It was our grandson, Tom, who stimulated this upcoming, possibly half-daft, assuredly cynical and jaundiced article.
Calling upon us one evening a while back, he found Ann and me watching that enjoyable television series based upon the everyday happenings at a rural vet’s practice in North Yorkshire before the Second World War, ‘I see you’re watching All Creatures Grunt and Smell,’ said he with a wry grin.
Both of us found the quick witted comment hilarious and most perceptive and it set off in myself a train of thought concerning numerous other TV shows and programmes, across the widest of spectrums, which with the alteration of just a word or two convey, in my view, a more accurate picture of what they deliver — or all too often, fail to.
There is a very long running show based on current affairs which appears to retain popularity.
Not with me, however; basically satirical — not a form of comedy which sits easy with me — I find it, at best acerbic, at worst malevolent. Would not the title of the telecast that is, ‘Have I got news for you’, be given greater accuracy if the word ‘fake’ was inserted between ‘got’ and ‘news’?
Then there is that truly memorable comedy series of the 1980s and ‘90s, tracking the priceless actions of ‘Del Boy Trotter’ in his pursuit of wealth; he was a fellow never afraid to splash his cash in the chase for profit — but rarely did it work. Being a chap myself who makes the occasional foray into establishments owned by turf accountants, perhaps the title of this brilliant sequence of shows should consist of five words as opposed to four — ‘Only Fools Bet On Horses’.
On the crime front, greater accuracy could be brought to the title of one of my favourite series; when considering the almost weekly bloodbath which drenches part of Oxfordshire and The Cotswolds, perhaps between ‘Midsomer’ and ‘Murders’ should be inserted, ‘Multiple’. Certainly anybody selling life insurance there would soon file for bankruptcy.
A less than adequate descriptor also — when one examines its contents — is that which concerns an island in the sun; so great is the mayhem on ‘Saint Marie’ that ‘Death in Paradise, Lost’, would be a much more apt title for this Caribbean based whodunit.
Somewhat more erudite than the ‘crime-infested idylls’ inhabited by Chief Inspector Barnaby and DI Neville Parker are the arcane quiz tests fronted by the very able Victoria Coren Mitchell.
Ann enjoys it and gets many answers correct, whereas I view it in wonder, admiration and bafflement and never, ever, get anything right; indeed rarely do I even understand the questions. To me the correct title for this mind riveting, obscure production would be ‘Only (Dis)connect’.
Mind you, the viewing figures for this will be most modest when laid against the BBC’s major Saturday night extravaganza which runs from September ’til Christmas. We used to watch, but in recent years we’ve forsaken it, weary of the hype, the false euphoria, the seeming ascendancy of presenters and judges over the actual performers; surely a more accurate title for the show would be ‘Strictly Little Dancing’.
ITV’s major Saturday night riposte is ‘Britain’s Got Talent’. Here I would not alter wording but I would put a large question mark after ‘Talent’. For during the admittedly few times I’ve ever watched it, there generally, in my very unprofessional opinion, appear to be a minimal number of performers with the degree of ability essential for them to make a living from the performing arts.
Another highly popular, long established feature is that somewhat manic show which was long presented (though no more) by the controversial Jeremy Clarkson. It had, and retains, a loyal following; but to me, a man to whom a car is merely a machine which gets me from ‘A’ to ‘B’, the often almost illogical capers enacted by those in charge in their devotion to, and praise of, the automobile has all the allure of a visit to the dentist. Perhaps it could be renamed ‘Flat Tyre’, or to keep with the current theme, ‘Stuck in First Gear’.
Then there is the very long running series currently in the capable hands of the affable Monty Don. To a man like myself, totally inept when it comes to turning over the sod, he seems to spend a large part of his life trying to neutralise the impediments which a perverse Mother Nature throws in his path; perhaps his programme would be better entitled – ‘Gardener’s Woes’.
Mind you, with adversity in mind, as a loyal trooper in the valiant but long-suffering Green Army, all too often do I feel that the football related programme which goes out late on a Saturday afternoon needs, in the interests of accuracy, a short word inserted between the two existing – thus, ‘Final Bad Score’. To end, one programme I feel has no need of re-branding; ‘Pointless Celebrities’!