A quick rant about ITV News Meridian.   It comes on every evening at 6.00pm and is normally fronted by Portsmouth fan Fred Dinenage and one Sangeeta Bhabra.   Now the clue is in the title - ITV NEWS - but it appears to offer anything but `news.`

Instead, it simply picks up on the national news of the day and tries desperately to find some locally regional connection, however tenuous it might be.  Then invariably we are treated to some trailer or other about a programme which is to be screened later that evening on the main ITV Channel.  Then again - and the BBC Regional news is just as guilty in this regard - we are shown assorted `celebrities` who may be touring the region in various theatres across the south east.  Seems nothing more than free advertising for those performers, some of whom are of doubtful pedigree but who nevertheless must be grateful for the free plugs their acts and the venues involved are getting.  And then to fill in the half hour programmes we often see items that are obviously bussed in from other ITV regions far away from the south east.

The region covered by Meridian is alleged to be Kent, Sussex and a bit of Essex although the inclusion of Essex in the south east region might be stretching geography a little far.  But it seems that the centre of Meridian`s universe is rooted in Brighton - they seem obsessed with anything and everything to do with Brighton to the point where people like me who have no interest in Brighton at all get a little tired of hearing about it and their confounded Seagulls football team - all to the exclusion of much of the rest of the region they are supposed to be covering.

I think they have to decide what they really are - they are based at Whiteley in Hampshire with a sub post office in Maidstone.  In order to cover the entire area stretching from Essex to Dorset and even Oxfordshire they spread their resources too thinly;  Brighton being in the centre of that very extensive area probably explains their preoccupation with that city as they can produce items that can appear relevant to audiences right across that extended region.  It doesn`t work though - we end up with a disproportionate content about Brighton.

Perhaps the best they can do - if they are going to live up to  their remit as a regional NEWS channel - is to concentrate on just that;  the real and legitimate news that is going on and relevant to the area and spare us all the fillers and other stuff that we could all do without.

Here endeth the rant.  Thank you and goodnight..

 

To its eternal credit, BBC 4 have just shown the first episode of `The Rise and Fall of Reginald Perrin.`  It was first shown in 1976 and so is very much `of it`s time.`  In fact I would not be surprised if, before showing it, BBC 4 announced that `some viewers might be offended by the following programme, which has references to sexual innuendo, misogyny and attempted suicide.`

But seeing it again after 45 years has recaptured the plotline - man fed up with the conformity and pointlessness of the modern world decides to end it all.....but actually doesn`t.   But in the process of living his life like groundhog day he comes across a remarkable set of characters - his adoring wife, his companions on the daily commute from suburban-land, his boss, CJ, who didn`t get where he is today by being hilariously stereotyped, his fantasy secretary and his work colleagues, to whom everything is either great or super.  

Reggie turns up late most mornings to begin his shift at Sunshine Desserts claiming his tardiness is due to passengers boarding and alighting at Bromley South or signal failure at Herne Hill.  He sees the company doctor for his imagined ailments only to find that the doctor doesn`t really do medical practice.   And so on and so on....

The whole point in me posting this in the hope that it might encourage you to watch the next episodes (assuming BBC4 have the courage to continue with the series) is that the legacy of Reginald Perrin is that its apparent absurdity actually brings a degree of sanity to today`s insane world.  It is highly recommended - Tuesday, 8.30, BBC4.

 

THE SINGER NOT THE SONG...

I`ve been watching some TV series lately about Cornwall.  There seem to be quite a few of them, I guess because in a time of lockdown we have all been on the lookout for some relief, if only vicariously.   There`s been Rick Stein`s series, one about Cornwall`s fishing life, a more serious one by Simon Reeve and one by Julia Bradbury, which is still ongoing.

It`s the Julia Bradbury one which is `interesting.`  The screenshot above shows her on a clifftop overlooking one of the enchanting coves along the coastline close to Gwennap Head.  This was the first episode in the series and promised to cover the walk from Porthcurno to Sennen Cove, via Lands End.   Which was a fine ambition but the challenge to do any kind of justice to that walk was not helped by the fact that the first eight minutes or so were actually filmed some miles away - at Botallack, where Julia got involved with an artist who was captivated by the sight of the Crowns Engine Houses perched on the cliff.  Well, who wouldn`t be?

And having spent that amount of time, given the need for a long advert break half way through the half hour programme, there wasn`t much time left to cover the advertised journey.  So we were left with very short glimpses of the spectacular landscape of that part of the Cornish coast - the odd stop at Porthgwarra, a longer look at the Minack Theatre and a couple of interviews with passing historians and wildlife experts along the way.  And when Sennen Cove was eventually reached, the short time left was spent with another artist, this time one who was doing his thing with a rake in the sand.

We`ve done that walk - OK, in bite size chinks, which is really the best way to do walks like that, so you can really take in what it`s all about;  far more satisfying than the rather self indulgent glimpses which Julia allowed us to see.   What`s needed is for someone to do the walk with a camera and just walk it - no interviews, no distractions, no faux whooping and hollering, just show the world what it`s really like.  

It strikes me too that series like Julia`s, passingly entertaining though it may be, tend in the end to be more about the presenters than the landscape they`re passing through, which is a pity.  In the final analysis it tends to be all about the singer rather than the song being sung.

 And the sun always seems to shine - they pick a good day for it.  When we did that walk a few years ago now, we saw it like it really was.  Here`s a photo I took  then - it could be the same spot where Julia was standing in the picture above - showing the bit of coast path above Nanjizal Bay.......please click on the photo for a better image.....

No sign of Julia or anyone else on that day, which was all the better for it.  It`s called living.

COMETH THE HOUR.....

A couple of weeks ago I had a moan about things being far too complicated these days and I cited the examples of cars, mobile phones and televisions.   At the time, our television had suffered a terminal meltdown and we had to go and buy a new one.   We were promised delivery round about 20th/24th of August but it was not until the early hours of Bank Holiday Monday (yesterday) that it finally arrived.

It was just a deliver and go job - I was left with a big box containing the television set and all the gubbins that went with it and given the task of putting it together and making it work.   In the shop when we ordered it, the nice young man asserted that, although the new TV was a high end, hi-tech, state-of-the-art, ocean going, sooper-dooper, cutting edge version,  it was nevertheless a simple process to plug it in and get it going.  "A child of three could do it," he confirmed.

Where`s a child of three when you need one?   I decided to take it step by step, read the `instructions` carefully, take my time and not be rushed into what might well have been a challenging task.  So, off I went and after a bit of a struggle on my own I managed to get the legs on the right way round and sit the TV on its stand.   Next, plugging it in was OK as was fixing the various leads from things like the Sky box and the DVD player into what I hoped were the right holes in the back of the TV.

Turned it on - it worked !!   Well, I then reached the bit where you are presented with more options than the players Manchester United are reported to be about to sign.  I managed a couple of steps along the way and then got to a bit which seemed beyond my octogenarian understanding.  Hardly surprising for one whose first look at a TV set was back in 1953 when my Dad bought a 9-inch black and white set which had a magnifying glass strapped to the screen to make it look bigger - and then there were only a couple of stations to choose from.  (He said he bought it so that my Mum could watch the Coronation whereas the reality was that he got it in time for the Matthews Cup Final that year.)

So, I`m stuck - I have two or three choices;  panic, give in, or go next door and see if my neighbour - a mere slip of a lad in his late 50s - could help.   Of course, being the accommodating soul he is and clearly well versed in the ways of modern technology, he was able to guide me through the litany of options as they appeared on the screen.  Some have been postponed for lack of password recollection but we might come back to those and see if we can get Netflix, Google, Youtube, Disney, BBC 2 and all the other goodies that seem available these days.   (All I really want to do is watch the cricket which I managed to do last evening when Lancashire had a narrow victory over Derbyshire in the T20 Blast - so God is in her Heaven after all.)

But I was grateful to my young neighbour for his patience, his understanding and his concern for the mental wellbeing of this out of time next door pilgrim meandering along life`s chequered path.  Neighbourhood Watch is alive and well, thank goodness.....but I do wish that things were not quite so complicated.

As an octogenarian pensioner struggling to survive on a fixed income during these unprecedented economic times, the last thing I need is for things to be complicated.  Just recently I have had some close encounters with various bits of technology that have left me longing for things to be less complicated, simpler, easier to understand, even a touch more user-friendly.

I suppose the first example is my new car, which I bought just before THE LOCKDOWN back in March and which, thanks to Covid 19 and all its works, has only now clocked up its first 1,000  miles in five months.  There are quite a few things I don`t understand about it such as setting the satnav so I can find my way home.   Had a go when we were out this morning - managed to type in the home postcode but couldn`t find where to `save` it or `OK` it so I`m pretty sure it won`t work.  Why can`t things like that be more simple to use?

A few days ago I needed to have my mobile phone on as I was expecting a call from Mrs. Snopper when she emerged from `an appointment.`   So I sat on a nice bench in the shade of an old oak tree and started fiddling with the mobile, really for the first time.  I thought it was pretty basic but my fiddling discovered that it does far more than I would ever need it to do - it has a camera which I`ve never used;  an `organiser` which I don`t need; an alarm, which was quite alarming and a few other bells and whistles as well.  I did manage to change the picture on the screen and also change the clock so it`s now a 12-hour one but I really just need the phone to make and receive calls and keep life simple.

The other day our television suffered a terminal decline - it was overheating and worrying splodges were appearing on the screen, so off we go to the TV shop, where the diagnosis was confirmed as fatal and so we needed a new one (surprise, surprise.)  We were shown an impressive array and when we found one which was recommended to us the obviously clued up young man who was helping us explained all the things the new television could do - apparently it`s `smart,` you can tell it what to do, it has loads of options for sound and vision, it can link up to the internet; it can get YouTube, Disney, Netflix, Amazon, even BBC 2.  I know I won`t want or need most of that stuff - I just want to watch the Test Match.

Life`s too complicated these days -  as a simpleton myself, I`m really quite desperate to keep it simple.

(Elderly confused pensioners are an endangered species in the modern world but you can help by adopting a fogey of your own.  Just £3 a month will provide a needy pensioner with a vital supply of Complan, Fixodent and essential medical supplies.  In return you will receive a cuddly pensioner rag doll, a newsletter to keep you up to date with the good things your contribution is helping to provide and photos to show you how your adopted fogey is getting on.  Text Save-a-foge to 77399024 to give just £3 a month or call our helpline on Freefone Nigeria at any time.  Thank you.)

A BIG TURN OFF...

I`ve got a kind of love/hate relationship with Sky TV.   Actually with television in general and not because next month I will be obliged to fork out £157 or something for a TV licence thanks to the BBC and HM Gov. stitching up the over 75s who have had the benefit of free licences until now.  (My solution to simply extend that benefit to the over 80s didn`t go down too well.)   Shame really as I would have qualified for that.

Anyway, back to Sky.   Now I enjoy watching a good deal of sport on Sky, especially cricket and football but I find I have mixed emotions when it comes to watching football.  If Southampton are being televised I either find something else to do, take the dog for a walk, anything really than go through the mental anguish of having to sit there and watch it. 

I never had that problem when I used to go and watch the Saints at St. Mary`s because I was part of the occasion, part of the action almost, possibly able to play a small part in how the proceedings unfolded - a good example was years ago when there was a groundswell of discontent with the stewardship of the club by one Rupert Lowe and I joined in with the crowd imploring us to `Stand up if you want Lowe out.`  Eventually he obliged.

In the days since the Premier League has renewed hostilities, both Manchester United and Liverpool have featured regularly which in terms of audience recruitment makes a good deal of sense with Liverpool winning everything in sight and Manchester United thinking they should.  The Sky coverage shows camera work at its best along with football`s most accomplished commentator in Martin Tyler - a dedicated Woking fan with a pleasant easy-on-the-ear delivery and the experience to know when something needs to be said and when it doesn`t.

Trouble is he is invariably accompanied by one or other of the most annoying `summarisers` and it seems that when Manchester United are playing we have to put up with the biased whining platitudes of Gary Neville and whenever Liverpool are playing we have to put up with the biased whining platitudes of Jamie Carragher for whom I think subtitles should be mandatory.   

They`re a big turn off.  Which is enough to be going on with before I launch into Sky`s Political Editor Beth Rigby with her anti-Government slogans and her inability to pronounce any word ending in `ing.`   At least I haven`t mentioned Naga ("Look at me") Munchetty today, but give it time........

200,000 YEARS ?

I`ve been doing a little research and it seems that Homo Sapiens - the lot we belong to - has been around for about 200,000 years in various forms of `development.`

Another bit of research has produced a list of the ten most popular television events in the UK over the Christmas period.   Here`s the list:-

1,  The Queen`s speech - 6.3 million viewers.  (I`m afraid I missed it as I was out walking the dog at the time but I`m sorry I did as I would have enjoyed her take on Brexit, Mourhino`s departure from Manchester and how many bits of plastic the royal household has thrown out this year.)

2. Michael McIntyre`s Big Christmas Show - 6.2 million. (Sorry, don`t get McIntyre who seems to be under the illusion that if you walk around a lot, shake your head a lot and shout a lot then by definition you`re hilariously funny.  Well, he ain`t.)

3. Strictly Come Dancing - 5.8 million.  (I don`t care much for these kind of competitions that rely on people taking pleasure at the humiliation of others.)

4. Call the Midwife - 5.5 million.  (Well, Mrs. Snopper likes it.)

5. The Jungle Book - 5,3 million. (Haven`t we seen that loads of times before?)

6. EastEnders - 5 million.  (Where`s the fun in watching the antics of a delusional multi-racial, downtrodden confrontational community living in a deeply unattractive part of our deeply unattractive capital city?)

7. BBC News - 4.7 million.  (So glad I watched this, for I now know what to think following their unbiased reporting on issues such as Brexit, immigration, climate change and, of course, plastic.  Oh, and it seems Chris Evans has left Radio 2.)

8. Mrs, Brown`s Boys Christmas Special - 4.7 million. (The point of my research to discover how many years homo sapiens has been walking this planet was to marvel at the way in which human development has finally arrived at the point whereby we have come to this.)

9. Coronation Street - 4.6 million.  (I must be the only person in the country who genuinely and honestly has never, ever watched even a single episode of this.  Possibly because it`s based in Manchester.  Well it is, isn`t it?)

10.  Zog. - 4.5 million.  (I have absolutely no idea what this is or anything about it.  I guess it`s some film or other?)

----------------------

So there we have it.  A nation celebrating the season of goodwill slumping in a stupor watching stuff like that.   I`m really not sure you could make it up.  But I do wonder where we might be in 200,000 years time.

(NOTE : If you have been affected by any of the issues raised above, there is a helpline you can call;  trouble is, I can`t remember the number to ring.  Sorry about that.)

A RARE NOTE OF SYMPATHY..

It is indeed most unusual for me to have any sympathy for politicians but today I must make an exception in the case of Ben Wallace, MP, who happens to be the Minister of State for Security and Economic Crime.   And it was he who was put up in front of the television cameras this morning in response to the news coming out of Salisbury that, yet again, two people have been taken critically ill as a result of supposed contact with the nerve agent Novichok.

He appeared on the BBC Breakfast programme around 7.30 this morning and was `interviewed` by Middlesbrough`s answer to Gracie Fields, one Steph McGovern, whilst being looked on by the insufferably smug Naga Munchetty.   The `interview` didn`t go well - the questions were all the usual BBC aggressive assumptions and Ben Wallace was hardly given time to answer before being interrupted but to be fair he managed to keep his composure and deliver what appeared to be a measured, considered response to the event in Wiltshire.

Then on to Sky News, coming from outside the police cordon around the house of the couple who had been the victims of this dreadful happening.   Sky`s Sarah Jane Mee conducted yet another assumptive, almost accusative rant along the lines of "How could the Government allow this to happen again?"  Once again, Mr. Wallace responded with the quiet dignity that his position demands and put the Government`s position as clearly as he was allowed.

Now it`s not often I feel sympathy for politicians but I did on this occasion when once again the broadcast media take to hectoring rather than attempting to extract whatever truth may be there to be extracted, never mind any pretence of balance, all of which would have left viewers with perhaps a clear understanding of what is a deeply disturbing situation.

CHILDHOOD DIES ANOTHER DEATH....

In all the brouhaha of the past week, one of the saddest things was the passing, at the age of 95, of Gordon Murray.  He was the creator of one of the most admired and best loved trilogies in the annals of televised entertainment.   I mean, of course, Camberwick Green, Trumpton and Chigley and I look back on those series with a wistful eye, for the memories take me back to those truly wonderful days when our three sons were captivated by the sights and sounds of Gordon Murray`s array of unforgettable characters.

And, truth be told, I too was captivated by the innocence, the charm and the gentleness of it all - Pugh, Pugh, Barney McGrew, Cuthbert, Dibble, Grubb and all. - and whilst I may miss those days and those times, I still steadfastly refuse to properly grow up, influenced as I clearly was by those programmes and by the sheer joy of being allowed into a childhood world along with my three young boys, from which I still remain reluctant to depart.

So I mourn the loss of Gordon Murray and the joy he gave to dreamers like me, for whom perhaps the greatest hero of it all was the redoubtable Windy Miller;  to the extent that every Miller I have known since has automatically been known as `Windy,` whether the description has been fitting or not.   So, as a passing tribute to Gordon Murray, here`s Windy Miller in an episode from Camberwick Green which I still believe to be just up the road a bit.......

TOUR DE FORCE..

I don`t know too much about cycling but I now know a lot more than I did three weeks ago.   My own cycling experience is limited to having owned, thanks to a family bequest in my early teens, a custom built Norman Invader with GB Superhood brakes, 1" wheels and even a holder on the handlebars to put drinks bottles in.  It cost me all of £25 but it was over 60 years ago and I rode it a lot until I was whisked away to do my National Service. Afterwards, my ambitions turned to motor cars and I developed the notion that cycling somehow seemed to deny the invention of the internal combustion engine.

But in the last few years I have become quite keen on following the exploits of our professional cyclists - all stemming from the deluge of medals that came our way in the 2012 London Olympics.  I was captivated by the triumphs of Sir Bradley, Sir Chris, Victoria, Jason, Laura and the rest, all choreographed by Sir Dave to bring the sport to the forefront.   But more than that, on that occasion I was also captivated by the incisive, passionate commentary from Hugh Porter and Chris Boardman who drew on their vast experience to bring the events to life in our living rooms.

And so the past three weeks have seen me following the Tour de France with eager anticipation of yet another success for Sir Dave, Chris, Geraint, Richie and the rest of the Sky team and back up staff.  And what another triumph it has been - a historic one with Chris Froome being the first from Britain to win le Tour twice.   They deserve all the plaudits and acknowledgement that will surely come their way.

But once again the whole event would not have been so enjoyable to watch without the commentary from Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen (pictured above) and the summaries from Chris Boardman (again) and David Millar. 

They know their stuff, these guys, they`ve been there, done it and got tee-shirts by the score and it has added so much to the enjoyment of the cycling uneducated like me to learn about the tactics, the positioning, the team strategies and so much more.  And all of it anchored by Gary Imlach in his individual style which is restrained, low key, controlled and a million miles away from any self-promotion or pretension.

So I`ve learned a lot more in the last three weeks and it`s just a pity for it all to have been shown on the relatively `obscure` ITV4 Channel - the event itself and those responsible for bringing it to our screens deserve high praise and a bigger audience.  It almost made me wish I hadn`t give up on my Norman Invader - I could have been a contender.

A FAILED ESCAPE BID..

It was indeed a very bad news weekend - Tunisia; Kuwait; France - and so in a desperate attempt to get away from the wall-to-wall coverage of those appalling events and ones which are simply annoying, like Glastonbury, I discovered that ITV3 were showing re-runs of their 2012 series about National Parks.   Last night`s final programme in the series was supposed to be all about the New Forest which I could claim as my spiritual home, having spent my boyhood at Hythe on Southampton Water, "where the forest meets the sea."

Now the New Forest has much to commend it - the woodlands, the heathlands, the lawns, the forest villages, the wildlife, the history, the culture, the coastline - and I thought that at least some of these might be captured in an hour long `documentary` about the area.   Not a bit of it.   Instead we what was dished up was a collage of Caroline Quentin gushing loudly and largely incoherently in a series of staged encounters, including joining a lady up a tree. joining another one rounding up and then selling a pony, joining some chef on a forage for stuff to eat, having a good time at the Romsey Show, which isn`t in the New Forest National Park and watching a man hang gliding with his dog over Barton on Sea, which isn`t in the New Forest either.

And all done with the kind of `look at me,` stentorian, self promoting `style` which she employed to ruin a similar series about Cornwall some while ago.   Now to some people, doubtless Caroline Quentin is something of a national treasure.  The truth, however, is that she has now become a national embarrassment to herself as well as to the National Parks.   So my escape bid failed miserably and so I rescued my evening by watching Nicholas Roeg`s masterpiece, `Walkabout,` on BBC 4 and hearing once more John Barry`s glorious music and the mellifluous tones of the young Jenny Agutter.   None of which has come close, however, to easing the images and suffering brought on by a weekend which will be unforgettable for all the wrong reasons.

THE STAR OF THE SHOW..

Quite rightly, the BBC`s new production of Poldark, screened for the first time last evening, is receiving very favourable reviews.   Partly because of the superb acting, the costume design, the production values but also, of course, the stunning locations.   It`s a costume drama, all heaving bosoms, intrigue, rivalries, goodies, baddies and the inevitable love triangle.   It seems to follow closely the characteristics and be true to  Winston Graham`s original novel, Demelza, which he crafted  in a wooden bungalow that he rented above Perranporth beach.

The leading actors will doubtless be catapulted to greater things following their captivating performances, not least Aidan Turner who plays Ross Poldark with a brooding conviction that will surely set pulses racing.  But perhaps a note of sadness is that it also features Warren Clarke in his last production before his untimely passing just last November, aged 67.

But for me - and I know of one or two others who will feel the same way - the real star of the show has to be the locations, especially those along the Cornish coast.   Last night`s first episode showed fleeting glimpses of places I have visited and grown to love and the list of locations shows that filming took place at such favourite haunts as Constantine Bay, Gunwallow Church Cove, the Camel Estuary, Porthgwarra (pictured above) and Botallack, which whilst showing the Crowns engine houses also demonstrated the usefulness of computer generated images.   

Now all of this leaves me convinced that I, along with like-minded devotees of the Cornish coast and the South West Coast Path, might happily do without the drama, the intrigues, the rivalries and, yes, even the heaving bosoms if we could just have a series of programmes that just shows the coastline and the 630 miles of the Coast Path.  Whilst I am full of admiration for the Poldark series, I confess that all I`m really watching it for is the chance to see those glorious places which call me back much more than even the most compelling costume drama ever can.

AN ACCIDENT OF TIMING ?...

Just last week we `marked` the 50th anniversary of Sir Winston Churchill`s passing and this week two separate `events` have prompted me to recall one of his many true and memorable quotations.   

A year or so ago a good friend was kind enough to lend me a copy of Hilary Mantel`s `Wolf Hall.`   I didn`t get on with it too well as, although the narrative was interesting from a historical perspective, the style in which it was written - almost the English of the time - left me struggling.   It`s the same with `Gone Girl,` which I have also just struggled through because, again, whilst the story line was intriguing, the style, the annoying Americana, the irritating plethora of obscenity, took away much of any enjoyment from what might otherwise have been an acclaimed novel.

There seems to be a trend these days for writers and especially so-called `comedians` to use gratuitous obscene or blasphemous language under the misguided belief that it`s either clever or funny.  It`s neither, of course - merely the last resort of those devoid of sensitivity, talent or both.   `Mrs. Brown`s Boys` again springs to mind immediately and, whilst I`m no prude - how could I be having lived through the `culture` of the 10th Royal Hussars? - I do find it all rather tiresome.  Maybe I`m just getting old.......

Anyway, back to Sir Winston and the events that reminded me of his wisdom.  I`ve now watched the first three episodes of the BBC`s adaptation of `Wolf Hall` and it has much to commend it, not least being its ability to bring light to the darkness of Dame Hilary`s anguished prose. The last episode included reference to a beheading and the gruesome spectacle of the burning of William Tyndale - for the unpardonable sin of translating the Bible into English.

And with what seems to be an unfortunate accident of timing, in the same week we have learned of similar atrocities carried out by ISIS - the beheading of the Japanese journalist and the burning of the Jordanian pilot.  Now it would be comforting to believe that, despite the passing of 500 years being but the blink of an eye in the infinity of time and history, we as a species had by now grown away from such outrages against our fellow men.   As things stand, however, all we seem to have is the knowledge that Sir Winston was right all along.

When will we ever learn?

ONE OF THOSE DAYS..

Yesterday was one of those days.  Now, I don`t watch television that much, especially now that programmes such as`Mrs. Brown`s Boys` - the banal masquerading as comedy - apparently attract an unthinking audience and so my choice of viewing these days is restricted to BBC4, News and, inevitably, sport.   And yesterday I was confronted by the impossibility of being able to watch everything I wanted to watch, all of which was on at the same time.

On BBC 2 there was the enthralling coverage of the European Athletics Championships in Zurich.   On Sky Sports 3 there was the unfolding drama of the final test match between England and India from the Oval.  And on Sky Sports 2 the Premier League`s Sunday Special between Liverpool and Southampton, a game full of promise, expectation and not a little heartache - a game I imagined would be risky to sit through.

It seemed a bit pointless to tune in to the test match because it`s a five-day game and there would surely be enough of the game left for me to watch before it reached its conclusion.   And my heart whispered that I should give the athletics a try, as I could record the football and watch it later.   So I did and I was rewarded with the Great Britain team producing outstanding performances to finish top of the medal table, on the bounce from England doing the same at the recent Commonwealth Games in Glasgow.  It`s always nice to come out of Europe in top - if you can`t leave `em, beat `em.

When that coverage ended at 5.00pm I turned over to catch up with the cricket only to discover that the game had ended in a flurry of tumbling Indian wickets to provide England with the spectacular series win that we had been hoping for so long.   In between, I had kept tabs on events at Anfield, which saw Liverpool win 2-1 against the Saints but I knew I would have a late night catching up with the recording.

But there was more to it than all that.   I had almost sub-consciously plumped for the summer sports as it`s supposed still to be summer and I kind of resent the fact that football has already begun and it`s still August.   Besides which, there is a deep and widening cultural divide between the heroics of track and field, the timeless charm of cricket and the increasingly commercial parallel universe of the Premier League in particular.   And, as football belongs to the dark, cold depths of winter it really should bide its time and allow the summer sports to drift peacefully away until the return of the sun in the Spring of next year.

Simples.......just become 75!  Well, that`s the theory.  When I was asked/told to renew my TV licence a few weeks back, I ticked the box to indicate that I would be 75 later this year - in about three weeks in fact.   They believed me, so I only had to pay about £22 to cover the period between my old licence running out and my birthday.  That was that I thought.

Now I`ve had a nicely worded letter from TV Licensing up in Darlington - the Portsmouth of the north - saying that they `need` my help to issue my free over 75 licence.  I`ve been asked to prove my age by sending them a copy of either a passport (don`t have one; don`t want to go anywhere foreign) ; an EU or EAA national identity card (they`re surely joking); a UK driving licence or a UK birth certificate.   I plumped for the latter and sent it off today, having completed another form to go with it giving my National Insurance number, my telephone number, my date of birth, my home address and my inside leg measurement.

I`ve no problem with any of this as they can`t dish out free TV licences to just anyone and the whole exercise has been dealt with efficiently and sympathetically, if perhaps a shade patronisingly - well, they are dealing with people in their second childhood, approaching their dotage, short of a few marbles, I guess. Perhaps that`s why they sent a pre=paid business reply envelope.

But my only regret is that I qualify for the free licence - so much living to do;  so little time?  Oh, and of course I will feel awkward moaning about the BBC any more - possibly.

SOUND AND VISION..

To begin at the beginning.   It was January, 1954.   My father had bought a television set the year before promising my mother how much she would enjoy seeing the coronation whilst his real motivation had been the Matthews Cup Final when Blackpool beat Bolton Wanderers 4-3 in a memorable encounter.   Television in those days was limited - just one BBC channel as far as I recall - and so radio was still a popular alternative in our household.

  

And we were entertained by such rib-tickling shows as Take it From Here, The Goon Show and perhaps most bizarre of all, Educating Archie, which revolved around a ventriloquist having problems with his adolescent dummy, the aforementioned Archie. Even then, in my own 14-year old burgeoning adolescence, I could see the absurdity of having a ventriloquist on the radio.

And then on that January evening along came Dylan Thomas`s Under Milk Wood.  I`m not sure I was supposed to listen to it because, at the time, there were parental concerns that it might have been a shade too risqué for my youthful innocence and in any case Thomas, like Brendan Behan, was alleged to have been possessed of a lifestyle, a persona and characteristics that might not provide memorable literature or a shining example for the callow youths of the time.  How wrong can you be?

But I managed to hear it all right.....and again a couple of nights later when, in response to public demand for increased doses of risqueness, Under Milk Wood was repeated.  And what wonders it evoked; the music of the language full of lyrical, dreamy, flowing prose bringing fantasies to my listener`s mind of those people and places that  Dylan Thomas mustered from his own imagination and experience in observing life, death, hopes and dreams in Laugharne and New Quay.  So many characters with so much to say and I found myself identifying with Llareggub`s very own recalcitrant scamp, Nogood Boyo, who wanted to be good boyo, but no-one would let him.  Maybe that was the root cause of my penchant for minor rebellion.

Fast forward 30 years or so and I found myself on an extended management development course at Bristol University`s School for Advanced Urban Studies.   The course was run by very demanding people who were keen to show just how terribly clever they were.   We were given tasks and I began to feel like one of Mrs. Ogmore - Pritchard`s two shambling phantoms, Mr. Ogmore and Mr. Pritchard.   We were given tasks.  ("In order.  I must take my cold bath which is good for me.  I must take my salts which are nature`s friend.  I must make my herb tea which is free from tannin.  And have a charcoal biscuit which is good for me.....")   And we were sent to bed and expected to prepare for the next morning`s management task.

Fortunately, I had taken my copy of Dent`s  1974 edition of Under Milk Wood (price 85p) and I turned to it, like an old friend, for consolation and escape, losing myself in my own dream of Rosie Probert ("33, Duck Lane.  Quack twice and ask for Rosie") who Captain Cat implored to "Lie down.  Lie easy.   Let me shipwreck in your thighs."

Some years ago, I bought the video (yes, the video) of the 1972 Burton/Taylor/O`Toole film and I also had the CD of the original 1954 radio broadcast which I still have in the car as well as my 85p volume, courtesy of Dent and Co.  So Under Milk Wood has been something of an obsession of mine, perhaps even a passion.   And a few nights ago, I managed to record the BBC Wales television production, shown on BBC Four, with an entire cast of Welsh actors - Michael Sheen, Jonathan Pryce, Matthew Rhys, Sian Phillips, Bryn Terfel, Katherine Jenkins, Charlotte Church and even Sir Tom Jones as a convincing Captain Cat.   Well, it`s not unusual.

It was terrific and where the 1954 radio version provided the sound of genius, the 2014 television version provided the vision and brought light to the original play for voices. It beautifully, sensitively and accurately captured the images and the feeling of Thomas`s imagination and if you`re quick, you can catch it on BBC i player in the next few days.   Perhaps the best compliment I can give is that it made my own `wind shaken wood spring awake for the second dark time this one Spring day.`

A SWITCH IN TIME...

As elderly pensioners struggling to survive on a fixed income in these difficult economic times, Mrs. Snopper and I have to watch the pennies.  And our latest austerity measure arrived recently courtesy of Sky who wrote to tell us that our subscription would be going up by another pound or two a month as from August.   Straw and camel`s back time.

So I rang up Sky and had a fairly long conversation with a lilting Scottish lassie in their Caledonian stronghold.   I told her that we were finding it difficult to sustain the Sky subscription, along with Orange broadband and BT telephones and so we thrashed out a deal which would seem to save us £30 a month or more.   Now, I can`t face life without Sky Sports, especially with the Ashes coming up in Australia this winter, so I went for their Sports `bundle,` which provides loads of programmes, sporting and otherwise, along with their own telephone service and broadband (the new hub is in the post, I`m told.)

So what`s the downside?   Well, it means I won`t be getting any of the Sky movies any more, but I think I can live with that.   You see, I doubt I have watched a movie on Sky for months, as it seems films these days are produced to appeal to the lowest common denominator, with a preponderance of films depicting violence, some of it quite extreme, endless battles, horror and too much physical and psychological aggression for my delicate tastes.  

My preference has long been for the older stuff;  films with stories, films that touch the heart and inspire the soul and I really don`t want to watch a film to be frightened out of my wits or to recoil at what I`m seeing.  I`ve noticed a tendency, which some people will doubtless complain about, for `old` films to be shown fairly regularly on Channel 4 or BBC 2 and I`m quite happy watching them - maybe a throwback to my days as a projectionist during my National Service in Germany 50 years ago when cinema was more of a craft than all the CGI stuff of today.

Anyway, I`ve made the switch and, although it may be The End of Sky movies for me, at least I can now settle down to watch stuff that I know I will enjoy......and not have to worry about what damaging effects it  may have on my ageing sensitivities.

FAIR COMMENT ?

Many many years ago whilst in the grip of youthful innocence, I was interviewed for a job in local government.  One of the questions I was asked was, "Which newspaper do you read?"   I think I confessed to reading the Guardian as, at the time, it appeared rather chic to do so.   In reality I didn`t really `read` any newspaper very much and then only to catch up on the football news.   My answer, it seemed, was the wrong one.   I didn`t get the job which on reflection should not have surprised me unduly, as the local authority involved was staunchly Labour.

Some years later, my lesson having been learned, I was interviewed for another job with another local authority, this time one which did not appear to have any particular political leanings.   Mind you, in those days it was more common for local councils, especially in rural areas, to at least give the appearance of political neutrality, independence even.   Strange how perceptions change once innocence is lost in the storm of experience.   Anyway, I was asked the same question again and, in a flurry of bet hedging, this time I proclaimed that I read the Telegraph, the Guardian (of course, as it was still rather hip,) the Mail, the Sun and the Daily Mirror.   At least it gave the illusion of being up to date with things and left my interviewing panel either satisfied or perplexed.   You can imagine my astonishment when I was offered the job.  

The whole experience ignited a weird kind of interest in newspapers and even these days I try and watch the TV Paper Review slots that come on late in the evening when `guests` either of the BBC or Sky are invited to discuss the main issues covered by the papers.   And what surprises me perhaps more than the content of the papers is the bizarre choices made for the reviewers.   On any given evening, we are treated to the biased musings of the likes of Jacqui Smith, Bonnie Greer and the inescapable Yasmin Alibhai-Brown, along with assorted failed politicians, opinion formers and self-styled social commentators.

They all have common denominators - an agenda, a tub to thump, an axe to grind. an inability to offer objective, constructive criticism - as exemplified by the aforementioned Ms. Greer, who was quick last evening to condemn the Daily Mail as `the worst paper in the country,` presumably as it claims to speak for middle England which is, of course, a very long distance and a lifetime away from the dark recesses of Chicago, Illinois.

What`s needed to bring any kind of legitimacy to these time-filling late night slots is for the papers to be reviewed by genuinely objective observers, such as those who might proclaim to read the Telegraph, the Guardian (as it`s still `cool`) the Mail, the Sun and the Daily Mirror;  in short, it`s time to review the reviewers.

INCREDIBLY INCREDIBLE..

In the absence of anything else worth watching, by which I mean football, I`ve just sat through an edition of the BBC`s Countryfile programme.   There was a time when I used to enjoy the programme, when it was about the countryside.   But these days it seems to be much more about the `presenters` than about the places and people they visit.  


In that respect, it seems to be going the same way as `Coast,` which started out being about the coastline of Britain, then went farther afield and ended up being simply a vehicle for the inflated egos of the gang of presenters.   Not sure I blame them, as such, for it seems to be that the the longer the exposure to the tv cameras, the more the inevitability of self importance creeps in.


But back to Countryfile.   Its own presenters are headed up by a chap with a whiny, guttural accent that really should have sub titles and a gushing young lady whose enthusiasm, whilst admirable, is likely to get her into difficulty one day.   Julia Bradbury, all teeth and hair, pops up now and again along with the weather man, togged up in `country` clobber with the deluded notion that it`s `in keeping` with the spirit of the programme.   Well, it might be.... but all we need to know is what the weather is going to be like.


One thing that gets to me is the constant and misplaced use of `incredible` to describe anything and everything in the great outdoors.   My dictionary defines `incredible` as coming from the Latin incredibilis - `beyond belief or understanding`- but somehow it gets used to describe things that are plainly believable or understandable;   a murmuration of starlings, an attractive bit of landscape, the skill of a sheepdog.


And it seems quite impossible for these presenters to resist getting involved with things, having a go at just about anything, demonstrating their disparate talents for all things `country.`  This evening, gushing young lady got involved with orienteering, puffing along trying to convince us that she was a dab hand at it, then she was off swimming with seals off the Farne Islands.   Nothing, it seems, is beyond her and her adenoidal colleague`s ability.  


If only they would let us just see the countryside for what it is, let it speak to us in its own language, by all means explain things that might need explanation but spare us the illusion that the `presenters` are more interesting and inspiring than the very credible grandeur of this sceptred isle.  

NOSE, SPITE, FACE ?

I`m getting a little fed up with Sky tv.   I`ve had the `full package` for years, if you`ll pardon the expression, but apart from the news and the sport, I find it difficult to find much else from the plethora of channels to grab my attention.

I agree that their news and sport coverage is superbly done, both technically and editorially - especially so since the demise of the atrocious Keys/Gray axis.   But just recently, one or two annoyances have begun to take the shine off things.   One of the things I like to watch is the nightly press preview on Sky News, when `guests` are invited to select items from the next morning`s newspapers for discussion.  

With one or two exceptions such as the grotesquely self-important Yasmin Alibhai-Brown, the reviewers are perceptive, articulate and presentable.   But more recently we have had to endure the inclusion of former Home Secretary Jaqui Smith giving us the benefit of her wisdom.   Now this is a failed and rejected politician who hoodwinked the taxpayers of this country for a shedload of dodgy `expenses` on such things as second home allowances, porn films and, more recently, having prisoners from the local nick redecorating her (second) home in Redditch - her main home, of course,  having being an upstairs room in her sister`s flat in south London.   I simply object to any part of my Sky subscription being used to pay this discredited self-serving poseuse.

On the sporting front, with the banishment of Keys/Gray to TalkSport, the quality of presentation, commentary and analysis of football has improved, whilst that for cricket could hardly be bettered.   But again we have seen Sky almost obsessed with the notion that when an ex-England international footballer retires from playing, then we punters will welcome him on to our screens with open arms as we hang on his every word.   And so it has come to pass that we now have to contend with the abrasive Gary Neville.

These events, coupled with the ongoing saga surrounding James Murdoch, the Parliamentary Committe and the unresolved hacking scandal, are making me begin to wonder whether to carry on with Sky tv or perhaps just reduce my `package.`  I know it will be cutting my nose to spite my face and it might simply be an exercise in individual futility, but it might just make me feel a bit better.