As the nights shorten and summer fades away some familiar home comforts are back to help get through the adjustment to drawn curtains, dark nights and the pain of having to switch the heating on again.
As if they had never been away, once again all the old faces are back on Channel 4; same old, same old it may well be but who cares?
Grand Designs returned this week with presenter Kevin McCloud back to his imperious best, agonising over the amount of concrete on show at a bold and ambitious renovation of an old cinema in Thorne.
Hats off to the local couple who chose to stay and improve where they clearly loved living, in spite of its recent decline, rather than flee to the outskirts and some anonymous, over-priced gated complex for the nouveaux riche.
There was also a wonderful clip demonstrating the North-South divide where humour is concerned, certainly that of the self-deprecating known locally as “piss taking”.
Kev was waxing lyrically about some window openings he likened to Le Corbusier, a famed architect of yesteryear (thanks Google!) as the programme’s subjects nodded in agreement to the great man’s wisdom.
Had Le Corbusier played centre forward for nearby Doncaster Rovers then maybe they might have heard of him. For now they nodded; were these a new product from Everest Double Glazing?
As Kev droned on he looked gratified that Katie appeared to share his passion of Le Corbusier as Katie looked as if she might wet herself on the spot.
Poor old Kev has to contend with so many pretentious Southern twits, with more money than brain cells, that a little bit of self-deprecating Northern wit completely threw him as the penny dropped and the architectural history lesson ended abruptly.
The end result was simply stunning and even after Kev realised that Katie thought he was talking about a new liqueur on sale at the local Costcutter, Le Corbusier or not, nobody could doubt the end achievement.
Sarah Beeny’s back as well and not pregnant which is almost unbelievable having spent several recent series in various states of bloom.
Whereas Kev has maintained the same format for Grand Designs, the property boom and recent crash have made Channel 4 work a bit harder to keep Ms B on the property ladder so to speak.
This offering is entitled “Double Your House for Half the Money” although, as with all television, fact blends with fiction.
This week Ms B gleefully advised a couple that had spent £60k improving their house that its value had gone up by…£60k! Truly a miracle of modern capitalism!
The basic idea is that by spending a little, owners can bounce up the value of their homes rather than move and most times it seems to work.
In fairness, had the people in question not gone against the Queen’s advice – ditching a bedroom for a yoga space – then they too would have made money.
Still the end results are always impressive although the cynic may suggest that there must be a team of interior designers on hand to get participants over the finishing line.
And as with Grand Designs, when we see the finished product, the transformation of the subjects is often as radical as the properties.
All of a sudden, previously scruffy couples appear as if ready for a photo shoot for Hello; I mean who walks around their house dressed like that? Get back in your pj’s!
Love him or hate him, that cheeky, chubby chap Jamie Oliver is also back and I know what I am getting for Christmas already. The next book is already out waiting to join the rest, still unopened, in my kitchen.
His last two efforts – how to cook meals respectively in 30 and 15 minutes – suggested the latest may take longer to open the book than cook a meal.
Not so as this is Jamie crusading and trying to save the nation again – having failed with dopey fat kids and dopier fatter mums in Rotherham – by showing us all how to cook on a budget.
It just goes to prove that you don’t have to reinvent the wheel to make a fortune as Jamie simply offers what previous generations saw as everyday life, not a new skill that you need an “app” for.
Its not Jamie’s fault that we live in such dumbed down times and that people, generally, are simply too stupid to walk on past the ready meal section at the supermarket.
The recipes are easy and make sense but in some respects are a touch naïve; can you really imagine Breadline Britney urging her kids to “go find some smoked paprika you little darlings and make sure you weed the herb garden when we get back to the high rise“.
You cant knock a man for effort but you sense he is banging his head against a brick wall here, especially if Swansea is typical of the rest of the UK which is where we find my hero, Big Nev.
The Call Centre, original shown on BBC3, has just finished a repeat run on BBC1, well past the watershed largely because of Neville Wilshire, CEO of Save Britain Money.
They proudly proclaim their mission “to increase the disposable income of consumers across the UK through money saving products and services.”
Written another way it could read “to bombard you with endless phone calls in whiny Welsh voices trying to flog you things we have not got a clue about while we polish our nails”.
Nev, a self made man who has made and lost a fortune, is hard to dislike but he would have had my old employer’s HR Dept on full time alert with his antics, some of which are clearly hammed up for the camera.
Throwing missiles in training sessions and marching recently ditched young girls through the floors in search of a new man is classic anti political correctness; yet the staff clearly love the man for all his eccentricities.
I am not sure what the documentary will have done for future business generation because at face value it looked as if Nev was running an asylum. What struck me though was the condition of so many of these kids.
In olden days there were factories where people toiled long hours; now they make a few phone calls, stop for a tea break and then slide off for a fag before spending what they do earn on endless tanning and preening sessions.
One girl with the lovely Welsh name of Chelsea was so big and orange she looked like a giant spacehopper. The men were not far behind with Dwayne, a team leader, clearly still hoping for Hollywood.
Manual work has in large part been replaced by white collar jobs in call centres which are sedentary, tedious and largely without prospects of progression.
Just as with the beagles they used to strap down to test cigarettes on, so the call centre operatives decay at their desks with only Hayley the tea girl to brighten up the day with regular implosions and outbursts of expletives.
Nev though was the real star, a genuinely compassionate bloke and clearly no mug having built the business from scratch to somewhere estimated at £25m annual turnover; that is a lot of telephone calls.
In the last episode, reacting to the loss of a major contract and some enforced redundancies, he reverted to his hero, John Wayne, and got on his “horse” to find work to feed his pups.
Tellingly he left us with a Dylan Thomas quote and hoping that Series 2 is somewhere in the future.
Football Association Chairman Greg Dyke speaks the unspeakable with his assertion that England have no chance of winning the World Cup next year – well done. He then states that 2022 is a sensible target – not so well done.
The ugly game is back flashing the cash once again. Unbelievably, the new TV deal ensures that whoever finishes bottom of the fatuously named Premier League will receive more cash than last year’s champions, Manchester United.
The transfer window saw over £600m spent on players which is an obscene display of arrogant greed. Foreign players flock here, doubtless struggling to believe the sums they command whilst Gareth Bale wonders how to spend £300k a week at Real Madrid.
However, whereas Spain, Italy and Germany continue to dominate the international stage, England have been over-rated, expensive makeweights for decades.
We may even not make it to Brazil next year, if we cannot overcome the mighty Moldova.
The Premier League only has some 30% of its players eligible for England and less than 20% of the recent spending spree went on home grown talent.
For such an accomplished businessman, Dyke is delusional if he really thinks an English Premier League funded by an Australian with clubs controlled by Arabs, Russians and Americans really gives a stuff about the Three Lions. Dream on!
Gas man says
Blacken your hair, grow a tash, change your name to Carlos Kickaball then tell them you were a top class defender for El Beldon and you are bound to get signed by good old Harry at QPR