Television
Not my cup of tea
Wendy Cope
Iwas interested to learn from a newspap- er article that a Granada programme called Falklands has just been voted best documentary of the year by Britain's tele- vision critics. Not having seen the prog- ramme, I don't know whether or not I would have voted for it, if they had asked me. But they didn't. Is there a form that one is supposed to fill in, in order to become a registered British television critic with voting rights? Perhaps people find out about these things at the television lunches I can't be bothered to go to. It's not that I have anything against free lunches but the invitations usually make it clear that you are expected to watch a programme while you're there and that puts me off.
Publishers have a more civilised approach — it is possible to attend their binges without incurring any obligation to read the book or even to remember, half an hour into the party, which book we are celebrating today. But it is wrong of me to put the television companies' invitations into the waste-paper basket. I ought to keep them in my handbag and give them away to people who approach me in the street, asking for the price of a cup of tea.
Or maybe I should turn up now and again, because it is helpful to meet other television critics and compare notes on occupational hazards. Such as sitting down to watch the programme you raved about last week and realising, with a sinking heart, that this week's edition is a dud. Apologies to anyone who watched French and Saunders (BBC 2) because of me. A friend who is about to move house has complained that the removal-men sketch was extremely painful to watch and the rest was merely unfunny. The only bit I en- joyed was the country-and-western parody (`Sometimes it's hard/When you're poor and don't have any money/And your mom- ma is sick/And your pa got hung/And your sweetheart is a leper', etc). Nobody can be on top form all the time. Even LA Law (ITV) was a bit naff last week, with Ann and Stuart having that ridiculous quarrel and corny reunion in front of all the wedding guests. It's odd that I rarely meet an English person who shares my enthusiasm for this series. My American friend says that in Los Angeles it's a real big thing — you either go out to dinner before LA Law or afterwards.
From last week's TV Times I learned that in real life Ann and Stuart have been married to each other for the last 18 years. From Radio Times I discovered that for £15 plus postage and packing you can buy a fashionable, black, zip-neck sweatshirt featuring an attractive multicoloured 'Kil- roy!' logo. This garment is only available in sizes 38" to 44", too large for the average woman, which suggests that the publicists don't think us silly enough to go round with `Kilroy!' written on our chests. I buy these publications as a matter of duty, in an attempt to keep up with what a new commercial for the Listener calls 'the vib- rant world of the broadcasting arts.'
The vibrant world (together with the world of films) held one of its periodic celebrations of itself on Sunday, The Brit- ish Academy Awards (ITV). The first hour was tolerable because none of the winners made speeches. After that I noticed myself moving around in my chair and realised that the proceedings were literally making me squirm. Michael Grade, who presented one of the awards, berated Yorkshire Tele- vision for refusing to transmit this lengthy jamboree. Since he clearly feels that prize- giving ceremonies are important, perhaps we can look forward to equally full coverage on Channel 4 of the Booker, the Whit- bread, the Turner and other major awards to practitioners of the non-broadcasting arts.
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