’t even know her dad used to be on telly.”
The Edmonds revival might be laced with irony, but hey, that works for Tom Jones: “I have never been cool, yet I had a very good looking student come up recently who said I was ‘Arctic cool’. You don’t get much back from teenage daughters so I knew the show was working when they asked if they could bring school mates to a show.”
I suggest that while we Brits can take cruel delight in the scything of tall poppies, we also enjoy an against-the-odds reflowering: “I have been struck by the warmth towards me,” he says. “I was portrayed as the man with the big house and beautiful wife and it’s good to show people that life is not sustainable. They like to see you bounce back. If you face problems rather than blame everybody, they respect you.”
Edmonds has come a long way. His father was headmaster of a state school in Essex and in 1968 his son had a place at Surrey University to read psychology. One can only imagine his father’s horror when he decided to ditch it for a job reading the news on Radio Luxembourg. He quickly established his Mr Everyman appeal but was never quirky like Kenny Everett, whose bout of flu gave Edmonds his Radio 1 break months later.
As a DJ and Top of the Pops presenter Edmonds was the middle-class bloke you might meet down the car wash. That ordinariness is laced with a dash of campery; when his mobile rings he is a cross between the Bee Gees and Kenneth Williams: “Ooh, my bottom is vibrating,” he shrieks.
Edmonds may have acquired the trappings of horsey life — in 2004 he took over from the Princess Royal as head of the British Horse Society and was made deputy Lord Lieutenant of Devon — but unlike all those rock stars he has not aped the quiet good taste of the aristocracy. He lived in the manor but made no secret of being to the bungalow born, marrying Helen, branch manager of an employment agency. Such ordinariness can be deceptive. He claims Jeremy Clarkson is his hero but this laddishness obscures a sensitive cove easily hurt. Conversationally he is friendly but wears the wariness of one many times bruised.
His domestic life seems calmer with the impending purchase of a new West Country pile, which his daughters have approved, though Edmonds says: “There are still questions: contrary to reports presenter once more I have not signed a new multi-million-pound contract; there is no hurry for that. I could be made to look very foolish if I bought this house, then filming is transferred to Glasgow.” Unlikely.
But the house he has bought is not Princess Michael’s £5m pile Nether Lypiatt, which Edmonds viewed recently. It might have been fit for a princess, but it won’t wash for Noel.
“That house is right on the road,” says Edmonds. Borkowski, who viewed it with him, adds: “It’s amazing how celebrity has changed in 20 years: nobody well-known would buy it now due to lack of privacy. If you want a trophy home it is great, but it was clearly only used for the odd weekend’s entertaining.” They found the kitchen basic and the bedrooms still decorated for children, even though the royal sprogs are now grown up, giving the house an unlived-in feel.
Wherever he ends up, chez Edmonds promises to be more Windsor Castle than Crinkley Bottom. He says he has no ambition to return to the BBC, but does he seek to be the highest-paid TV bod once more? “No, I don’t want that label again, it is a liability, let someone else have it. In America presenters boast about pay, here it is death.” Er, but he is rich — or was until his divorce, estimates ranging from £20m to £75m. “I am a penny and pounds man. If you want to be secure you must respect money. On my show people bet £20,000, and that’s a big bet.”
He pauses: “I love the idea that in 45 minutes a contestant’s life can change. The national lottery show can’t deliver that — because you want to see the winner. You want to learn about the player, more than on Millionaire. Chris (Tarrant) teases out certain information but you get a lot more on this show.” Yet puritans might say for every winner there is a loser. “Would that be the same puritan who says there should be no more babies born because there is cruelty in the world?” comes a sharp reply.
If money is no longer his mistress, what motivates him? “Lots of people in this industry would like to be in my shoes. After the big change in my personal life I was looking for a challenge. Initially I rejected it, and the people behind the show had every right to say ‘Don’t you realise the f****** opportunity we are offering?’ But it is fantastic to prove you can do it again.”
