How I Met How I Met Your Mother

MAY contain - wait for it - SPOILERS.

My name is Sue and I am a perfectly normal person an HIMYM-aholic.

On Monday I watched two episodes twice. The same episodes.

I  watched another three times on Tuesday, before and after dinner. Different seasons, too. 

It's not the first time I've been addicted. There was a ten year plus period where I couldn't get enough Friends. I was getting a fix anywhere I could, mostly on T4 at the weekends, even though I had the box set, I'd crave it live, it's better that way.
Lately it's been Frasier but that's not as easily accessible, or fresh, you know? I needed something brand new. The new series of The Big Bang Theory proved too soft, more chicken soup than anything; I wasn't getting the buzz from it any more.

No, seriously, folks. I have a new telly love and it's How I Met Your Mother (new episodes 8:30pm E4, Thursdays). 

At first I was filled with disdain for it. It is ,I declared publicly, just a poor man's Friends, and not a very good copy at that. Then one of my own friends, Jess, said, "Have you watched it from the start ?"
I hadn't and there was the rub.

It's a jigsaw (as the E4 announcer loves to point out). There's a craft to the narrative even in season eight, that Friends never had  (too busy latterly wondering how many millions to pay the cast to think about real attention to the increasingly caricatured scripts of the last couple of seasons).

It has its parallels with Friends, which I think given that show's bestridal of the Earth like a Colossus since 1994 is inevitable. There are 5 characters, not 6, though; there's no 'Phoebe' but she was always the outsider anyway (Rachel:"You're not related, you live far away..."). Which leaves us with the established couple , Marshall & Lily, and the on-off couple -either Barney & Robin or Ted & Robin depending on which season you're watching. Barney is the Joey figure (see also David Spade in Rules of Engagement, or errr, David Spade in the underwatched Just Shoot Me).

Barney, played by the disgustingly brilliant and - wait for it- talented Neil Patrick Harris is of course, awesome. 

It was at first, Barney that pulled me in.  Ted's twee chats to his future kids and the cloying niceness of Lily & Marshall left me a bit, well, cold. Barney however - largely due to the charm and talent of Mr Harris - kept me watching. Barney - well,this is the most self confident man in the world. A sharp dresser, always in a suit - heck even his PJs are suit shaped with a neck tie.

And then slowly I started piecing it all together. The Interventions, the goat, the GNB building. The fact that we have as far as I recall, already met their mother...

These characters ring truer to me than Ross, Rachel et al. Don't get me wrong,  they will always be very close to my telly heart. And there isn't, I think,  a situation in life that you can't find a positive answer to in Friends, which is why it's so comforting to revisit. 

But Ted and Robin and Barney and Marshall and even Kindergarten teacher Lily  have flaws, real ones, not like Monica's OCD or Chandler's sarcasm. They even swear like sons of Grinches. And when they've 'eaten a large sandwich' you can guarantee they'll have the munchies afterwards.... Lily has massive credit card debts and is prone to mild kleptomania. Marshall can't 'read a magazine' anywhere but his own bathroom. 

There's a whole subtext going on, in my head at least, and I hope everyone else who watches - otherwise I'm just a weird obsessive. Unless you watch regularly I suspect you can't buy into the bigger picture, and I think that's what I missed at first. Now I can fit all the pieces together ,understand  the flashbacks,and wonderfully,  the flash forwards.

I appreciate that Ted is a device used in literature since novels started being written - I'm particularly thinking Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby or Pip in Great Expectations - an unreliable narrator (the Greats were co-incidental there). 

For example the incident of the goat at his 30th birthday party; it was in fact his 31st . He's remembering in 2030 so we can forgive him his memory lapses.

We know who the mother is - we know she is at a train station at the same time as Ted, that she carried a yellow umbrella, that she was in a class he (sort of ) taught, we know she played bass at Robin & Barney's wedding; we have already really, met the mother. 

It's eccentric and quirky, not in a twee hippy chick New Girl quirky way but in a 'we're not quite normal' way, which I can relate to; in a rubbish happens in life sort of way (the episode where Robin discovers she can't have children is poignant). I love Barney's touching naivete when it comes to his formerly promiscuous mother and his desperation to know who his dad is , latching on to the lies she told - he truly believes his Dad is the long-serving host of The Price Is Right. Barney and Robin's burgeoning relationship is one of the highights of the show for me. 

I think there's one episode that always sticks in your memory if you've seen it, and it more or less stands alone: if were a Friends episode, it would be called The One With The Burger. The search for the ultimate burger that Ted once had when newly arrived in NYC, but could never find the burger bar again, I think would make a hardened vegetarian crave a quarter pounder with cheese.

It's an analogy for me at least, that once I got the taste for this show I craved it again, more big fat meaty bites.

It's the only new show now that I am excited to see, (sorry Big Bang Theory ) 

And to my delight there's still one last season to go.  

Along Came Lucy : A brief Catch Up

It's been a while... It's not you, it's me.

I intended to post my no doubt hugely witty and insightful thoughts about yet more new comedy shows that have graced our screens in the last few weeks but there just haven't been enough hours in the day for me to watch, let alone write about what I've watched. Heck, I'm an entire week behind on Doctors ; I wonder what season they'll be in when I go back ?

Watson & Oliver (BBC2, 10pm Thursdays) afforded me a few wry smiles; they don't have the surreal brilliance of Anna Crilly and Katy Wix but they'll do. Although their 'SUSAN' does make me laugh, especially when Fiona Bruce is in the courtyard.

Vicious (ITV 9pm Mondays) is absolutely camper than a row of tents on Brighton beach* (*not a beach - bank of pebbles) - with Sirs McKellen & Jacobi enjoying themselves enormously, and me as voyeur watching them enjoying themselves enormously while not really finding any of it particularly funny. In fact all I could think of was the anecdote a colleague once told me about seeing Sir Ian play King Lear at the RSC. In the madness on the heath scene he was starkers and she was sitting quite near the front of the stalls so she got a glaring view of the McKellan undercarriage which by her account, he waved around quite happily. 

Since writing that, I have enjoyed the subsequent episodes a whole lot more; I think I am getting into the groove of it; McKellan & Jacobi are clearly having a lot of fun and I am starting to, too.

Vicious is followed by The Job Lot which was initially appealing because I knew it featured one of my favourite actors, Russell Tovey, whom I trust to make intelligent choices in his acting career.
I watched with my hubby whose first job was dealing with claimants at a DHSS office in an impoverished area in the early 80s aged 16 and straight from school - an area with  a high Indian population , and he was in charge of those whose surnames started  with P. So he's been at the front line of such things.

Neither of us found it exceptionally funny on two viewings. Bit of a shame really.


The Apprentice has re-started with a bulk of stock characters who seem to be caricatures of previous contestants. Numpties the lot of them. Enjoyable numptiness though. 

Above all my favourite series recently (ended Saturday 11 May, BBC2, 10:30pm)  was Alan Yentob's The United States of Television:America in Primetime .

It was an absolute treat for a TV nerd like me.

It's not just about clips from sit-coms; it's a whole social history laid before us in all its delicious American beauty.

From "Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do!" via Mary Richards to Carrie Bradshaw ; from Father Knows Best  to Ray and Debra Barone via Archie Bunker; from Danny deVito as Louie in Taxi  to the God that is Hugh Laurie in House, I lapped up every second of these four hours. America reflected in its own prime time programming.

Yentob examined the independent women , the husband, the maverick, the crusader. Of course the sexual revolution of the Sixties changed things for women but even if you look at Lucy she was a determined woman pursuing a dream. And Lucille Ball was a real life business woman to be reckoned with (without her production company with then real life husband Desi Arnaz  DesiLu, we might never have had Star Trek. When he was little , my hubby thought DesiLu was the name of the green alien woman on the end credits, but that's an aside ...)
Father doesn't know best any more - you only have to watch one episode of Raymond to know that Debra & Marie are running the show. It was the sexual politics that fascinated me most looking at this. Probably nothing new but four luscious hours of wonderful telly essays.

And damn isn't Jon Hamm good looking...

So there's a brief catch up post ... like buses another will follow soon about my new telly obsession.

I know, you can't wait ;-)

Do Not Get Me Started

Are you sitting comfortably ? Then I'll begin.

Actually, scrub that, I don't know where to begin. It was going to be the tale of how in the 80s I had a whole bunch of comedy heroes that we called 'alternative', who didn't do things in the traditional way. The Young Ones, The Comic Strip Presents, Saturday Live et al. But I am so shocked at the horror of  The Wright Way (BBC1, Tuesday, 10.35pm) I can hardly type.
Ben Elton,like Richard Curtis was a raw comedy writer back in the day (first series of Blackadder, Mr C ?) and they were transformed to writing stars of stage and screen.

So I don't know what Ben Elton was trying to achieve when he sat down to 'create' Gerald Wright.  I can't imagine he amused even himself.

Three minutes in  I decided that this was a parody; it had to be! A show within a show, like Andy Millman's When the Whistle Blows. 
But no; this carried on, blithely unaware that the words were painfully trite, cliched, unfunny, the delivery (from the otherwise trustworthy David Haig no less) shouty and over acted.
Look! Our main character can't use the loo at home because of his lesbian daughter and her posh ditsy girlfriend (with whom he has no problem,so why include her except so she can be posh and ditsy?) ! Look ! He can't cope with a push down tap ! Oh no, now the tap water has sprayed on his trousers and he HAS A BIG MEETING ! Cue lots of hilarity in the audience !
I'm shaking my head in utter disbelief and I'm only 6 and a half minutes in.

I wonder if Ben Elton (for he is the proud creator of this atrocity) is in fact going for post-modernism. You know, trying to be like it was in the good old bad old days of awful ITV stuff like On the Buses ? I can just imagine what he would have made of the first seven minutes of The Wright Way during his stand up routine in the spangly suit on Saturday Live. Mind you, he managed to get in a knob joke. Which was sort of funny on The Young Ones but that was 1984 and we were all still at school.

Mr Elton has set his 'sit-com' in Essex. We know this because his daughter is doing her best to speak Estuary English (eg, "She lef' a bi' o' bu'er in the Marm'e") but also because he works for Baselricky Council (Basildon / Billericay - really clever, Mr E - must be ever so funny in your Primrose Hill mansion). 
Mr Wright addresses his staff and the dialogue hits the audience so heavily over their heads with its un-subtlety - yes, we get it, you aren't there to use common sense yadda yadda - we should have been issued with hard hats. 

14 minutes in and to be honest I am thinking of sticking a knife into a live plug socket just to end this agony.

We are then treated to an 'irascible middle aged man gets indignant in a shop' scene and there's a PLOT POINT THIS WAY sign -like one of those Golf Sale ones- when he purchases an item with the security tag left on, but loses the receipt - with hilarious* consequences.

*not hilarious.

One knob & two erection double entendres later, a cleaner who constantly catches Gerald fiddling with himself in the loo and an acronym that spells Balls Up, I'm thinking is this the best Ben Elton can do now? I'm confused, I'm shaking my head and asking myself - this was meant to be complete cobblers, yes? We're supposed to 'get' that it is every which way a bad sit com, the kind Elton himself used to parody ? If it is meant to be that, it has misfired. If it isn't meant as satire of the sit com and it is for real, then it has misfired. 

So for reasons of your health and safety, I'd avoid this absolute stinker if I were you.

Rose

It's been a busier week that usual for me; I've taken on longer hours at work (needs must) and thrown in a parents evening and stretching the pennies til payday. 

Nearly every day at 5:56pm my elderly parents ring me. 

Often this is massively inconvenient; often I feel against some sort of deadline so I am available at exactly four minutes to six to answer the phone otherwise they will worry. 

Both my parents are in ill-health; my mum spent months in hospital in 2011.
Sometimes I forget how heart and gut wrenchingly dreadful a time that was.

Then something comes along to remind me how thankful I should be that she is still here to 'make sure I'm all right' at 5:56pm.

24 Hours in A&E (C4) did just that.

Rose had collapsed at home and her daughters had taken her to A&E at Kings College Hospital in London. 

The term 'fly on the wall' is so familiar now it is a cliche; but that is exactly what it felt I was - watching Sandra, Christine and Debbie , Rose's daughters , listening to their memories, hearing them chat, talk on their mobiles to unseen family members, tell Mum that she was in the best place. 
You take someone to hospital to be fixed. You don't take them there to leave without them. That's what the sisters had done. Whatever fears they had for Mum deep in the pits of their stomachs, they were there to see Mum patched up and sent home. Heck I don't think they even took their coats off. They were even getting the bubbly ready.

Rose was laying on a gurney, ventilated,barely able to breathe let alone speak, with a plethora of internal problems. Her body was giving up. 

There is little dignity in being elderly and in hospital. I know my own Mum felt that way during her many weeks on a geriatric ward.

It was the memory of what and who she once was, and how she now felt that hurt the most. My Mum was born the same year as Rose , 1932; like Rose, she is a Londoner, was a seamstress, was always beautifully dressed in her younger days, took great pride in her clothes and her curly long (red where Rose had black) hair.
Like Rose, she looked even tinier on a hospital bed in an ill fitting NHS gown.

An entire life lived , love given and received, heartbreaks, happiness, pride and joy, places seen, hopes - not always fulfilled - and this is how we say goodbye; in a soul-less room with harsh, strip lighting.

It took several moments for the sisters to absorb what the doctor was telling them. Mum wasn't going to be fine. Mum wasn't ever going to be coming home.

Sandra rang her husband and arranged for 'the cakes' to be cancelled.

There was still that palpable sense that the three sisters thought Rose was going to pull through, even when she was wheeled to the 'family room' where she would breathe her last.
The decision was made not to tell their Mum that this was the last place she would ever see. 

I envied the sisters - they have an immediate and enduring support system that I won't, sibling-wise, when my turn comes as it inevitably will.

It was a brilliant piece of telly that reminded us that death is a certainty; that we will have to face death  as part of life. We don't like it. But we can deal with it.

And it was a stark reminder that when the phone rings at 5:56pm (probably just as I sit down to dinner) I should answer it with gratitude.

The Mrs Mainwaring Manipulation : A Bit of an Essay on The Characters We Never See

Some people, when they can't sleep at night, count sheep. I don't actually know anyone who does this but apparently it's the standard way of speeding up your arrival in the Land of Nod. I don't do that. My standard sleep inducing strategy is to see what the highest prime number I can count to is. Last night was different. Off work all week I have been treating myself to a steady stream of Frasier (King of Sit Coms) and I started thinking about Maris.

Of course, you know who Maris is, but I'll expand anyway.

Maris Crane is the sister -in-law (later ex sister in law) of the eponymous Frasier. Fabulously wealthy, at first holding Frasier's younger brother Niles in thrall, she is tiny as a whippet ("You must be drunk in this <photo> Niles - you've got your arm around a floor lamp. " "No, that's Maris in her Easter hat.") ,obsessed with social climbing and plastic surgery. A formidable woman, when Niles leaves her she reduces him to near penury, living against his sensibilities in a tawdry neon lit apartment block full of working class divorced men in Hawaiian shirts. She's a mighty presence despite the fact she is so skeletal she can slip through the bars of the prison cell that eventually holds her for the crossbow death of her Argentinian lover.

Of course - we never, ever see her. 

Not once in eleven seasons do we get so much as a glimpse of 'Missy Crane'.

And quite rightly so. 

The power wielded by Maris over Niles is palpable even in her absence. Her necessary absence. Would we accept Niles as whipping boy to her if we could see her ? I doubt it very much. And how much more fun it is to try and imagine Maris, a human X-ray, weighed down by her own jewellery ("This 'large ear-ring' fad has compressed her spine", sighs Niles.)

So there I was laying in bed, thinking about the unseen character as a writing/plot device, and tracing all the other never seen people in recent telly memory.

Here's my little list which takes us from the Sixties right bang up to today. Now I am sure there are many more that you might include but here are a few who came to mind ...

Mrs Mainwaring from Dad's Army 

Before WW2 breaks out, Captain Mainwaring is definitely king of his castle. He's the bank manager in the tiny coastal town of Walmington-on-Sea and that's quite a Big Deal. The order is set. Social class is a huge issue to Mainwaring and he isn't comfortable that Wilson is quite obviously posher and more well bred than he is. That aside he likes the order of things, an almost feudal system where he's top dog. Of course in the nature of sit com the pride comes before the fall to him very often. But the one person he can never ever exert any authority over - the one person  whom he will  always obey - is his unseen wife. 
Like Niles after him we see him speaking to her on the telephone, hearing one side of a conversation in which he agrees to her every demand. She, like Maris, is in charge. Unlike Maris, Mrs Mainwaring is a big woman. We know this because -references aside -we get a glimpse of the Captain's home life at one point , where they are in their bomb shelter and he of course, has been consigned to the lower of the bunk beds. Above him and very visibly stretching the lightly springed frame of the bunk is a large body, much bigger than he is, heard I think, snoring. 
Poor Captain Mainwaring , we think; no wonder you seek to be in charge in all the parts of your life over which your Missus has no control. And it tempers the character of someone who might otherwise be perceived as just a snobbish, mean spirited little man. It rounds his character. It's still not as round as Elizabeth's bottom though.

Carlton the Doorman from Rhoda

Okay, I hear you all.
Who is Carlton and what the heck is a Rhoda ? 
In fact in words I read only today - I've forgotten things you've never heard of...

Let me take you back in time, young ones.

Back in the day (1970) there began a hugely successful TV show called The Mary Tyler Moore Show. Created by James L Brooks, the main character , Mary (natch) worked for a newspaper. She was single; in her 30s; and didn't rely on a man. Only by looking it up for this piece did I realise it ran for seven whole series. Her boss was Lou Grant (played by Ed Asner, who got his own spin off) and her friend was Rhoda Morgenstern (played by Valerie Harper) who in 1974, got her spin off series too. 
It probably reached the UK in around 1976. I was very young but a terrible ,restless sleeper, and when I sneaked downstairs in my home-made nightie (oh the static from the NYLon !) after bedtime, Dad used to let me stay and watch whatever he was watching in what I thought of as the BBC2 9pm comedy slot, while Mum made me some toast. 
I saw all sorts of obscure stuff (Chico & the Man anyone ?) but I did enjoy Rhoda.
Rhoda was a good Jewish girl with an archetypal Jewish mother- who was thrilled when she married her Good Jewish Doctor boyfriend, Joe - and a hapless sister Brenda, player by Julie Kavner (who you will know better as Marge Simpson.) 
Now aside from recalling that Rhoda met married and divorced Joe, and her mum and sister were quite funny, I don't recall much about the sit com as a whole.
But what - who- I do remember - is Carlton, the doorman.
Of my list of 10 (11 if you count Maris)  three unseen characters are actually heard. Carlton's one of them. 

"Hello, this is Carlton your Doorman."

No episode of Rhoda was complete for me without his laconic New York accent coming through Rhoda's intercom.

He was voiced -and I will never forget this, it was on the credits every episode- by the wonderfully named Lorenzo Music.
He sounded quite young , a bit clueless, but I never had any impression of how he might actually look facially, although in my mind's eye he wore black trousers and a white sort of tunic, don't know why; I can see him now. 

It was completely important to me as an eight year old that Carlton put in an 'appearance'. He wasn't important to the plot, but his comedic presence meant everything to me. His uninformative drawl through that intercom to speak to the Morgenstern sisters never failed to make me, perched on daddy's knee as I watched, giggle. 
Again, only by looking up old memories for this piece did I learn that Lorenzo Music (who sadly died in 2000) was the voice of the original cartoon Garfield.
And also that only last month Valerie Harper learned she has inoperable brain cancer.

A stark reminder that those in our memories don't stay the same age forever. 

Charlie from Charlie's Angels

We only heard John Forsythe's voice, so until he was Blake Carrington, Charlie was anonymous. I wanted to be Kate Jackson. My best friend had an approximation of her haircut which on a 9 year old from Essex looked more pudding basin than California chic. He made a fleeting appearance once, in the distance on a speed boat. One of the other Angels (this after Farrah Fawcett's time so probably Cheryl Ladd) asked another Angel (probably Kelly the long haired one) what he looked like.
"I don't know, " replied Cheryl. Or possibly the one that played Kelly. "He had on a hat."

Her strange phrasing (not 'he had a hat on' ) has stayed with me ever since. But she was right.
Prepositions are not words to end sentences with.

Mother (in Law) from The Fall & Rise of Reginald Perrin

This is another example of Daddy letting me stay up after my bed time.
Who can forget though - even those of you not old enough to see this the first time round - Reggie in his wandering mind's eye, seeing his mother in law as a hippo. Poor tragic Reggie, who never quite got what he wanted, when really he already had it all. 

'Er Indoors from Minder 

Alongside the aforementioned Mrs Mainwaring, and Rumpole's She Who Must Be Obeyed, is Arthur Daley's wife. There was clearly only one person in charge at home and it wasn't Arthur, so ably portrayed by George Cole. 

Once more a man emasculated at home, exerting his strengths in the outside world.

'Er Indoors became a bit of a feminist bugbear as a term. You can bet your bottom dollar that Denis Thatcher never dared refer to Maggie that way.See also (or rather, don't see ) Norm's Wife Vera  from Cheers. Again, at the end of a phone line, asking after her husband. Of course we know that Norm would never ever betray her. He might head off for a dinner at the Hungry Heifer without her but infidelity? Nope.

Then there was Mr Opodopoulos  from EastEnders. Used for comedy value, Dot and Pauline's boss at the laundrette was an invisible martinette who never needed to turn up to have his middle aged cleaning army do his bidding. Just hearing Dame June Brown say 'Mr Opodopoulos' is good enough for me.

Into the Nineties and we arrive at Ugly Naked Guy from Friends.

These guys were poking long before Mark Zuckerberg left High School let alone thought of the conceit. In fact I think he owes intellectual property to the writers as he must have gotten that idea from somewhere and where better than this - the conceit of getting a friend you havent heard from lately, to respond to you , remotely ?

POKE !

Onwards and sideways we end up next to Karen's husband Stan from the almost but really not quite that good series Will & Grace.

Even wealthier than Maris Crane,and as huge as Maris is tiny, the also imprisoned Stan is Karen's literal bete noir who in fact rives a fair piece of the narrative. And like Niles, it is Karen that matters to us - not the spouse at all.
I love Karen. I love her because she takes no crap. She's amoral. She loves her boy Jack and she's loyal to him to the wire. Which is more than can be said for the hugely dysfunctional stuff occurring between the eponymous duo that endures right to the (unsatisfying) end. 

Most recently we have Howard's Mother from The Big Bang Theory.
She's shouty. So is Bernadette . Above all she is everything his wife turns out to be, or will yet be. We have gone full circle.

Bernadette  is not just just the now and future Mrs Wolowitz ; she is a Mrs Mainwaring of sit coms to come.

So there we have it, people; those people without whom the stuff that makes you laugh might never have happened.

Letherbridge News

I have a guilty pleasure and it's soap related. 

Yes I watch Corrie pretty regularly - my Mum was a fan when I was growing up, back in the days when it was only on Mondays and Wednesdays . I still enjoy it very much; the writing can be gently comedically brilliant. My favourite character has to be Mad Mary: best quote, "It was a very long time ago, and I haven't touched a chainsaw since." 
Occasionally I'll squint at 'Stenders (Girl Teen likes it) but its relentless misery and repetitious everyone sleeping with every one else's spouse interspersed with Bianca pulling a face doesn't really entertain me. And -this is directed at both of the Top Two soaps- how many times can pubs burn down anyway ?
No, these aren't my favourites.

Nor are the Aussie ones. The Other Half likes to unwind with them; I don't.  I find them oddly under produced. Like the budget can't ever quite stretch, which might explain why all the schoolgirls wear really short dresses made of what is presumably plaid offcuts, and why in Summer Bay none of the nubile young things can apparently afford to wear clothes at all, just swimwear. Even the weather doesn't oblige - the skies are invariably grey.
And exactly how old is Alf ? And why doesn't Paul Robinson age ? And why has Susan forgotten she has MS ? Or several children that never seem to visit ? 
It's a shame because it seems to me the Neighbours stalwarts - Paul, Karl, Toadie, have huge comic potential. They need a spin off. In fact I'm going to write one. 
Maybe have them living in a dingy high rise flat where they have to work the markets for a living,using Paul's business acumen, hoping to one day be millionaires ?

And don't talk to me about Hollyoaks. I'm too long in the tooth for all those shenanigans. I've seen less lip gloss in Boots. And that's just the boys.

No, my favourite soap, one I have to make time to see because I am usually at work when it is on, is Doctors (BBC1, Weekdays,1:45 pm) 

Oh, the wonderful world of Letherbridge, a fictional town in the West Midlands, with its own University and very often, just the one policeman. 

It's a dodgy time for Soapland detectives at the moment I think. In Weatherfield, Teflon Karl looks on as the cops decide that a comatose woman removed her own oxygen mask so she could die in penance for being an arsonist. Or something equally incredible. Not to mention the huge drug problem down at the Club - not one of those policeman noticed a wild eyed Sylvia with the munchies leaving a trail of Haribo wrappers in Rosamund Street.

Anyway, here are the headlines.


Local Lecturer Death: Open Verdict Recorded

In Letherbridge,as in Weatherfield, CID are fairly easily pleased. It's nice to see that the two top cops are both female; DI Laura Beale, and DI Once Kissed Rob. I prefer the latter, her character is more nuanced, rounded, but it was DI Daughter of George Carter who headed up the investigation into the death of Sam Reid.
Poor Sam had no choice but to live with the two most miserable people in England. Maybe the police took that into account. Quite how anyone accepted that a man with a useless left arm due to stroke damage, and a broken right arm, made  phone calls and self administered pills is frankly a suspension of reality. But that's why we love it. And of course, the inquest verdict was Open. This I hope, hasn't gone away. 
Chris,the facilitator of Sam's death , meanwhile is trying to reinvent himself as Sam circa 1984. Here's Chris looking just like his dad! Here's Chris wearing Sam's old leather jacket! Here's Chris on his dad's old bike at the scene of the accident that ruined everyone's lives ! It's a step up I suppose from Stroppy Chris who continually stomped off to his room like a teenage Tracy Barlow (only unlike her -who stayed up there playing tapes for 12 years - unfortunately for us he kept coming back downstairs ).
Dr Emma, who as a locum is costing the Mill a fortune for hardly ever being there (have they had a locum for the locum? No wonder Julia wanted out) is a mournful, sad woman, in early middle age, whose life hasn't worked out quite the way she planned . Dido Miles has played her beautifully. She's a complicated character, there was Sam, there's her son, there's Howard whom she misled badly (although one wonders if he ever asked why they always had to meet in car parks at lunchtimes). Howard's words to Emma about 'apron strings ' may have been partly self serving but the moment Chris checked with his Mum about what 'we' were doing at the weekend was the moment it all became a bit Oedipal/Hamlet & Gertrude. I allowed myself a shudder.


New Vicar Declares Love For Parishioner

"He's only known her five minutes," say regular Church goers
I'm not sure about Gordon. He's a bit shifty, like the bloke who ran the youth club I went to briefly when I was 12. Like he's got a horrible secret Norman Bates style ("You haven't met Mother yet, have you?"). 
Beware of inviting him in too soon to share your precious redbush, Mrs Tembe ! (her special tea, you filthy beggars).
Does Gordon know that Winifred is permanently bewigged ? I think we should be told.
I'm not sure I want Gordon to be a permanent resident of my Doctors world. However neither do I wish to see Mrs Tembe heartbroken; nor do I want her to leave, Vivien style, except unlike Vivien not for her Barbados -missionary work  in Africa no doubt.
Wait and see.

In Other News

Popular GP Celebrates Several Days Since Last Being Kidnapped/Confined 

This is an excuse to insert a picture of my favourite plot and guest artist on Doctors ever. If you've read this far, you know who she is ...

Local Restaurants Report Fall in  Lunchtime Trade
 'Now Julia Parsons has gone," said one owner, "Her old friends just have no-one to meet, and no reason to eat out. They're all having food on the run with a quick Subway."

And Finally

Howard in one of those plastic granny rain-hats you used to get in Christmas crackers. Cos that's the way I roll.

There'll be more Doctors specials .. see you next time, thanks for reading.

If You Go Down to the Woods Today ...

...you're sure of a big surprise...

Well.

That was an eye opener.

If you are a Twitter user (and if you're reading this you probably are) you will have more than likely have seen your time line last night (Thurs 4 April) filled with a mixture of shock, disbelief , pity and even amusement.

No, we're not talking about the reactions to Gideon 'George' Osborne eating his Happy Meal in a poorly parked 4X4, but Dogging Tales (C4 10pm).

It opened with a night-time woodland scene, all starry skies through the bare branches and swirling mists; like something from a sci-fi movie, before the mother ship lands. And then - a handprint against a steamed up car window. No, not George Osborne in the front seat with a hot cup of coffee , but Rose from Titanic style, the Doggers were At It. In various erm, ways. 

I once got lost at High Beeches with my boyfriend (now my husband). We couldn't find the car and walked in circles for ages. He put his foot on a dead hedgehog and  scared a lot of flies. I never knew it was a dogging spot. But apparently, it is,and a pretty popular one. The Man in the Owl Mask started his 'hobby' there. 

Joking aside, Owl Man Les's girlfriend Sue was a sad figure. Shy and apparently  emotionally abused - she loves to wear make up because it covers up her past, she says - she considers going dogging a way of taking control. It has bolstered her self esteem. 

"Once I've got my make up on," she says as she expertly applies the eye shadow, the mascara (and also that awful mask) ,"I don't see the cracks any more." Sue thinks she's prettier, more interesting even, because she has sex in damp dark woodlands with strangers.

There must be better ways of feeling good about yourself, I inwardly scream, and wonder where her friends are to tell her that. To extrapolate, it's Anna Karenina jumping in front of the train. She needed a friend too. 

Then we're back to Les, whose preparations for the evening ahead seems to be simply a spray of aerosol under the T-shirt he's worn all day.

"Got to be Lynx," he says. "That and Joop. Brilliant."

It was more than easy to laugh at these people in their silly masks and with their delusions that participating in these shenanigans makes them -and Les actually says this-  'important'. He's putting on a show, he says. It's all about 'free sex that don't cost you nothing'.
I don't think even Channel 5 will be buying the format for this one any time soon though.


Fox masked lorry driver man was far more sinister, referring to women as 'females' as if they were feral, and insisting that 70% of all lorry drivers go dogging. You'll never look at a parked up lorry in a lay by at night in the same way again, will you? Lorry man had no family, and claimed he did not want one.

Toffee guzzling cat masked girl has been dogging with her boyfriend Terry for just three weeks, she says, as she snuggles in her duvet watching X-Factor. But I am desperately sorry for her; this life is her escape from a dead end job ("I work twelve hours a day, seven days a week in a factory") and a boyfriend who clearly loves her, but bores her, and whom she has openly cheated on, but who will try anything to keep her by his side. In a telling moment, he explains that he thinks it's all exciting; she emits a loud yawn.

Dogging Tales was ultimately the stories of unfulfilled people with grim, grey lives , trying to find a way to make themselves feel special. Even the dark haired girl with the great figure, admitted, "I've never ever felt secure in myself, ever, ever, have I ?" and admits she was anorexic (itself a condition linked to self esteem, not skinny models). 

It was Terry I felt most sorry for. 

Enter Anne. No pun intended. Who has been watching TV for a week at home with toffee -woman while he's at work. Toffee woman thinks another woman will spice up their lives. Terry sits between them like a little guy sandwich, looking terrified even under the mask. And with good reason.

"We can't do much in Terry's car," says Anne, "because it's quite small."
Terry thinks of himself as 'just the driver' and despite being ill with tonsillitis is hauled out in to cold dark woodland and mocked by the women - he has apparently forgotten his viagra today. They stroll out into the woodlands, get surprised by a judgemental fox, and basically fail at the whole dogging thing.
Terry isn't comfortable.
Run, Terry, run like the wind.

Yes, we all had a good laugh at the silly people in the badly home made papier mache masks , and I think some of the local wild life might need counselling, but this was telling the stories of some very deeply unhappy people and beyond the mocking it was a poignant piece of dull lives on a treadmill, desperately seeking something beyond the drudgery. 

I'm left with the vision of little Terry dressing a pathetic plastic Christmas tree, the glimpse of a dented bauble, and a sorry KFC dinner, just being grateful that he has a girlfriend.

Ultimately, very sad. 

The Doctor Is In

Aah the joys of Saturday Night TV. 

I sometimes read people remembering a sort of golden age of Saturday night telly - but I contend there hasn't been one, certainly not in my telly watching lifetime. The best my Seventies childhood could offer was The Mike Yarwood Show, which isn't saying much, Dad watched it only under duress because 'every impression sounds the same' which was true; by the time Mike shed his personas and sang 'And this ME!' we really couldn't tell the difference.

Dad was similarly allergic to The Generation Game, both Brucie and Larry versions. 

He didn't like anything mainstream really. I remember many a not so jolly Saturday evening watching a BBC2 documentary on some random dry subject, waiting for bedtime and wishing TV didn't have to be anything but silly.

There was Doctor Who of course, but he never rescued me from my bedroom, that I shared with my brother,with its telling-the-time bears wallpaper that wasn't replaced til I was about nine when I got my own room. He didn't turn up demanding fish fingers and c*st*rd (the work of the devil but that's another story) and promising to come back to me. I think I've never forgiven him for that.

Of course since 2005 the good Doctor has been restored to us, thanks to the vision of Russell T Davies and the all-too-short-a -tenure Christopher Ecclestone. 

There were the giddy days of Ten and Rose , through to the lovely, unrequited love of  Martha,  and my favourite all time companion, Donna. 

Then Steven Moffatt took over and despite the major talents and appeal of the brilliant Matt Smith, it all changed. It just wasn't the same anymore. In fact in recent times my daughter and I , if we say his name, accompany "Moffatt!" with a shake of the fist. 

Doctor Who was back last night (BBC1 6.15pm) . Note to Moffatt: that isn't his name, stop getting characters to say it thank you.

Freed from the cloying presence of the stagnant Ponds it's got a new lease of life. 

Clara is cute and funny and The Doctor likes her. And I do too.

The plot was standard stuff; Celia Imrie had Googled 'Google' and broken the Internet so that only a select few could be chosen to do something to something and take over the world. Or something. I don't think it really mattered. Matt Smith bounded around like a partially trained labrador, being endearing and we even got a glimpse of the fez. 

"Don't 'ship Clara and the Doctor," warned my daughter. "Ships always sink."

I confess I care about the characters more than the plot, which to me is just the window dressing, the frame to the portraits. But that said The Bells of Saint John was jolly good fun, and I look forward to next week. 

No, Rosie, It Doesn't Go There ...

I am very seldom if ever rendered speechless, but Channel 4 managed to silence me while watching The 40-Year Old Virgins (C4 Thursday 28 March.)

As with other Channel 4 documentaries its title is a misnomer (eg the patients on Embarrassing Bodies don't usually seem that embarrassed; The Undateables is an unfair, cruel name ) as neither virgin was actually 40. In fact Rosie was a mere 29 years old.

Two people who for various reasons had never gone All The Way as it were, were taken to the US for special therapy sessions. Fair enough. Only these sessions involved them becoming very, very intimate with the therapist. 

Rosie was unimpressed from the off ,which she was never going to get with her 'therapist'. Given his fondness for wearing white socks with denim and him being about 30 years her senior, I can't say I blame her.

Rosie had never shall we say, 'explored' her body or her own sexuality. She was despatched to a local Ann Summers type store where she purchased the and I quote "smallest sex toy in the shop", which she inserted in her ear. No Rosie, it doesn't go there, honey. 
Having 'played' with it she was still bemused by the whole idea of using it and it seemed , by the whole process she was in.

But we're not here to talk about Rosie.

Let's come to Clive. 

Clive clearly was a man battling demons; there was a hint of a 'childhood incident'.
Enter Cheryl, his 68 year old therapist slash 'sex surrogate' (who by the way had the same throw on her couch as Marie in Everybody Loves Raymond, and whose house looks shocked - go back and take a look at the exterior scenes).

After a lot of canoodling and crying and Clive munching a panini in a taxi ,the next thing I knew , Clive was 'cured'. 
You didn't actually see much - just Cheryl's ample white behind jiggling around - so I can't say it was 'graphic' - but I did find it unnecessary for the camera to linger. Where was the blazing fire to pan over to ? Such an important moment for Clive (not that he had too much to do with it except lie back and think of England) and he's sharing it with a camera crew and a million startled sudden voyeurs.
Clive was delighted ,  so much so that he stuck his head out of the taxi window on the way back to his hotel and screamed "I've had seeexxxx!" 

It's hard to know quite what the aim of this programmed was if I'm honest. I felt a surprising lack of empathy for the two participants and I am not sure who it helped - it didn't seem to help Rosie much (although the post script did mention she now has a relationship, but I feel she would probably have worked that out for herself) and not viewers in this situation either. 
The film makers say it was 'tasteful and respectful'. I'm not sure it was either. I feel it reflected the lack of respect for himself that Clive seemed to have.
It made for uncomfortable viewing all in all. Pushing the boundaries of documentary making may be the rationale but I for one won't be watching again.

A final thought goes to the show that followed, Gogglebox (10pm), the highlight of my TV week.
Worth watching anyway- for example, the Siddiqui boys reacting to the piece on the news about curbing immigrants , the teen boy disagreeing with his mum - but  the moment perma-pickled Steph & Dom flipped all the way back on their sofa and disappeared was gold. Catch it if you can.

Infinite Mirror

I haven't blogged in a few days. 

Being a sensitive soul I felt a bit sheepish after being called 'Unkind, unfair' following a throwaway remark I made on Twitter while watching Home Delivery (ITV1, Thursday 9pm).
I'm a mother, and so is my mum, funnily enough. It's a tough role and it's a permanent position.
I follow what I consider quality mummy bloggers on Twitter and I like them because of their refreshing humour, honesty and lack of up-themselves-ness.

I first gave birth in 1994, and last gave birth in 1999. Now you can call me an out of touch dinosaur (some of the new things The Book says you mustn't do in pregnancy/early babyhood confound me) or someone who has experience and has watched new mums come and go with an amused eye. I am now battling The Teenage Years and they kids are teaching me more than I can teach them.
Anyway I said something like 'why doesnt she stop mooing and banging on about how magical giving birth is and stop making normal women feel inadequate because they didn't have a doula and just get the baby out'. Only in 140 characters. 
It probably was a bit harsh, but oh, the cow sounds seemed such a waste of energy. 

Now I love One Born Every Minute (C4) because of its honesty and how it has demystified birth. It would be good if OBEM could cover the fact that many women can and do have NHS home births if they want and if it is appropriate.
I thought of my Mum - for whose generation or at least not much before her time -home birth was the norm. I can imagine her reaction if she was told she'd be having my brother in my paddling pool with me watching. 
All in all I'll stick to #OBEM thanks. I'm all for choice, goodness yes - but I'm a down to Earth, let's get on with it kind of girl. And I'm not sure what this new show brings to the table other than ITV1 jumping on the bandwagon.
But then maybe I am holding a mirror up to my own failings and finding myself wanting.

Anyway I reckon next week's Home Delivery is brought to us by Boden.

Speaking of holding up a mirror to reality, my new favourite show is Gogglebox (C4 Thursday 10pm).

If you haven't seen it yet, and if you love telly I strongly suggest you find it on 4OD, the idea is you take a selection of the public - the same ones each week - and film them watching highlights of the week's telly. It is (in a stroke a genius) narrated by the creator of that famous telly watching family , the Royles, Caroline Aherne, and the characters that have been chosen to commentate for us couldn't be better.
Sandy and friend Sandra down in Brixton are delightful ; how many people now want a No Regret In Jesus sticker on their TV set, I wonder ? "Look at Lenny! He's big and fat !" "Dermot - you have enough money - why ask us!" 

I love the Siddiqui boys, especially the one whose spot is far right on the sofa always in his workday suit and tie. Stephanie and Dominic , awfully posh in their country house, are never, ever seen without a drink in their hands. Steph is often berated by hubby for being p!$$ed. I think I spotted her with orange juice this week but I suspect there may have been a large voddie in it. 

Comic Relief provoked strong reactions one way or another from all the viewers, not least the younger ones, particularly with the appearance of One Direction.
Little Sister had been looking very much forward to seeing the boys and was naturally deliberately wound up by her big brother, and screaming the usual BE QUIET type stuff when her idols graced the screen. I remember feeling that way very, very well, but about Duran Duran or Spandau.
The Teens were especially teenly cynical. "They're only there (Africa) because they were told they had to go," observes one of the kids.

"I gave £30," says  the retired teacher fella, for the millionth time.

The tragic story of Victor the toddler who starved to death had them all reaching for the Kleenex though and Teen Boy left the room.
I noticed Sandy & Sandra had set aside the Guylian while they watched Bill Nighy's harrowing film; but as Sandy ranted that we just don't get to see this kind of reminder of world hunger enough, Sandra opened a packet of Wotsits and Sandy gratefully ate a handful. 

I could go on and on about my love for the 'cast' of Gogglebox but I urge you to discover this wonderful cross section of the Great British Public for yourself, and see what unites us - the good old telly.

Finally I have to mention Goodbye Television Centre and particularly , Madness Live:Goodbye Television Centre (both BBC4). 
It saddens me very much as a child of the Seventies to see the iconic building abandoned by the Beeb. 
In my early teens my friends and I would race up to White City tube - on a Saturday morning if say, Duran Duran were on Saturday Superstore, or on a Thursday afternoon for the live Top of the Pops if it was half term. We could pass the security barriers as many of the guards seemed sweet fellas who indulged us. I am the proud possessor of the autographs of most of Kajagoogoo and Neville from The Fun Boy Three, not to mention David Icke ...

Once (in my absence) my friends snuck through a gap in security and actually got into the corridor next to the TOTP studio, and made a phone call call from a wall phone (like we had back in the day) right next to a Thompson Twin !
Whether they really did get in that evening I'm not sure but either way, TV Centre was a big part of my formative years and important as a chronic telly addict.

Suggs and crew manfully played all the hits through the unseasonable icy sleet and showed us why Madness have endured.

So bye bye TV Centre; I'm sad to see you go.

The I 'Don't Enjoy Call the Midwife' Confession

Sunday night is chewing gum for the eyes telly night. Although eventually some of it loses its flavour on the bedpost overnight - see (or rather stop seeing as so many millions did) Dancing On Ice ,or as I started to see it, 'Being carried about by a bloke on ice'. 

Over the years the Beeb have done a good line in gentle all's eventually right with the world drama for Sundays. I'm going back to the 70s here when we used to get a decent children's serial adaptation at teatime and then watch All Creatures Great & Small after our baths, smelling of Palmolive soap and Silvikrin shampoo.

I never really took to Call the Midwife, which is a kind of human equivalent to Christopher Timothy in a barn helping cows calve. My Mum grew up in a very happy and not at all deprived East London family in the 50s and I find vaguely offensive the implication that all East End women were poorly educated simpletons, probably beaten by their husbands, just waiting for a jolly midwife or nun to come along and sort their lives out for them. 

Miranda pretending to give birth had me cringing. Not because of Chummy's placental haemorrhage (and that's easy for you to spell) but because she's ,well, Miranda. Although I'm not surprised she burst things trying to wear that girdle. I was out of my comfort zone there.

The lead girl 'the main one' Jenny is distant, unremarkable. Then we have The Plain One and The Tarty One, stock characters, alongside the Head Nun (Jenny Agutter) who is always sensible and the Nutty Nun (Pam Ferris).

Oh no! They want to knock down the nunnery! What a cliff hanger ! 

Maybe they should send some of this lot across to Downton Abbey where they need nurses and midwives. Every time a baby is born a member of the immediate family pops their clogs. Might take a while to get there on a bike though. 

This weekend we were served with a slice of The Lady Vanishes (BBC1). Now I always thought that this was an Agatha Christie story but apparently not. Although the cast on a train and a mystery with lots of posh Brits fibbing awfully to protect their own interests was pretty much standard Christie plot. 

Now on a Sunday I really can't be bothered to concentrate too much. I like the company of Father Ted on More4 at bedtime for that very reason;I know all the words. Watching The Lady Vanishes post-Sunday roast glass of rose or two was like watching a panto that was based on A Famous Five novel.
"Miss Froy was there!" says our very lipsticked heroine (or words to that effect).
"Oh no she wasn't!" declare all the other cast members, and the audience all hiss at Keeley Hawes. For no good reason other than her character looked like she deserved it.
At least the hero & heroine stopped short of singing 'The Song That Goes Like This' to each other. 
Not a great success - glossy yes, but no, it didn't keep me interested; I simply stopped caring pretty quickly. 

I stayed up to watch the mildly anticipated It's Kevin (10.30pm Sundays BBC2).
I was surprised by the scheduling of this series; it should have set off alarm bells.
Heck I don't mind a bit of eccentricity. I was brought up on repeats of Monty Python, and the Q series. At one point in my formative years I was confused if the comedy show I was watching actually had the end credits at the end and not in the middle. 
But this show served irreverence up in dollops so cumbersome it hampered my enjoyment. I felt like Mr Eldon - whose work as supporting artist in many many comedy shows over recent years I have enjoyed- felt he had to throw everything at this, and it was all bit too much.
I will be watching again next week though. 

Ta for reading this far by the way. See you next time.

Saturday Night In

I spend my weekends - my 'days off' as Hubby refers to them - catching up on the housework I have had neither time nor energy to effectively see to from Monday to Friday. The money situation being what it is I don't go out either, as every penny needs to be squirrelled away so we can, err, eat food and that.

I need decent Saturday night entertainment. I've clung on to some shocking rubbish in my time, I have to admit that even tonight (Sat 16 March) I watched Dale Winton on his Lotto quizzy thing.

Dale's jackets seem to have a permanent, unremovable hanger across the shoulders.
And the contestants - where on God's little Earth do they find them?

"I know the answer to this!" says cocky looking bloke. "I went to the Algarve last month!"

Sadly (for him)  he thought he had actually been to Spain.

Only my girl crush on Myleene got me through that.

The highlight of Saturday's TV is beyond compare, Ant & Dec's Saturday Night Takeaway (ITV1, 7pm).

In its renewed incarnation, this 80 minute long (not long enough!) almost complete delight makes me laugh out loud in a way hardly anything else I watch on contemporary telly does any more.

It's so sweet. So warm. So bloody nicely mischievous.

There were two stand out set pieces.

Our boys donned school uniform and joined a Year 5 junior school class. Kudos to the male teacher who berated Ant for talking when he should have been silent; "Our policy for speaking and listening  means if I speak, you listen."

I defy anyone who knows nothing about the school system nowadays and yet still feels they can safely say it is 'dumbed down' to see what Ant & Dec sat through in lessons (all absolutely spot on pitched Y5 ones) and answer the questions on all the info these 9 and 10 year olds are absorbing.

To get John Humphreys (himself a Headmaster that never was!) to ask the questions at the end was a stroke of brilliance.

As if that wasn't enough we were then treated to Aled Jones being a good sport and making a fool of himself in front of unsuspecting party planners.

It's all jolly good fun.

When I was growing up Saturday night TV was for the most part, in the mid to late Seventies, and into the Eighties (3-2-1 anybody?)  utter wastelands. All I recall was that there was Bruce Forsyth hosting The Generation Game.
Dad didnt like Bruce. Or Mike Yarwood. Or anyone mainstream for that matter. Many an evening was spent watching dull as ditchwater BBC2 documentaries about - I dont remember -I want to say Hitler but that would be far too interesting.
But when we did get to see Bruce I used to love the games where the public had to act in a play and read the lines off props.
SNT takes me back to those days.

Then there is Morecambe & Wise.

When it comes to comedy duos, Laurel & Hardy are tops, no arguments; and then, my beloved Eric & Ernie.

My dad looks like Eric Morecambe, or at least he used to, he's older now, white haired, far more care worn.  Eric & Ernie bestride my comedy landscape like Colossus.

It gives me great pleasure to watch Ant & Dec and feel the presence of Eric & Ern in their routines.

It was especially noticeable in the first episode of the series- the piano routine. Each week I look to them to be like my comedy idols. And each week they make me laugh, proper laugh, and I love them for it.


So, dear Ant and Dec : don't just keep on doing what you are doing; silly and funny as it is. You have the potential to be more than just TV presenters.

DO more. Be more.

Be this generation's Eric & Ernie.

Thanks.

The Derek Replacement

For the last few weeks, Wednesday has meant one thing: Derek night.
I know the show has its detractors. I can understand why. But I fell in love with it. 
Knowing Gervais is an atheist I loved that the central principle was basically let's just be nice to each other. Which ultimately is what Christ was going around saying 2000 years ago - whether you believe he's the son of God or not. 
Yes, at times I felt that it was over sentimental, but Richard Curtis has made a career out of that up to and including the manipulatively mawkish Mary & Martha. 
I just sat back and enjoyed watching Derek. It made me laugh and cry in 28 minutes. It made me hope that when I am old I have a Hannah to look after me.

It was a bit of a void to fill, but along came The Mimic (Weds 10pm C4).

Unremarkable Martin Hurdle (Terry Mynott) is stuck in a dead end job. What makes him special is his ability to do impressions. And the fact that he may have an 18 year old son about which he never knew.

Martin's impressions are woven seamlessly into the narrative. Even the 'Ronnie Corbett trapped in a letterbox' scene happened naturally - Martin and friend Jean escaping while the youths (who had never heard of the little Two Ronnie) carried on chatting to the box and offering it water.


Especially enjoyable were Martin's duo-logues - that is, him having a conversation in two voices: Morgan Freeman besting James Earl Jones in the black elderly actor voice-over work market; or arguing with himself as both Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughan.

Quietly poignant and with subtle charm plus the delicious centre that is Mynott's voice talent, I think this is going to be a hidden gem.

Following this was the delightfully daft and superbly silly Anna & Katy (Weds 10.30 pm C4)
I don't mind admitting that I adore these two. Immediately likeable (where Watson & Oliver had to work to win me over) I was giggling the entire half hour. What a complete escape from any sort of reality. A world where Martin Kemp starts an insane  lottery draw with saucy sounding numbers watched over by a leprechaun, in which Police Officers say "If you're confronted by a man with a gun, you want Jason Manford with you,", and where Apprentice rejects fail to run a car business effectively (oh -maybe not so daft that one, sorry).

I do however take issue with the fact that Yellow came as low as 36 on List Show parody 'World's Most Annoying Colours'. It should have been #1 because as everyone knows, custard is a thing of pure evil. 

Over in the land of Letherbridge there's been a sudden death. Doctors (BBC1, 1:45pm,weekdays) has been following the plight of Sam who after a road accident was rendered first paraplegic, then lost the use of his arm in a stroke, then somehow managed to tip his wheelchair over and break the other arm, thus rendering him compus mentus but helpless. Cue 'right to die' plot.
I can't help but feel that the staff writers had just come back from holiday having read Jojo Moyes Me Before You on their Kindle. Whereas that was thoughtfully and slowly explored really all we have got from Sam is 'but I once had a burst catheter bag'. 
Did one of the principle characters help Sam on his way?
The show has actually covered this story before, in its early days where Mac (Christopher Timothy) was arrested at the Christmas party accused of assisting a death. (It was the receptionist).
I imagine the mystery of how Sam actually died will  be resolved more easily than the Sudden Unexplained Snow that Letherbridge will experience in May.

Anyway, I'm off Cumberbatching. 

Laters!