Why they pinpointed our house I have no idea. I have no interest in celebrities and would not recognise one if they were on my doorstep. Which is why I did not recognise the celebrity on my doorstep this morning. I could not even tell if they were man or woman, girl or boy, but that was okay because nor could they. Apparently they are non binary and like to be referred to as they, even though there is only one of them.
I was on my doorstep in my dressing gown this morning because it was bin day and I was about to fetch the wheelie bin off the pavement before Betty came by with her rollator.
There they were with one foot on my doorstep and camera crew, microphones and blindingly bright lamps squeezed onto our narrow front path. I hadn’t even brushed my hair because it’s still dark these December mornings and I was not expecting to see anyone. If Roger hadn’t had his DIY accident he would have already fetched the bin in and gone to get his paper.
‘Good morning, six days till Christmas, how are you feeling?’
At that moment the front door slammed behind me; we still have a yale lock.
‘Trapped’ was my terse reply.
‘Ha ha, just like I was, but congratulations, you are the winner of today’s Christmas Cheer. Your decorations certainly brighten up this road.’
‘All my husband’s doing, he gets a bit carried away, that’s how he had his accident on the ladder.’
Our house did stand out, mainly because nobody else in our little road bothered. Why the celebrity and this team from Cheerful Cornflakes Channel had come to the dullest town in Britain, I had no idea.
By now the neighbours across the road, who never talk to anybody, were at my front gate, grinning like idiots, while Betty was caught in the spotlight like a frightened rabbit. I should have been in the shower getting ready for work.
When I finally did get to work I didn’t have to explain, they had all seen me on Cheerful Cornflakes Christmas special. It seemed Roger and I were the only people on the planet who had never watched I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of the War Zone. My celebrity was famous for not doing anything and being famous. They had won the competition, though as they had to be rescued by the SAS I don’t think that should count.
They were quite nice actually and came in for a cup of tea. Roger was bemused as he had no idea what had been going on outside. They asked him about his lighting arrangements, but it wasn’t a very interesting interview. Roger’s not a very interesting person. He isn’t on Facebook so nobody knows about our house and we don’t raise money for charity. Now everybody knows about our house.
What’s on the telly tonight? Good news, you can avoid Covid Crisis and indulge in Covid Comfort. Whether you need relaxation or intellectual stimulation, television can help.
University Challenge is back and I managed to answer quite a few questions, perhaps they are going easy on us in the first round, usually I can’t understand half the questions let alone answer more than three. It is obviously pre-recorded; nobody in a post Covid world is going to sit cosily in teams of four putting their heads together to decide on the answer.
There are many programmes we must enjoy before the pre-recorded stock runs out. Great British Sewing Bee is fabric fantasy, whether you like making clothes or wearing them. The winner, Clare Bradley, turned out to not only be brilliant at sewing, but is also a hospital respiratory consultant and since her win has been helping to save Covid patients. Could there be a post Covid sewing bee? No one allowed to touch the material or each other’s sewing machines, no hugging and congratulating. But perhaps they could do a glamourous slant on making facemasks and scrubs, as long as they only have one contestant at a time…https://metro.co.uk/2020/06/24/great-british-sewing-bee-2020-declares-winner-intense-finale-
All the cookery programmes will have the same problem in future, no one allowed to taste the food, no one will know what the food smells like with their masks on, no presenters hanging over the cook’s shoulders asking how they are getting on. I have never followed cookery shows as it’s too painful to see all that lovely food that we can’t eat. But in lockdown Cyberspouse has been watching them all. There are two main types of shows. Master chefs compete against each other to create beautiful banquets or delicious deserts that are works of art; pudding porn, perfect creations that are then mercilessly stabbed and rent asunder by the judges, who alone enjoy heavenly melting moments. Then there are the celebrities we have never heard of who can’t cook and are sent on an emotional roller coaster, baking perfect pastry or told they have to cook twenty octopuses ( or is it octopi ) for the guests at a posh hotel.
But some programmes are with us in real time. Nature and gardens brought into our living rooms by presenters on their home patch, alone, no irritating chatting with fellow presenters, giving the viewers their undivided attention. Gardener’s World brings calm and peace on Friday evenings. I know every day is the same as a carer in a pandemic, but I like to pretend it’s the end of the week. Monty Don wanders around his own large garden, with trailing dogs, digging and potting. But my favourite parts are viewers’ home videos, enthusiastically showing us an endless variety of inventive gardens of all shapes and sizes, bringing us all sorts of useful tips – and I thought I was obsessive about saving water… some don’t even have a balcony, let alone a garden; apartments filled with plants so you feel you are in a jungle. One young chap even had endlessly circulating water running down the wall into a fishpond.
Drama has not been forgotten. Alan Bennet’s Talking Heads have been given a new production with a few new tales; monologues are perfect for social distancing and his characters move us as they gradually reveal their often surprising stories. There has also been a good selection of new short plays with actors having equipment delivered to their own homes, presumably with a few instructions. Filming themselves and conveniently often married to other actors, thus providing a cast of two.
Radio has always been a lifeline since our mothers’ and grandmothers’ day for housewives, mothers and anyone at home all day and I’m sure it was for many confined during Covid. Cyberspouse has listened to Woman’s Hour every day and BBC Radio 4 has three serialised books before lunch. But there is one drama that has let me down. I have been listening to the Archers ( the world’s longest running soap? ) on and off since I was in the womb and I thought Ambridge was a real place in a real county, Borsetshire. Imagine my confusion when farming life carried on as usual, The Bull still open for drinkers, while the rest of England was in total lockdown, everyone isolated. No one in Ambridge even mentioned there was a world wide pandemic. Opinion was divided on Archers Facebook fan pages and among listeners emailing ‘Feedback’, some were glad of the escape from Covid while others like me thought it ridiculous. Eventually they ran out of recorded episodes and there was the first ever break in transmission, followed by a relaunch of a different type of soap. Endless monologues by any actors who knew how to work the recording equipment at home. For the first time, all those characters we love, or love to hate were expressing their own feelings, creepy or what. Soap operas by their nature are written in the third person, we have to wait till a character opens their heart to another character for insights and we like it that way.
Local man speaking in the tongue of his forefathers: it’s that time of year again, my annual trip out of town to see the land of my ancestors, earn a bit extra, but mainly have a laugh.
Interpreter: We have lived in this land for many generations, since time began, my grandfather was the village elder.
Local man: Who’s this idiot with the microphone?
Interpreter: We welcome you back to our village, now we have the well you built last year our women do not have to walk miles to collect water.
Local man: Thank goodness I don’t live in this godforsaken village, if only they had a decent pub instead of that hole in the ground which dried up two months ago.
Interpreter: I had fourteen children, only three live, if we could build a clinic other wives would not die in childbirth like mine.
Local man: These ridiculous clothes are so uncomfortable, the villagers will be glad to get back into their denims. Wonder what the missus is doing, how come she always gets out of this, probably having her nails done.
Interpreter: It is too far for the children to walk to school.
Local man: The village children have all got the day off school, hoping to get some freebies if they smile for the cameramen.
Interpreter: We send greetings to our dear friends in Great Britain.
Local man: Must remember to Skype my cousin in Slough, remind him to watch Celebrity Pose Day, see what he thinks of my performance, wonder how much I’ll ‘raise’ this year?
Interpreter: Many blessings on your families for your help.
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 