In previous musings I have waxed lyrical about the delights of Sky TV and how my life has been enriched by the plethora of channels at which I can gaze and wonder what the fuck I am doing paying £45 per month for such crap? There are of course the occasional consolations like, for instance, sport, How It's Made and the farming programme on Sundays which seems to major on Eastern European tractors but such gems are few and far between.
Sky Sports 1 last Monday broadcast a live 40 over cricket match from the County Ground at Hove where Sussex took on the might of Lancashire and I was among the spectators, courtesy of my son. As we sat there pouring cups of tea into our pockets in a bid to combat the hypothermia of a typical summer's evening, I took solace in the fact that I could enjoy the secret pleasure of seeing myself on the goggle box should I survive the weather. Oh I know we all act blasé when a camera is pointed at us but as soon as I got home and had sat in the fridge for a while to warm up, I was running through Sky+ in a bid to spot Yours Truly. What a waste of time! They had plenty of crowd shots of the bloke dressed as a policewoman, the drunkards in the glitter wigs, winsome children huddled under blankets and studiously filling in scorecards, women looking puzzled by the whole process but dutifully doling out sandwiches and Cup-a-Soup but were there any of the Bassetts? Not a Dickie Bird (cue all cricket aficionados to laugh at the pun). Anyway, I digress so let us return to the glories of Sky.
Recently, due to Mrs B's enforced incarceration, I have discovered other little gems which have made the last couple of weeks that bit more bearable. For example, last night at about 2am, I watched the first ever Thunderbirds! I was fascinated by the sophistication although I was perspicacious enough to spot a couple of flaws in the plot. Needless to say, the good guys won through in the end and I went to bed, tired but happy. I can also now speak knowledgeably on the manufacture of golf balls, the Great Wall of China and the values of antiques according to the Antiques Roadshow circa 1986.
Getting (finally) to the nub of this blog, I was privileged today to enjoy one of the funniest things I have ever witnessed. As you know, I like humour.....in fact, I need humour in my life yet I tend not to demonstrate that enjoyment by outward shows of giggling or laughter. Today, I was almost literally wetting myself as I witnessed a moment of TV class.
Some of you may be aware of a charity called The Dog's Trust which advertises on Sky along with many other worthy causes. This particular plea has always amused me because of the obvious sincerity of the actor, his promise that "your" dog will write to you regularly and the assurance that they never put down a healthy dog. I have this mental picture of a few of the mutts chatting together along these lines:
"Shit, I think I'm getting a cold! For Dog's sake, don't let them know I'm unhealthy otherwise I'm off to that great kennel in the sky"
"Huh, you should worry. I've got 245 letters to be written by tonight and the bloody laptop's on the blink again!"
"Well, it's your own fault. If you hadn't have looked so appealing they'd have picked someone else to go in the ad......you (atchoo) poser!"
"Well, it was either that or put that stupid wig on for the Dulux ad. If they think I'm going to ponce around in that, they can sniff my ass!"
This morning, I was doing domestic things in the kitchens when I heard a familiar voice. Yes, it was the Dog's Trust man but this time he was touting for another charity. As I looked up, I was amazed to find he was exhorting us all to adopt a grandmother!!! It was couched in similar vein, as he spoke of the little old grandmothers in far-off places who had given their all for their off-spring. He promised that they would write to their British saviours and I had wondrous visions of Bengali grannies getting out the Basildon Bond and telling us proudly of how their grandson is now so well-off he can sponsor a dog.
It was a beautifully Pythonesque scenario yet totally sincere. Sadly, I was unable to hear if they put down unhealthy grannies as, by this time, I was rolling around on the floor, clutching my sides. Mind you, had they omitted that reassurance, does that mean the ultimate sanction? Just imagine: instead of the nice letter from your grannie, you get a terse, typewritten note stating that, due to a minor fungal nail infection, you now have a new granny! I had to go and Google the charity in the end as I couldn't quite believe what I had heard and it most certainly exists and, I am sure, does totally laudable work.
Oh well, I thought it was funny!
Sky Sports 1 last Monday broadcast a live 40 over cricket match from the County Ground at Hove where Sussex took on the might of Lancashire and I was among the spectators, courtesy of my son. As we sat there pouring cups of tea into our pockets in a bid to combat the hypothermia of a typical summer's evening, I took solace in the fact that I could enjoy the secret pleasure of seeing myself on the goggle box should I survive the weather. Oh I know we all act blasé when a camera is pointed at us but as soon as I got home and had sat in the fridge for a while to warm up, I was running through Sky+ in a bid to spot Yours Truly. What a waste of time! They had plenty of crowd shots of the bloke dressed as a policewoman, the drunkards in the glitter wigs, winsome children huddled under blankets and studiously filling in scorecards, women looking puzzled by the whole process but dutifully doling out sandwiches and Cup-a-Soup but were there any of the Bassetts? Not a Dickie Bird (cue all cricket aficionados to laugh at the pun). Anyway, I digress so let us return to the glories of Sky.
Recently, due to Mrs B's enforced incarceration, I have discovered other little gems which have made the last couple of weeks that bit more bearable. For example, last night at about 2am, I watched the first ever Thunderbirds! I was fascinated by the sophistication although I was perspicacious enough to spot a couple of flaws in the plot. Needless to say, the good guys won through in the end and I went to bed, tired but happy. I can also now speak knowledgeably on the manufacture of golf balls, the Great Wall of China and the values of antiques according to the Antiques Roadshow circa 1986.
Getting (finally) to the nub of this blog, I was privileged today to enjoy one of the funniest things I have ever witnessed. As you know, I like humour.....in fact, I need humour in my life yet I tend not to demonstrate that enjoyment by outward shows of giggling or laughter. Today, I was almost literally wetting myself as I witnessed a moment of TV class.
Some of you may be aware of a charity called The Dog's Trust which advertises on Sky along with many other worthy causes. This particular plea has always amused me because of the obvious sincerity of the actor, his promise that "your" dog will write to you regularly and the assurance that they never put down a healthy dog. I have this mental picture of a few of the mutts chatting together along these lines:
"Shit, I think I'm getting a cold! For Dog's sake, don't let them know I'm unhealthy otherwise I'm off to that great kennel in the sky"
"Huh, you should worry. I've got 245 letters to be written by tonight and the bloody laptop's on the blink again!"
"Well, it's your own fault. If you hadn't have looked so appealing they'd have picked someone else to go in the ad......you (atchoo) poser!"
"Well, it was either that or put that stupid wig on for the Dulux ad. If they think I'm going to ponce around in that, they can sniff my ass!"
This morning, I was doing domestic things in the kitchens when I heard a familiar voice. Yes, it was the Dog's Trust man but this time he was touting for another charity. As I looked up, I was amazed to find he was exhorting us all to adopt a grandmother!!! It was couched in similar vein, as he spoke of the little old grandmothers in far-off places who had given their all for their off-spring. He promised that they would write to their British saviours and I had wondrous visions of Bengali grannies getting out the Basildon Bond and telling us proudly of how their grandson is now so well-off he can sponsor a dog.
It was a beautifully Pythonesque scenario yet totally sincere. Sadly, I was unable to hear if they put down unhealthy grannies as, by this time, I was rolling around on the floor, clutching my sides. Mind you, had they omitted that reassurance, does that mean the ultimate sanction? Just imagine: instead of the nice letter from your grannie, you get a terse, typewritten note stating that, due to a minor fungal nail infection, you now have a new granny! I had to go and Google the charity in the end as I couldn't quite believe what I had heard and it most certainly exists and, I am sure, does totally laudable work.
Oh well, I thought it was funny!
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