My gran used to shout at the television. She never turned the air blue but would let rip in a most lady-like fashion when she got annoyed at what was on the screen.
Week nights it was Elsie Tanner or Ken Barlow on Coronation Street who would get it in the neck for their antics. And I remember Saturday afternoons too could easily get her blood pressure rising as she watched the wrestling ‘starring’ Mick McManus or Adrian Street who, incidently, never looked strong enough to throw anybody about in a ring, but did.
At the end of this choreographed horseplay, the commentator sitting in some run-down town hall in Yorkshire would sign off by saying “Have a good week, ’til next week” and she would shout back “Aye right” before questioning whether one, or both, of the grapplers and the referee in each bout had been bribed to perform for the cameras.
It must run in the genes because all these years later it is a habit I have picked up.
I don’t watch ‘Corrie’ and live wrestling was lost to our screens decades ago, but in my view there are still plenty of programmes out there designed to get my hackles up and property make-over shows top the list.
I watch in disbelief and rising rage as ‘Mr DIY’ invests thirty grand in a crumbling two-bed semi at auction and two minutes later for “another £5000.20p” - he says - has a palace complete with central heating, double glazing, kitchen and bathroom and the obligitory two coats of emulsion top and bottom to sell for twice the price.
I’ll say this again, and not just for Mrs Barber’s benefit, but for that money it simply CANNOT be done.