The crime of Rosemary & Thyme

There is a scene in Invasion of The Body Snatchers where a dog is run over in the street but the inhabitants of the town, now alien, show no emotion. Watching Rosemary & Thyme is a somewhat similar experience. Our heroines set off on a gardening assignment, witness some intrigue, someone dies, you don't care who, it's not important, it's really not important, puzzle is solved, everybody has tea... Agatha Christie looks like Ian Rankin in comparison.

There are many shows that follow this same formula but rarely have I seen any quite so banal. Judging from it's rating on IMDB it would appear to be quite popular, a score of eight out of ten is more than respectable. Looking more closely however you realise that this is the result of just over 100 votes, and thus about as reliable as those beauty advertisements that tell you 83% of women noticed an improvement. Perhaps it's dullness is what has enabled it to survive this long. The chloroforming effect of watching an episode ensures plenty of viewers for whom the advertisements really will be a wake up call.

The juice of half a lemon

Cookery programs.Normally I'd say they rank alongside golf, horse racing, gymnastics and 'reality' television as programming to avoid. So why did I watch an entire hour of cooking programs on the UK Food channel recently?

Was it the food?

Was it the presentation?

Was it the interesting new recipes?

Or was it Nigella Lawson dressed in a silk nightgown whilst gently squeezing the juice from half a lemon?

No "high-fives" please, we're British

And another thing I find disturbing about volleyball players is their need to perpetually slap each other on the back and high-five each other at every opportunity. I was playing badminton last night and witness to a gratuitous display of affection on the volleyball court next to me. Unfortunately none of them looked like the lady in the picture.

At one point, in the middle of their game, somebody must have discovered the secret to harnessing fusion power as they suddenly began to circle each other, like Nike sponsored Morris dancers, "high-fiving" each other as they went. I'd have said something only I don't like to complain.

Forgive me for mixing my sports, but give me the Bjorn Borg approach any day. Yes, I know women prefer the McEnroe type but isn't it the silent ones you have to look out for? Admittedly after forty years I've yet to see this theory proven.

The artist as hero

Why do people find it so difficult to separate art from the artist? Shouldn't it be possible to admire the art in isolation to it's creator? I understand the desire to know more but this aspiration often seems to result in a need to wrap the subject into one perfect package. Are we afraid that in acknowledging the artists faults as human beings this will reflect on the art itself?

I was going to write "creating great art is not heroic" but I can see that in some ways it might be regarded as such. Some art is only achieved after overcoming many obstacles and I concede that this process can be regarded as heroic. Yet I can more easily think of any number of musicians in the recent past who, whilst their music may have been beautiful, were textbook narcissistic examples. Are such people really to be regarded as heroes?

The match

Last year in a freak occurrence I managed to pull a muscle in my shoulder by sneezing - no really. This morning I managed to do the same again and having lost the ability to easily turn my head left and right it made driving into work a painful experience.

More painful is the thought that I may have to withdraw from the badminton showdown with my younger brother this evening. It's time to exact revenge for all those 'old man' comments. Unfortunately this sad spectacle will, if last week is anything to go by, be sandwiched between a volleyball match populated by loathsome (I.e. fit) people in their twenties/thirties, and another badminton match played between a couple of teenage girls who make my brother's 'old man' comments seem more than appropriate.

Concentration could prove to be the key.

Barbarians at the gates

I loathe Big Brother. I hate that it's so popular. I wouldn't mind if the audience demographic consisted solely of mindless idiots, who would otherwise be "out with their m8s havin a larf" before going home to watch (and probably enact) Armageddon. What astounds me is how many supposedly intelligent people also watch it. They even talk about it at work, as if it really matters. Some of these people are my friends!

This is a program that makes human life itself another cheap commodity. A program that perpetuates the insidious notion that privacy is not only to be ignored but something of which we should be suspicious. The sole "entertainment" is in watching a group of useless people in anticipation of an argument. It's the equivalent of that schoolyard phenomenon where children gather around to watch a couple of their peers batter each other senseless.

To add insult the program makers like to suggest we're witnessing some kind of social experiment. To do so insults the intelligence of any sane person, though not it would appear that of the viewers.

Why is she wearing a moustache?

This was the first question my daughter asked upon coming into the living room to find me watching Shakespeare In Love. Not bad, and considering that somehow none of the characters in the film had yet figured out she was "in disguise", pretty perceptive for a five year old.

Daughter: "Are they going to get married?"

Me (non-committal): "They might do.."

Daughter: "But they are kissing a lot."

Me: "Yes that's true, but I think she might have to marry someone else."

Daughter: "Why?

Me: "Because in those days some people were told who they had to marry."

Daughter: "Why?"

Me (already getting desperate): "That's just the way it was."

Daughter: "Why?"

(continued ad infinitum)