Words almost fail me but not quite. This is the cover for the new debut album from TV presenter-cum-builder Nick Knowles released just in time for Xmas. Sigh. You’d think to yourself who the f88k’s going to buy that pile of self-indulgent crap? Well his record company thinks 100,000s will. Eh?
I know you probably think that commenting critically on TV presenters is a bit of a hobby horse of mine but following Chris Evans’ resignation I got to thinking about other tv front men/women who should do the decent thing and head off back to hospital radio or wherever they came from.
We’ve been looking after our youngest grandson today and he’s been an angel. Since being collected by his daddy this evening we’ve been watching three other angels employed by the BBC; Hazel Irvine presenting the last rites of the Open coverage, historian Lucy Worsley fronting a mildly interesting yet odd little programme on the Women’s Institute and Victoria Coren hosting the brilliant Just Connect.
I know millions will disagree but there was unconfined joy in this household this week at the news that Sir Bruce Forsyth has at long last decided to remove his patent leather shoes and that ridiculous rug and retire from presenting Strictly Come Dancing. Jeez I’ve had to wait until the hoofer turned 86 (that’s like 653 in old goat years) before giving up squinting at his cue cards and mangling his useless quips and punchlines. I was starting to believe that the cancer would get me before he called it a day. Hufriggingrrah
Who knows whether it’s true that the CIA and GCHQ are actually reading my postings but if they are here’s a little secret for them; one of my guilty pleasures is watching the Springwatch programme on the BBC. For the benefit of the guys in Langley, Virginia it’s a close up look at our wldlife in its most fertile season. It’s centred on a Welsh nature reserve and hosted by the dappy trio above and as you’d expect I have some foxy observations about them…. Continue reading →
A quick posting to correct a bit of a wrong. I wrote about TV presenter Jules Hudson way back when he was tyro front man for the lightweight mid-afternoon TV programme Escape to the Country. It’s about couples looking to sell-up and make their ideal move to the hills, dales or seascape. In those early days I talked about his awkward hand-wringing and maniacal laugh and predicted that he’d make a lousy on-screen estate agent. It’s a viewpoint which has always attracted a vociferous defence from his seeming army of female fans. Not that that has bothered me.
Ah good old Michael Fish. Who can forget his remarkably prescient advice, in response to a concerned caller to the BBC, that the UK wasn’t going to be affected by the tail-end of Hurricane Floyd? 12 hours later Britain suffered from the Great Storm of 1987; a mistake almost as bad as that you-sexy-thang hairstyle and dress-sense. My drive to work the next day took me four and a half trees-strewn-in-the-road hours. And then there was the time that, following a heavy overnight snow fall, TV weather girl Ulrikakaka announced proudly the following morning that she ‘had a good 8 inches last night.’ Ah, such insight.
It seems like all the women I know have been captivated by it. It’s not the prospect of a blind date with John McCririck but the TV series Mistresses, which has just finished its second series. The plot lines are ridiculous of course but the four female leads enjoy, and occasionally regret, hours of exciting, dangerous and unfaithful love-making (and sometimes just plain old dirty sex) with a succession of great looking – and ruthlessly exploited – men. I’ve noticed that wistful look in my wife’s eyes.