What is the problem with Hardeep Singh Kohli?

A 2020 report by the The Times featuring a big fat photo of my face next to a swan meringue is once again being shared. It illustrates sexual harassment claims against broadcaster Hardeep Singh Kohli.

Back in 2009, Hardeep generously offered to collaborate on a supper club at my house. This happened via Twitter. He’s a good cook and I thought it would be fun. He also wrote an article about it for The Spectator or The New Statesman – not sure as I never saw it.

I got all the ingredients for his curry and he came over on the Friday morning to cook with me. The minute he walked in the door, he was, um, very, very flirtatious. As I was in my 40s I was a bit taken aback. He started stirring his curry with a big spoon at the same time as rubbing his chest. It was all bit Theophilus P. Wildebeest, the Lenny Henry character. He approached me next to my KitchenAid food processor and leaned in close as if he wanted to kiss me. I wasn’t sure if it was a joke. It was so over the top. He mentioned he was recently divorced.

He asked for a tour of my flat. When we got to my bedroom, feeling unnerved, I didn’t enter, just opened the door and showed him the room. Next we went to sit on my balcony. On the bench he said something like, ‘do you want to give me a blowjob?’.

I looked at him, took a deep breath and asked ‘does this work?’.

He suddenly changed manner and seemed to snap out of his ‘sexy man’ persona. ‘Not really,’ he ruefully replied.

Then he behaved normally. He arranged to come an hour or so before the start of the supper club on the next day.

After he left, I thought about his behaviour. As an older woman, I could more or less handle it and puncture the intense pace of his rather intimidating approach. I was alone in my flat and wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t been able to do that. A younger, more naive woman would not. I wouldn’t have when I was younger. He was a celebrity and I was hampered by that typically female response of being nice and polite. But I’m quite good at confrontation, which causes me problems generally in indirect beat-around-the-bush England but can be extremely useful at times. I did think though, one day that guy is going to get into big trouble.

On the Saturday night, he was helpful. Guests were thrilled by his presence. But afterwards I had messages from a female guest (who was with her boyfriend) that he’d made remarks on the evening and contacted her with sexual messages.

The next occasion I spent time with Hardeep was at the house of a young, female, Indian-British chef. She had invited me to dinner and Hardeep was also there. A brilliant cook, she made a huge effort, serving colourful tasty Indian dishes, all beautifully plated. From time to time she went into the kitchen to prepare the next course, and Hardeep would get up to follow her. Her boyfriend at the time sat next to me and we chatted. Meanwhile I wondered what Hardeep was up to, knowing his form.

Just before the main course, Hardeep looked at his phone and his face blanched. He stood up. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve got to leave now, it’s an emergency,’ he said, then left abruptly without explanation.

We sat there, the three of us, wondering what was going on. Our host looked very perturbed. I asked her: ‘Did something happen in the kitchen?’.

She confessed that Hardeep was coming on to her very strongly. While her live-in boyfriend was sat in the next room. I said ‘yeah, that sounds like him’ and told her what had happened to me. Her boyfriend understandably looked gobsmacked.

This was Friday night and on Sunday we found out Hardeep was suspended from BBC’s The One Show for ‘overstepping the mark’ with ‘inappropriate behaviour’ towards a researcher. The female chef and I chatted about this.

Two years later my first book Supper Club was published. I included a recipe for ‘Twitter Curry’ and an anecdote about my encounter with Hardeep. Of course HarperCollins watered it down but there it was, in print.

Post-publication I was having a drink with a friend at The Ivy private club (I’m not a member, being neither rich nor cool enough). I saw Hardeep sitting with a very young woman. I went over and showed him my book. ‘Look,’ I said naively. ‘I’ve written about you,’ showing him the ‘Twitter Curry’ pages. He flicked through and his face turned dark red. He slammed the book shut and was tight-lipped. He didn’t want his companion to see it. I went back to my table.

I talked to a few people about what happened. I heard more stories. I even heard that he came on to a famous food critic’s wife when he went to dinner at their house. Hardeep is charismatic and attractive. He didn’t need to do this. Why was he doing it?

It seemed like an addiction. Behaviour he couldn’t control. Was it a power trip, seeing how far his celebrity could get him? (Chimes of Trump’s ‘pussy grabbing’ comments.) Was he ridiculously horny? Why do successful men risk their careers in this way? All those MPs? Kevin Spacey? Rolf Harris?

And why don’t the TV companies take any notice? Jimmy Savile, everyone knew about him, but he managed to be lauded by prime ministers and royals and die without being shamed.

After that, Hardeep still got work from the BBC. In fact I pitched a series to BBC Radio 4 in which I’d go around the country cooking with people and finding out about their lives. It wasn’t commissioned but he did something very similar, Hardeep’s Sunday Lunch for years. He was good at it. But I was agog at how he was still employed by the Beeb.

In fact he was only ‘let go’ by the BBC around 2020 when The Times did a piece on his relentless sexual harassment of women and colleagues. Several women, including myself,  spoke up. This also put an end to his potential political career with the SNP.

Why do they do it?