I was ready for my close-up, but the workmen had just started pneumaticallydrilling and Harry the sound guy wasn't happy. So we waited.

Luckily, Liverpool was looking splendid for all its camera shots - close or wide - in brilliant sunshine. Which is fortunate given that the British TV programme we were shooting for mentions sun. (Can't give too may details... contractual obligations etc)

We'd arrived last Sunday after a long journey from Marseille. Actually it's not a long flight, but we had to fly Marseille to Heathrow and then wait almost four hours for the connecting flight to Manchester. At least I didn't cause a bomb scare this time (ref. blog from June 2013!), though British Airways had problems of their own after we'd boarded. The captain obligingly explained, "Sorry about the air conditioning not working folks but the unit that controls it has broken down. Unfortunately this is the same unit that starts the engines, so we can't start them either, but we are in touch with the company at the highest levels and hope to have a ground unit here soon..."

An hour and ten sweltering minutes later it arrived. "The highest levels"? I think not. I had thought of offering to call the AA on my mobile, but decided to leave it to the experts. In the old days there would have been a starting handle.

But we finally got to Manchester, where a taxi that had been pre-ordered by the production company took us to Liverpool, and our hotel, The Days Inn. Liz and I were grateful to arrive, and even more thankful for the large and quiet fifth-floor room.

This was only the second time I'd ever stayed in a hotel in my home city; the first was when - coincidentally - I was also there for TV, shooting a segment for TVNZ's "Holiday" programme in 1997. That occasion was marked by a gorgeous example of Scouse concern for my wellbeing when I told the receptionist that I'd seen a mouse in my room. She looked suitably horrified and asked, "Oh! What colour was it?"

This time our stay was rodent-free.

Monday through Wednesday was spent working with John the cameraman, Philippa the director, Harry the sound recordist, Max the production assistant, and the lovely J----- who was the presenter. (Once the programme airs in the UK some time later this year I will be able to name names. Meanwhile you will just have to let your imaginations run wild)

We were shown three apartments and had our reactions and thoughts filmed in each location. Meanwhile, in the streets around us, "Foyle's War" which stars Michael Kitchener in the lead role, was also shooting in some of the central city's lovely old historic buildings. Their lighting rigs were ten times the size of ours. We had luminance envy.

We shot interviews around the Grade 1-listed old Albert Dock area, as well as in each apartment location, and although I've done my fair share of producing and directing, it was interesting to be back on the other side of the camera for a change. Liz performed like a seasoned professional, especially in the retakes where drilling workmen spoilt the first shot, or officious Liverpool Film bureaucrats interrupted to check our filming permits. But Liverpool itself needed no retakes, and looked gorgeous in the bright sunshine and blue-sky backdrop. No green-screen, make-up or CGI needed there.

By Wednesday mid-morning Liz and I had completed our part of the bargain, unfortunately with the final interviews done on a foggy and bitterly cold morning... good luck to the editor for the continuity.

This morning though we were woken by the alarm at 4am and by 4.45 were blearily checking in at Liverpool's John Lennon Airport for our flight to Tenerife and the second part of the programme.

So here we are now in the Canary Islands, which enjoy a balmy climate and an annual ten-month-long holiday season, a key reason why they're one of Europe's favourite tourist destinations.

We've arrived three days ahead of the film crew, with the aim of exploring the island so we can get a feel for it, since neither of us has been here before. The Canary Islands popped up on our radar many months ago when we were researching where - south of France - was the nearest place that had a guaranteed year-round clement climate. Tenerife enjoys temperatures nearly always in the 20s, and sometimes the 30s. Even winter, with the coldest month being February, is mild enough to attract tourists, which is why our Ryan Air flight from Liverpool this morning was full.

On the other hand it was a bit of a shock to find after exiting Tenerife South Airport that even though the sun was shining, the stiff breeze made the 20-degree temperature feel more like 15, so I kept my jacket and hat on while we waited for the bus. I guess we shouldn't have been disappointed; Liz - ever the diligent researcher - had already sussed that certain parts of Tenerife were quite windy (windsurfimg and kite-surfing being two giveaways), so she'd deliberately chosen a hotel on the northern coast which is less exposed to the prevailings.

The bus wound its way around the east of the volcanic island, with the central peak on our left and the deep blue Atlantic to our right. We passed the odd habitation, mostly relatively newly-built, with houses and apartments in white and tile cascading down towards the coast, their flat roofs and garden cacti testimony to the dry climate. In between, the ground was obviously volcanic in origin, and where the road went through cuttings in hills you could see the layers of rock that gave a colourful cross-section of eruptions over time, like diagrams out of a geography text book.

An hour and a half later we arrived at Puerto de la Cruz and trundled our suitcases to the Hotel Bella Vista. In my experience, most hotels that proclaim beautiful views or other scenic traits in their names usually overlook industrial warehouses or other people's air conditioning units, but we were pleasantly surprised to find that this cliff-top accommodation actually does look straight at the Atlantic, with nothing but a steep botanic-like cliff of flax and succulents between it and the rocky coast below.

The downside is that our floor, the bottom one (with the appropriate designation of -1) earns the hotel the name Smella Vista, since it is redolent of damp and mustiness. The architecture, decor and fittings are also circa 1962, (the room phone is an old rotary-dial model!) but not in any good nostalgic way. This place is just Dated with a capital D. On the other hand, come St Patrick's Day on Monday, the bright green paint should qualify it for Party Central.

Luckily the film crew and us will, by then, be shooting down in the south-west of the island. Meanwhile Liz and I have some exploring to do.

Hasta la (Bella) Vista Baby!