Did I watch Downton? Well, yes I did.  I’m not a huge fan – allergic to bonnet drama – but did wade through the previous episodes and have a vague but hopefully sufficient idea of who is who and what is what.  I may be about to prove that a complete lie!

The Christmas special lasted several eons and lurched dangerously close to Acorn Antiques territory at times.  I really expected Mrs Patmore to don a leotard and present her macaroons

Bates is in jail or gaol or clink or prison.  He’s been eating well in there hasn’t he?  Conveniently his trial was slotted in between the shooting and the servants’ ball – good of the courts to sit in the hols just to expedite the plot.  And of course the upstairs toffs would have flocked there in support, waving their pom poms and starting the Mexican wave, free the Downton one and all that. Rather more likely they’d have both been sacked with alacrity and without a reference.  But let’s not get too hung up on historical accuracy or we’ll be here all night.  I don’t care – I’ve nothing else on.

After the good folks of Downton had done their level best to condemn Bates to every hell possible the judge had no choice but to pop on his black cap and pronounce the death sentence.  There was weeping and lamenting and the consideration of an appeal.  Luckily this was swiftly resolved, a reprieve obtained all within, well, minutes.  Just so the New Years Eve servants’ ball could continue unaBATEd.  Sorry.  The servants all produced some decent frocks and amazing dancing abilities and were whisked around the floor by their various employers to the strains of a small orchestra who were luckily without a festive booking and available at short notice.  How lovely, no side at all, not a scrap of historical accuracy to get in their way!

Best use of a spurious prop ever?  I know, let’s use the Ouija board – sorry the planchette – that has popped up from nowhere to convince the daft kitchen maid to GO TO THE FARM.  No one will realise…  It’s been in the kitchen all along.

Honestly.  Did you never spot it?  Me neither.

Nigel Havers charmed his way in for a spot of upstairs/downstairs dalliance.  You just know he’s going to be a cad of the very first order from the moment he opened his mouth.  And he was.  No fortune, fiddling with the maid – disgraceful, do pass the smelling salts.  Banished, of course, but not until the morning train.  How terribly civilised.

Finally we were near the end, I’d grown several years older and it snowed.  Not cold snow judging by the lack of goose pimples around the edges of Lady Mary’s frock but enough to give a suitable setting for Drippy Matthew to propose (again).  And not just because his mother told him to.  Or probably because his mother told him to.  Luckily his mysterious unmentionable injuries have gone unmentioned for some time and we have to assume all is in proper working order.  An heir and a spare please and look snappy.  Unless he knows he’s protected from the Lady Mary’s seemingly voracious appetites with some lingering war wounds that might just stop him going the same way as Pamuk…

Maggie Smith’s Dowager Countess got all the best lines as always.  When the panto villain newspaper magnate (bet he was hacking the telegrams) said they would never meet again her instant riposte of “do you promise?” was the best laugh in the show.

Oh, and was anyone else shouting “Fenton” during the grand hunt for the random plot device?  Sorry, the mysteriously missing Isis?

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Ever since I typed the title of this post I’ve had Petula Clark in my head… it’s only fair to share!

Nativity

I started with a film.  Normally I avoid anything involving small children, especially those that do ‘cute’ and are used shamelessly to draw a tear or six from the sherry soaked watchers.  However, Nativity had good reviews, good director, good cast and I’d done with Xmas prep and needed a feet up treat.

Adding to the pleasure was Jason Watkins, a favourite actor, who provided a great contrasting character to Martin Freeman’s inept, depressive primary teacher who was – of course – redeemed through children’s cuteness and the prospect of regaining a long-lost love (yes I’m a such a cynic…)  JW’s Gordon Shakespeare was nasty, clever, just a touch camp and with the addition of a glimpse of green tights and the ability to walk on his hands… well, what’s not to like?  (OK. It might have been a double but leave me some illusions) (I do mean the handstand not the tights by the way…)

Mind you, school Nativity plays weren’t like that in my day!  Where were the tea towel head dresses and the costumes made entirely out of crepe paper with a touch of tinfoil?  The wonky tinsel and wire coat hanger halos?   My disbelief was suspended almost as high as the death slide Gabriel.  And did no one actually miss the two random children dragged off to Hollywood to do Brit-cuteness in the sunshine?

It all ended happily, weeping abounded (the next show may need to be Noah and his Ark) and the cute-o-meter in my living room flew off the warning scale and  hasn’t been the same since.  Reluctantly I admit I enjoyed it although I used the child-heavy bits to nip out and make several stiff drinks!

I did rather like the look of Herod – the musical.  Would have fancied a part in that myself when I was at school…

Lost Christmas

An interesting one this one.  Starred Eddie Izzard, produced by CBBC so what to expect?  Complicated concepts or child friendly exposition?  Well, both actually.  Huge amount of potential and some interesting ideas but it seemed to be both very simple and very complicate at the same time.  Confused? Yes me too.

Eddie Izzard is usually wonderful at being enigmatic and he went some way to that here but somehow for me it just missed.  Not by much and maybe I’m just being fussy.  Lost Christmas was certainly bleak for a family/kids show but maybe would have worked better if it had been allowed to be darker.  It cheerfully pulled at all the heartstrings it could find and dragged us through 90 minutes of what-if tragedy before neatly wrapping it up in the requisite happy (if a touch predictable) ending.

And guess what – more Jason Watkins who popped up as a dodgy antique dealer/fence.  Beautifully nasty and with a much sharper suit than anything he got to wear in Nativity…  He’s been a busy boy this Christmas.

Despite a few niggles (including some over powering music) I liked Lost Christmas, I always find Eddie Izzard worth watching and it’s good to see him stretching his acting muscles, and they are developing nicely. (Let’s not talk about Day of the Triffids…)  I would have liked to see what this story could have done if it had been targeted at an older audience and allowed to be as dark as it seemed to want to be.

OK – I’m getting worried about myself now…  What next in the cute kids/tearful ending front?

The Borrowers

The BBC’s new version of The Borrowers is relentlessly up to date.  That’s clear from the first appearance of action-man Pod in the form of the rather lovely Christopher Eccleston.  That massive Eccleston grin, after surviving a near miss, does make me come over all unnecessary.  I’m not sure that’s even allowed at a kids show?!  Oh well – never mind…

So – forget what came before and just go along with the ride and what you got was a decent show.  I really liked the laptop cinema – some of the updating was really well done and let’s be honest the BBC does do these sort of imaginative settings pretty well.  The ball pool style Quality Street tin was a treat!

Some of the detail was shifted in order to appeal to a slightly older audience and that put Arrietty into troubled teen territory and Pod and Homily were therefore less worried about her getting caught than worried about her getting… well, caught.  It also lead to the  morphing of Spiller into an urban motorbike-riding wide boy and much – slightly awkward – flirting.

The Beans were all well cast – Shaun Dooley played the desperate dad, only wanting the best for his family, in an understated way that worked well.  Victoria Wood is always more than adequate but I didn’t get why Granny suddenly switched from Borrower-beating nasty to cuddly and understanding with no explanation.  (Except that it was in the script.)  I’m not a huge fan of Stephen Fry but he did OK here, a relatively undemanding task to play what seems to be a slightly nastier version of himself while wearing a lab coat.

What I didn’t understand was, with all the new technology lovingly used in the setting why did no one take photos of the Borrowers?  Or film them??  Surely everyone snaps everything on their iPhones nowadays?

It was a satisfying adaptation overall, although I’d probably have dropped the Arrietty/Spiller flirting as it seemed forced and left her younger but then I’m not writing TV drama for any age group so what do I know!?

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So three family shows down and now I need to search out something rather more adult before I succumb to going ‘ahhhhh’ and needing a hankie at happy endings.

And that will never do!

We didn’t have the Radio Times at home when I was younger – too expensive – and now I’m all grown up (debatable though that is) it still feels like a bit of a treat and an extravagance.  My habit is to decide what I want to watch by who is in it and I usually skim through the cast lists of the week ahead.  It’s horribly depressing that there are whole days when the listings for the main five channels are totally bereft of actors.  Property shows, cooking shows, misery shows, reality a-go-go but not a scrap of make-believe.

I often find refuge on ITV3 of all places.  Having worked many years of evenings and weekends I find there are dramas on repeat for the seventh time for most people that I’ve never seen.  It’s a bit tougher to choose through the listings as most are without cast details and it does take a bit of work.  I do like a challenge.  Me and IMDb – we’re like that nowadays!   Oh, lets not forget ITV4 and endless reruns of The Professionals.  The blousons, the artificial fabrics, the leisure slacks, you can feel the static through the screen.  But the memories…

I’ve never actually got the highlighter pens out to the Christmas listings although I do think about it.  I always assume I won’t forget the highlights (sorry) and then, of course, I always do…

Maybe this year really is the year of the pink, green and yellow pens…  After all, there’s not much that really grabs me this year so I’m hardly wasting ink!

And that’s a whole other story for another day…

(I should probably apologise to anyone near my car recently who has had the misfortune to hear me singing along.  Sorry.)

How to describe it?  Caro Emerald is a jazz singer but the album is so much more than that.  It combines, jazz, humour, sultry vocals with some very modern rhythms and some rather wonderful guitar than makes me think of David Lynch films…  The lyrics are beautifully crafted and the whole album just reeks of smoky nightclubs, lipstick stained martini glasses, high heels, sharp suits and late night, low light, slightly seedy (in a good way) glamour.

This is my current favourite track, performed live.  I really adore the fact that she is just so groomed and gorgeous – and barefoot!

Another memorable occasion (I hesitate to say high point) was Brendan Cole and Lisa Snowdon’s showdance. You can’t possibly have forgotten it?? Most of her was in a bacofoil leotard that was eye-wateringly high cut and a fantastic advertisement for whoever did her waxing. The sound track was the immortal tune of “I would do anything for love” (except wear that) (or dance that dance…) (insert your own joke here). Brendan gamely lugged her around the floor like a man hauling home a sack of spuds. He also added an enthusiastic mime of how to wrestle a large oven-ready turkey into a slightly too small oven. Both useful and seasonal.

Oh how we chortled! I laughed until the tears ran down my legs…

I love to watch dance done well and I enjoyed watched the celebrities learning new skills from professionals as well as seeing well staged, imaginative routines to show the clebs what they were aspiring to.

That was then. This is now. Somewhere along the line I’ve fallen out of love with the glitter ball. Yes I know it’s a reality show. I don’t really expect the best dancer to win – although they sometimes do. I’m sad that I’m not glued to the TV any more.

I don’t know exactly when it happened but I do know why, so here’s the list – in, of course, the oh-so-traditional SCD-style no particular order.

(To make this feel authentic please hum dramatic music and pretend it’s tomorrow)

• Theme nights – especially Halloween theme night. Why? Just why? So much dry ice they might as well have pushed the couples round the floor on casters. Feet! I want to see the feet! That’s what you dance with. Honourable mentions also to the nasty nylon fancy dress box costumes and themed music. How many horror related songs can there be? (Too many, way, way too many…)
• Endless props and pointless bits of scenery, doors without walls, bars, mirrors, even a coffin for goodness sake. If memory serves correctly Pamela Stephenson had an entire office to Charleston in…
• The use of said endless props and pointless bits of scenery to delay any actual dancing for as long as possible. I’m just waiting for the time when after the miming, the ‘expressive’ faces and the wrangling of glasses, typewriters and randomly chosen furniture there is only enough time left for six steps and a flourish. (And Alesha will still give it a seven…)
• I have always been sarcastic (in what I like to think is an endearing way) about the frocks. I actually have no more words to describe them. They have got worse and worse and lately they are, quite frankly, appalling… What was Holly wearing to do the quickstep in? Was it even finished? Did Chelseeeeeeee really want to use up the SCD fringe mountain single-handed?
• The VTs of each couple are beyond bizarre – I used to enjoy watching people learn technique; go to classes, sometimes ballet or drama. Now it’s cheesy, pointless, dull and painful ‘jokiness’. Most importantly it isn’t funny…
• The celebs now play the game, often to excess. Inevitable I know but so very transparent. Jason – that’s especially for you…
• Alesha. Decent contestant. Crap judge.
• And on the subject of judges, can someone put Len out of our misery? And his own?
• The Sunday results show. Just stop pretending it is Sunday. A change of frock does not a new day make. We know. Admit it. Do you think we really believe the BBC filled Wembley with a shrieking audience two nights running?

I still watch it though. In hope. In desperation. In loving memory.

Mostly because there’s nothing else on…

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In case you’ve forgotten, here’s that showdance…

Last weekend, for the first time in a while I spent most of a day playing with beads, Swarovski crystal and my new discovery – Greek ceramic beads in all the colours you can imagine and then some, even in silver and gold.  I got quite a few items made and it was fun!  I’d forgotten just how satisfying it is to finally sit back and look at a whole heap of stuff you have made.

It’s not quite that proud feeling the first time you present your poor parents with a plasticine… thing  (OK I don’t know what it was either) but it’s close.  Well, maybe not that close – after all my plasticine always got mixed up and ended up that unique shade of reddish, greyish sludgy brown.

I’ve made some brackets and a necklace for myself but a lot of what I’m making at the moment is – hopefully – to sell.  I don’t sell regularly, this is very much still a hobby and the pressure to keep making new designs isn’t what I want to take on right now.  Selling less frequently does have the upside of making it all the more satisfying when I see people wearing something that I made, that really is an enduring pleasure.  A pleasure that, alas, doesn’t stop me being intensely self-critical.

I have learnt (mostly) not to point out all the tiny – almost imperceptible – imperfections, the wire loop that isn’t totally precise, the fact that maybe not every item is entirely original, perhaps I was slightly inspired by something I saw in a magazine (aren’t we all), that maybe it won’t sit quite right…  As a sales technique it isn’t one of the best.  I’d never win The Apprentice – not that I can ever imagine I would want to…

I should just accept that when people say they like it they might actually, possibly, just maybe, mean it!  In some cases perhaps they are being polite, it makes the world a nicer place, but if they are prepared to hand over real hard-earned cash then I vow to stop questioning and be hugely complimented.

It can’t be all bad.

After all, I wear it – and I have excellent taste!

Anyway… have broken out the Swarovski and sequins and went to hit the sofa but have apparently landed in a parallel universe.  Where did the dancing go??  What with posing and props, unicycles and cauldrons and much general faffing about the amount of actual hoofing is at an all time minimum.

As are the costumes – or are they saving fabric for the formidable (in a likable way) Ann Widdecombe who is wearing entire bolts of the stuff every week, leaving everyone else resplendent in some posh dental floss and a strategic sequin or two?

I have heard of most of the celebs this year but there has been a bit of pro-cull – presumably as last series the dancers were better known than their partners!

I need to do some proper study (dog ate my Radio Times Miss!) but just a few initial musings…

Felicity Kendall gets the frightfully well-preserved/close to the stage dressing room this year and she can even touch her toes.  Bless her – such an achievement when you need to keep a hand on your zimmer…

Brendan must have thought this was his year but he is starting to look as though that beautifully wrapped, perfectly chosen present was just that – beautiful wrapping.

Scott whats’it from Easties has emerged from his wheelchair, discarded his limp (insert your own joke here) and, well, I think he can actually shift a bit.  Trouble is I’m distracted from the dancing by constant Thunderbirds flashbacks.         

FAB – look no strings.

Kara seems to have drawn the short straw costume wise – oh, it’s actually the short straw she’s wearing.  She also gets the most likely to ‘dance’ dance with their partner award this year (an award recently handed back…)

Psychologist Pamela Stevenson (psychologist) – oh did I mention she’s a psychologist – is doing pretty well for a psychologist.  She’s a psychologist you know.

Who else?  Oh there’s a block of wood with no personality or charisma of any kind – which is still getting more votes than Gavin ‘mirror, mirror’ Henson, Patsy ‘no more men, ever, no really, ever, well… never’ Kensit and some other people.

And Ann Widdecombe.

An amusing sideshow and everyone is being frightfully jolly and British about it in case of upping the sympathy vote.  If they make the final the show dance could be a classic although please (please!!) avoid the Bacofoil/waxed to the hilt leotard as modelled by Lisa Snowdon.  Anton certainly won’t be making any more slightly off-colour jokes if this is the BBC’s revenge (I’m hoping he has a damn good chiropractor!)

Oh, and don’t start me on last week’s Halloween at Asda theme…

To keep me going until Saturday here’s one of my SCD favourites – Mark Ramprakash and Karen Hardy’s Argentine Tango…

I’ve written a book!

Never in my wildest dreams (and it’s probably best not to venture in there…) did I ever think I’d be able to say that but now I can.  It’s been incredibly satisfying to actually put all those words on paper and I’m very excited about being properly in print!  I now have to gear myself up for some shameless self promotion…

being human: unofficial and unauthorised is out very soon and can be pre-ordered at  Classic TV Press (it’s also on Amazon but slighter more expensive…).  I should probably say it’s an ideal Christmas pressie but I’m still getting use to all this trumpet blowing stuff (just give me time – I’ll be Easties’ Sonia before you know it!)

So – what’s it all about?  Here’s the official line…

“So, a werewolf, a ghost and a vampire decide to live like humans do. They get jobs, a house and a TV license.”

Being Human, created for BBC Three by Toby Whithouse, puts the supernatural firmly into the everyday world.

That cute, geeky hospital porter?  A werewolf.

A flash of a sunny smile and some grey leggings?  A ghost.

The dark-eyed Irish guy at the bar? A vampire

George (Russell Tovey), Annie (Lenora Crichlow) and Mitchell (Aidan Turner) live in a pink house in Bristol and all they want is to be normal, to fit in – to be human.

After a successful pilot in 2008 a full series of Being Human was commissioned and shown in 2009, a second series following in 2010.  The pilot show gained an enthusiastic and vocal online fan base – a community that grew and grew throughout the series.  They helped to give BBC Three one of its most successful programmes – the first two episodes of series two were the most watched programme on BBC iPlayer.

As well as reviewing each episode from the first two series in detail, this book looks at the birth of the show and profiles the characters and the mythology behind them.  Not forgetting – of course – the plots, the themes, the darkness and the humour, in fact just about everything that being human really means.

An affectionate, humorous (and occasionally slightly sarcastic) exploration of the world of Being Human – a thought-provoking must have read for all fans.

“It’s a lot to take in. I mean werewolves, ghosts, vampires. I didn’t even believe in homeopathy before this.”

Frankly, I recommend you watch a decent DVD – I’ll even let you choose your own. 

Surely there must be something decent to watch (that isn’t a repeat)?  I’ve tried, really tried but despite diligent occupation of the sofa I have to admit defeat. 

Having said that Sherlock is OK.  Being honest it’s probably better than that but it gets a false reading by being surrounded by tripe.  Broken glass and diamonds both shine in the mud…  There is a sneaky little voice in my head that keeps asking why - if it’s as good as we’re lead to believe - is it on in August? 

It has a good team behind it, decent actors – two decent actors and Aunt Sally anyway – but for me it is too smug and rather pleased with itself.  It’s as if it is sitting on the sofa beside you, hogging all the cushions, eating more than its fair share of the pizza and going “Damn, I’m good…” at irritatingly regular intervals. 

I’ll keep watching though – yes, I’ll stick it out through all three episodes.  Three.  Wouldn’t it have been better to spread them out and call them specials – or cut it to an hour a time and make a six-parter? 

Then there’s The Deep.  Reasonably high hopes here – big budget BBC sci-fi-ish drama, decent names in the cast so what could possibly go wrong?  (I may have invented a whole new genre here – sci-fish drama anyone?!) 

The plot is a little confused, there’s a submarine going after another submarine that sank – yes, I thought they were meant to do that too!  Anyway, off they go to scrape the bottom of the barrel – sorry, the bottom of the sea. 

Minnie Driver is in charge – so she explains Stuff What Is Going On,  when she’s not being generally irrational and fluffy that is.  It’s a great command decision to let a grieving husband hear the harrowing recording of his missing wife’s last moments just at the point where everything only he can fix is likely to go very, very wrong.  The rest of the cast amuse themselves by telling each other what they are going to do – so, life and death missions don’t get a pre-mission briefing, or a job description, even a post it note? 

James Nesbitt is the  “Engineer from Northern Ireland” quite adequately, another in the long line of his specialism  “… from Northern Ireland”.  A special talent which reached its peak in “The Passion” with “Pontius Pilate from Northern Ireland”.  He also does a lot of  E-NUN-CI-A-TING (or may have been reading from his sleeve)

desperately looking for a way out (or their next line...)

Topping out the appropriately multi-cultural crew is Tobias Menzie who is a posh public school archetype.  He clearly Knows Things (and has a decent jumper) so is obviously going to be a baddie or at the very least have a secret agenda.

We were also treated to Luka the Looker from ER who might have died in the first episode except a) he’s too famous and b) they’d lose a third of the female audience.  So he survived – just – to continue an ill-advised affair with Mini Diver… and I don’t mean the dinky sub! 

 The Deep seems to have been put together with bits left lying around – there’s some decent CGI but the submarine sets look like bits of left over spaceship from old shows – shouldn’t it be more claustrophobic?  The crew is a walking cliché and the mysterious “very large thing” that threatens in the deep looks suspiciously like something from a sewage outlet that you REALLY don’t want to swim past! 

 I’ll carry on watching though, glutton for punishment that I am, and apparently episode two is better.  Maybe Flipper or Aqua Marina will swim past… 

 More importantly I have a surplus of bad squid jokes that I need to use up!

It doesn’t take much encouragement for me to ignore the housework so with a proper excuse I’ve really let the place go…  I’ve started to remedy this by excavating the kitchen floor and the decision of today is no more seeded bread.  Ever.  I’m knee deep in a variety of kernels and seeds – I thought I’d grown a new mole on my foot but on closer inspection it fell off… Turns out it was a sunflower seed!  So – unless I want to wear flip-flops to cross the kitchen or acquire pebble dashed soles – housework must recommence!

I don’t really have an issue with wearing flip-flops in the kitchen – after all I do have a few pairs to choose from!  The issue is really that when it is (allegedly) summer I try to avoid wearing shoes at all.  For a dedicated Imelda I do like to be contrary and spend the summer months barefoot – although good sandals can be carried beautifully, and fab espadrilles can even dangle from a matching (or at least toning) summer handbag  All this really means is that a barefoot Imelda still has an excuse to add to the shoe herd!

I really like being able to feel the ground under my feet – doesn’t matter what it is.  Most people like walking on the sand but grass is a close second.  If you are inside it can be fun – at work we have marble, wood, cork, stone and carpet – and all on the way to the cafe.  It makes fetching a coffee interesting.  I do try to remember to put my shoes on for meetings (and to go to the loo – there are some limits!)  It sounds rather obvious to say that going barefoot keeps you grounded – but it does.  We protect ourselves from everything – we get all wrapped up, we stay in our cars and our double glazed houses and don’t let our surroundings touch us.  Going barefoot really connects to you where you are – it has to, you have a much greater awareness of what is literally beneath your feet.

I use to walk everywhere barefoot in the summer.  Even freshly surfaced paths with all those little sharp chippings were just a minor challenge!  The trouble is that as the pavements get more and more revolting and I get older and more aware of what I MIGHT tread in I do tend to confine myself to familiar territory!  When I was much younger no shoes was just fine and then it seemed to be a bit wrong, not very grown up.  Now I’m older it’s OK again – I don’t much care if I don’t look grown up and care even less if people think I’m odd - after all I’m almost old enough to wear purple… (there’s another subject entirely!)

Finally – of course – we need to consider the adornment of feet in lieu of shoes.  Toe rings, nail polish in coats of many colours, ankle bracelets and so on and so on…  It’s just another place to make jewellery for!

I may be a barefoot Imelda but my feet certainly aren’t naked!!