Not that I am biased, but to be fair, one has to look at the situation objectively. That's Jamie Oliver we're talking about: the charismatic creative multi-tasker who flips meat fillets with his bare hands. This is one hyperactive boy-master who punctuates his cooking with large slaps and claps of the hands, tilting his body sideways at an angle while telling you what he's going to do next. I don't think he's on a caffeine high. I think he's a natural genius.
But then again, he has most ingredients prepared in advance for him, safe for the handful of fresh herbs he pulls from the pot. He blitzes his way through with the Magimix food-processor which someone else will wash thereafter. He sweeps crumbs off the worktop, just, like, that. And he walks his drained pasta, still dripping, between the sink and his cooktop. I'd be upset if Jamie Oliver was my husband. But I'd take his cookware and serveware in a heartbeat.