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Hi, my name's Paloma Faith and this is my new show.

One, two, three, four!

I'm really mad, sad and bad.

I've been called mad and bad my whole life.

I've also had some real moments of sad, so I decided to make a podcast.

This series, I'll be speaking to my favourite actors, comedians, musicians and thinkers to find out what makes them mad, sad and bad. Out now.

This is like free therapy for you, wouldn't it?

A-cast is the home of podcasting, including such shows as,

vlogbooks, the high-performance podcast, and the one you're listening to right now.

No modern American president has ever looked so visibly, iconically burdened.

None embodied the weight of the presidency, the heaviness of the crown, as it were, so completely.

You could see it etched in the deep crevices of his face.

Lyndon Baines-Johnson had been a master of congressional politics.

He knew every lever of power, pulled every string.

He played the game better than anyone had before him, and perhaps better than anyone since.

When he ascended to the presidency, he won election in the greatest landslide in American history. But over the course

of his administration, certainly by its final months, he became a man transformed by the strain,

exhausted, isolated. The pressures of Vietnam, civil unrest, and political fracture had taken

their toll. Allies drifted away. His eyes hollowed out from sleepless nights.

His tie often hung loose and crooked as though he was gasping for air.

There are photos of him with his head in his hands or slumped across a table in an empty room,

...