INCLEMENT – a lovely word, must use it more often – weather has meant more time indoors than usual, and nothing wrong with that for those who don't have to commute, clear roads, open the shop or struggle through drifts to feed sheep and cattle. Been there, done that and quite happy not to do it any more, especially in snow, sleet or rain, when I can settle down with a book by the fire with sustenance supplied as necessary – be fair, I do the dishes and make good porridge – by my lovely assi
There has also been some good stuff on radio and I've caught up with a lot of blues and jazz I hadn't listened to for a while. Television, as anyone who reads through the programme listings in hope and gives up in despair each morning will know, has
not been a distraction. The splendid John Adams series, David Attenborough on Darwin, a series on American folk music and football highlights apart, only Teletext has had much to offer.
With the exception of a return, thanks to granddaughter Ebba, to children's programmes. Viewing figures published last week suggested kids' TV is in decline. Well, it has certainly changed. Watching Iggle Piggle, Upsy Daisy and Makka Pakka in the Night Garden with her – I can take or leave the Ninky Nonk and Pinky Ponk, and don't get me started on the Pontipines – I thought: "This makes Andy Pandy, Bill And Ben and Muffin The Mule seem a long time ago." Which indeed they were, as a recent documentary on children's TV reminded me. And of how stilted, babyish and pukka middle class they were.
Perhaps we thought more of them in their time, courtesy of the kind lady who sometimes asked us in to watch television as we walked home from school. As she had a growling Airedale the size of a small donkey, it was a difficult choice. But a television at home was still some years away, as was mains electricity; and the novelty of moving pictures usually won.
It must have been the novelty because I never cared for Andy Pandy or much more for Muffin. Bill And Ben I did like, mainly because of the "Flobble, flobble" talk which we practised a lot. The Goons on radio at about the same time talked much the same way, but Bill and Ben were funnier.
Since then much of children's TV has passed me by, including The Magic Roundabout, a must and light relief for many students when I was at college. I never cared much for Blue Peter either, with or without Sarah Greene, although I remember watching Play School occasionally through either the round window or the square window and – how dare you? – Floella Benjamin had nothing to do with it. I also liked, when I got the chance, the whimsy of Ivor The Engine and Postman Pat, while Brian Cant on Playaway proved endlessly that a successful children's presenter must have no embarrassment factor whatever.
Now sometimes if the weather is too bad, and it has to be bad, to take Ebba out in the buggy when we're on duty, it's In The Night Garden, Charlie And Lola, Jakers and Justin Fletcher or, as we know him best, Mr Tumble, and the reflection that they don't make children's programmes like they used to.
Thank goodness.
