Seb Palmer

As far as I can, I always mute TV ads, when they come on. I often wonder if most people might think me odd for doing so.

I’d be happy living without a TV, and have done so on several occasions. Not so Teresa, my wife. We went without for a while whilst moving homes. But in the end, Teresa wanted TV, so we did Freeview for a while. However, the cheap Freeview box Teresa bought – I refused to spend any money on TV media – was rubbish.

We’d been getting by without an internet service provider or home phone as well. But in the end I caved in, and we went with a Virgin package. Much to my chagrin, as I swore after our last bout with them, never agin!

Anyroad… even with all the channels we now have on our Virgin deal, with broadband and a phone line, there’s practically nothing I can ever find that I want to watch.

I do watch YouTube on the TV sometimes. Indeed, I’m more likely to watch YouTube than ‘proper’ TV. I suppose most TV has probably always been junk. But it seems to me that the percentage of brainless crud is higher than ever.

I do know, from experience, that I can quite easily get sucked in to watching loads of garbage, and I might even find myself quite enjoying some of it. The thing is, I feel there are sooo many other and better things one could be doing. But this post is not about the programmes on TV, it’s about the advertising.

I’ve never really liked adverts. I’ve had short spells where I’m less averse to them than currently. The way I see it, watching adverts is like letting loudmouthed sales-people into your home, to harangue you with their patter. I wouldn’t do that! I suspect most people wouldn’t. Why let them in via my TV?

Even though the BBC is not all it once was – I might think of the Attenborough at the helm of BBC2 period as a probable peak – maybe it was never really as good as my memories suggest? Certainly these days it seems dominated by a dumbed down populist agenda, and almost as vapid as any other media outlet.

But it does remain ad-free. And for that alone it should be cherished. Of course the content could and should be better. Then it’d be more worth cherishing. But it seems to me a part of our cultural heritage we allow to wither away at our peril. [1]

But getting back to adverts. One of many reasons I dislike the kind of neo-Marxist-po-mo-ne’erdowells I had to endure as lecturers on my degree at Goldsmiths (not all of ’em, thankfully), apart from the utter guff that comprised much of their so-called philosophy, was that many of the beloved writers of such claptrap seemed to love advertising.

Although I find comedian Bill Hicks rather too dark and depressing overall, he does have several threads he returns to that I quite like. One of these is his hatred of advertising. In the spirit of the dead comedian, and in a departure from my usual preference for mild-mannered politeness, this is my message for the world of advertising in general, and current TV advertising in particular:

Having said all this, I do find I can enjoy vintage adverts. I think this is due to them no longer being a contemporaneous attempt to manipulate me/the viewer. And this distancing effect defuses the quality I find most repulsive, allowing me to be able to ‘enjoy’ them as the type of cultural artefacts folks like Roland Barthes might have reveries over.

And one of the fundamentals of why I hate a lot of advertising generally, but TV (and online or cinema) advertising in particular, is that we, the viewer are treated as, and frequently portrayed as, gormless idiots. Without the loving handholding corporations to direct us, we’d just be dribbling into our crotches on our sofas.

---

NOTES:

[1] Peter Hitchens is, in my view, a pretty insufferable cock, but in spite of this, I find myself agreeing, in essence, with his views on the ‘Decline and Fall of the BBC‘. I must add that simply because I add a link to this content does not mean I endorse it. First Things is a religious and conservative organ.

[2] I couldn’t find any pics of the ads I was looking for, and this one isn’t the best example, as it is very entertaining. But I hate unison dancing, or unison anything for that matter. It always makes me think of storm troopers goose-stepping. It’s one of the many things that makes me allergic to any form of organised religion; not formation dancing, per se, but conformist behaviour.

[3] Creativity and humour are to be found, of course, albeit in varying degrees, in advertising of all sorts. And sometimes the ‘pure’ information communication of advertising can be relatively neutral, and therefore less prone to make me nauseous. The rose-tinted effect of nostalgia can also allow me to enjoy older ads. But what’s crucial is that the passage of time has defused the weapon of psychological manipulation.

The Complete Columbo DVD set, in faux cigar case.

Teresa’s the one who usually likes her murder-mystery TV shows. I do love Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes, and I can occasionally enjoy a bit of Suchet Poirot with her, but I wouldn’t generally choose to watch the latter on my own.

Columbo, on the other hand, the rumpled but earnest antithesis of Hercule, but with equal capacity in the little grey cells department, I do choose to watch, on my own or in company, even though it’s ultimately pretty much just as formulaic as any Agatha Christie. Just a different formula.

One of the conceits that makes it work so well, for me, is the way it plays in reverse, with the audience seeing the crime at the outset, and then following Columbo, as he appears to bumble along, piecing the jigsaw of events together, until he nails his culprit.

Of course a major part of the charm of Columbo is Peter Falk himself. He is, in phrases I once read used to describe Burt Bacharach, ‘impeccably dishevelled’, and ‘rumpled yet earnest’. Equally important are the villains, and their chemistry with Columbo, and, to a lesser extent, the victims.

Actors like Patrick McGoohan and William Shatner, who I knew of before, and Jack Cassidy and Robert Culp, who were new to me, and even Falk’s curvaceous beauty of a wife, Shera Danese, all make repeat appearances in Columbo’s cases. And many other great actors, some well known, some less so, help make this a superb series.

Between 1968 and 2003, with some breaks, a total of 69 episodes of Columbo were made, mostly roughly between 70-100 minutes long. But with a number of longer ‘feature’ length episodes and specials. Over those years it evolved and changed in some ways, whilst remaining static in others.

Falk’s character didn’t really change, nor did his M.O, nor the overall structure of the narrative. But fashions in clothes, decor, music, and just the general vibe/ambience, these are all discernibly metamorphosing.

I had a primary school teacher, Mrs McKechnie, who dressed exactly like these ladies. I wonder what’s become of her?

Don’t look down! Columbo can’t quite bring himself to put his big, fat cigar in his mouth. Roddy MacDowell? Rod by name, and by nature.

Ah, the white suit with jumbo collars and cravat, a ‘classic’ look. Dangerous in high winds. Those long pointy collars will either have an eye out, or possibly help you fly.

---

In exploring the world of Columbo I discovered an excellent blog/website, called Columbophile. I don’t intend to compete with them! But I probably will be expanding the scope of this post occasionally, or adding other Columbo-related posts. Although I’m tempted, I’m not sure I’ll go as far as getting us our own bassett-hound.

NOTES:

[1] Cassidy died not long after this, his final appearance in Columbo, when, home alone and having hit the bottle, his cigarette started the fire that would kill him.

Today I was mainly tidying up books, getting all our art books onto the upgraded shelves in the lounge, and all my Napoleonic books on the shelves at the top of the apples’n’pears.

Aside from moving books around – I got loads out of our bedroom and into the guest room – I also painted the door of the workshop. It was really because the sill is rotten, and swollen with rainwater. I spent a while yesterday with a hairdryer, drying the sill out, filing it down, drying it again, and then repeating, until it was both pretty dry and the door actually closed. Prior to this it was sticking at the bottom, and I was having to kick the door to open it.

It’s a lovely rich oily paint, and a beautiful colour. I need to let it dry for a few more hours this evening. I’ll shut it before turning in for the night. I might also paint the window frames in this colour. I’ll need to tidy up the blue a bit, as I was rather slapdash with the door and frame, what with painting in the dark!

The sill is in such a sorry state I might cut it out altogether, and insert something better. Perhaps an oaken plank? But at least it’s been painted. In fact I also treated the timber with something for rot… can’t recall exactly what? We’ll have to wait and see if the treatment and paint ‘cure’ it!

Well, no Farmacy Kitchen food tonight after all. Instead, Paella #3. This time I really browned the chicken off nicely. I left out chorizo altogether, added a bit more paprika,  and substituted asparagus for artichoke. Turned out really well. I got a fab socarrat at the bottom of the pan. Delish!

Bought a £5 Rioja from Sainsburys, to go mit der paella, and it was nice enough. They had some Armagnac on offer as well, which seduced me. Had a wee dram, and jolly nice it was to.

Didn’t do anything of great significance in the DIY domain today, other than tidy up the shed a bit, mostly bringing in FC windows/window-frames, so as not to ruin them by leaving them outside too long. They’re destined for the art and music studio build, at some future point. Might use some of ’em in finishing the greenhouse… dunno!?

And I put a second coat of Liberon Finishing Oil on the saw-bench as well. I’ll do one more coat tomorrow. And then that’s done. Was going to let a Teresa use it as a table for a bit. But I’ll make her a dedicated one, and get my saw-bench into the workshop.

Over the recent half-term I was getting a bit lazy and indulgent, inasmuch as I’d be working hard on decorating, DIY or woodworking stuff, and I’d figure I’d earned the right for lunch out.

I had lunch in an American style diner one time, the local Wetherspoons – formerly the Hippodrome cinema – at least twice, and although I can’t recall anywhere else offhand, I suspect it wasn’t just thrice in all.

So it’s become almost a reflex to want to pop out and spend money, despite my not having any. I decided therefore that today, I’d cook my own lunch. When I do this, it’s often just a sandwich. Or, if it involves heat/work, then it’ll often be cheese on toast, or beans and a fried egg. That sort of stuff.

Today it was three slices of toast, two with cheese, one with a fried-egg, and beans liberally slathered atop the lot. A steaming cup of tea, and a recipe book, to contemplate dinner plans, and I’m happy.

The book I casually picked up was the Farmacy Kitchen cookbook. Although the author says she’s not trying to convert anyone, such earnest healthiness as she espouses does have the effect of making me, a former vegetarian myself, feel somewhat guilty or disapproved of.

I look at my cheddar cheese on white bread toast, my egg and beans, and the phrase ‘conscious living’ has me imagining the possible sufferings of the cows, from whom the milk for the cheese came, or the chickens that laid our eggs. And my ‘umble lunch doesn’t even have meat in it!

And then there’s the Berty quote, visible in my second snap, above. I didn’t know Herr One-Stone was a veggie!? [1] The funny thing is, however, that whilst I agree with author Camilla Fayed, that we ought to be conscious in both our living and our shopping/cooking/eating (plus it’s difficult to do these things whilst asleep!*), I’m not sure I agree with her or Albert more broadly.

Part of my reasoning is related, oddly enough, given that Ms. Fayed herself claims that ‘Nature knows best’, to what some snipers shoot down as the ‘natural fallacy’ [2]. But as I don’t want to get into essay length discquisitions of a philosophical nature – not on this occasion (I often do!) – I’ll just conclude this brief post by thanking Fayed for her ‘food for thought’.

I may even go a step further, and cook/prepare one of her recipes tonight. Tuesdays have become a ‘Seb cooks’ night of late. It all started with a paella I cooked, Omar Allibhoy style, a few Tuesdays back.

---

* Joke! I know she’s talking about a different kind of consciousness, man…

[1] I subsequently read that he converted to vegetarianism in his last year of life.

[2] There’s a whole mish-mash of stuff this can be related to, from the ‘naturalistic fallacy’ of philosophy, to the commonplace of certain threads in popular culture where, um… nature knows best!

Today I finished painting the downstairs lounge in Cupcake. I may do a bit more, and make the rear wall of the fireplace end of the room (just visible at left, behind the guitar, in the pic above) Cupcake as well, instead of the yellowy-orange we inherited from Clive. But, for now, this means all the walls and other bits and bobs that were in the rather too pale and cold off-white are in the new nicer, warmer colour.

I should’ve taken before and after pics of the under-stairs area, as I stripped out some horrible plasterboard, loaded with Artex, which had been slathered on in Van-Gogh-feeling-seasick impasto swirls. That went to the dump, and I’ve left the underneath of the stairs as raw wood for now, as you can see.

I have possible plans brewing in my noggin, re putting some under stair built-in cupboards here, possibly even with an area for stowing the MX5 hardtop. But for now I just rearranged the furniture a tiny bit, swapping the table and desk/cabinet around, and moving the shoe boxes/rack over to where Teresa keeps all her shoes, under the window, by the radiator.

I’ve moved the tatty studio-armchair (covered with a very dark brown throw in the pic above, to the right of the lamp) tight up against the red sofa, where before there was a gap. This has meant the lamp had to come forward a few inches, so the base cleared the feet of the chairs.

I also moved the clock-mounting screw higher up the wall, so the clock is now well clear of the top of the lamp, where formerly it was too low, and partially obscured. Now we just need to get the clock cleaned and up and running. It’s interesting how in the daylight Cupcake looks like clotted cream, whereas in the evenings it appears to take on a richer more custardy colour.

Teresa suggested we watch The Ladykillers tonight. I wanted to watch a fresh episode of Columbo – I’m working my way through the complete boxed set – but she got her way. And it has to be said, even though I’ve seen it several times, The Ladykillers really is superb.

Alec Guinness is great, as the creepy Prof. Marcus, leading his rag-tag band of ne’erdowells on a ‘stick up caper’. Katie Johnson is equally fab as the dotty old Mrs. Wilberforce, who lets a room to the gang.

The plot is great, but I won’t give it away here. Suffice it to say that Prof. Marcus’ team are working together for the first time, and masquerading as a group of enthusiastic amateur musicians. The prof’ plans to make use not just of Mrs Wilberforce’s home – which, like her, is a relic from a bygone era – but her, as the unwitting mule for the lolly.

But the prof’ hasn’t taken into account the unforeseen consequences of her well-meaning busy-body nature. From her wonky pictures, to General Gordon and her other parakeets, she is a law unto herself.

As the prof’s well laid plans unravel, the nature of their crimes assumes a darker hue, as they begin to plan to be rid of her. But she is a force to be reckoned with.

The ensemble cast is great. Herbert Lom and Peter Sellers meet pre-Clouseau, and, with Cecil Parker and Danny Green, form the gang. There are small but strong supporting supporting roles for such familiar faces as Jack ‘Dixon of Dock Green’ Warner (a cop, what else?), and Kenneth Connor (taxi driver) and Frankie Howard (barrow boy), the latter two perhaps most familiar from the later Carry On films.

The setting is also worthy of note. Like her home, Mrs Wilberforce is a relic of a bygone era, a holdover from the Victorian/Edwardian age, polite, moralistic, and heavily floral, lodged amidst terraced tenements and the industrial grime of a large railway terminus.

She embodies qualities that range from lightly quaint to deeply irritating, but is stoical, decent, and ultimately very sweet and hugely endearing. Her simple good naturedness is the nexus around which the grubbier workaday business of the contemporary world revolves, giving the whole film, in addition to its darkly comic side, a wistful romanticism.

A really terrific film.

---

P.S. I did also get to watch Columbo, Grand Deceptions, which starts with – joy of joys – slow panning shots of an ACW (American Civil War) diorama. I’ll probably post a review of that at some future point on my mini-military blog.

We have friends coming for a Sunday roast later today. Getting the painting and decorating finished in time was reasonably hard work, as Teresa insisted I refresh the paint on the stairs, which were rather tatty.

Found a good spot for the mirror I took off the recent FC wardrobe, in the corner where I formerly had one of my sets of model display shelves.

Having the downstairs tidier is lovely. I’ve stuck the hard-top for my MX5, which currently lives in the lounge, on the car. I’m going to have to find some way to store it that doesn’t impinge on our living space. There’s a butler sink under the stairs, under the white sheet. Need to find somewhere to stash that as well!

The stairs certainly do look a lot nicer now. Only thing is, now the wear and tear to the paint on the handrail is more noticeable.

Teresa also insisted I pack away my little Gretsch Catalina Club Jazz kit, which I’ve had set up in the lounge. I haven’t put it away, but just taken it down and stacked it in the corner.

This morning I finished painting the downstairs hall and stairs area, which looked lovely in the early morning sunlight. I’m painting purely with brushes, which is more work (than rollers), but also more fun.

The ‘party wall’, which we share with our immediate neighbours, in the older cooler off-white colour, mid-way through clearing the area for painting. Still no real idea what to do about those pesky exposed light fittings. One thought is to install some of those inverted conical uplighter doodads.

Mid-way through painting the longest wall section. This gives a good indication of the degree of difference in colour and atmosphere. It’s so much nicer, warmer and cosier. Really need to change the main light fitting! The three part ‘chandelier’ is what we inherited from the previous owner, and not to our tastes – well, mine, at any rate – at all.

I also painted a fair bit of the old chocolate brown woodwork, in the lovely Permoglaze glossy white. This stuff stinks, and is oil-based, requiring cleaning and thinning etc with White Spirit. It also required two coats. I’m going to need more, to do all the skirting boards, and other wooden bits and bobs.

I now have to wait for the painted woodwork to dry out fairly fully before I can rehang the last of the three curtains at that end of the room. But I have to say that the dining room end of our long through lounge ground floor now looks quite lovely!

Teresa and I love a game of Scrabble. We haven’t found the time to play in ages.

Today she was off work for a medical check-up, and I’ve stopped teaching at my Thursday school, on account of it being too far away – Bishops Stortford – to remain viable.

So we got out the Scrabble. And here’s how the board looked at end of play.

One thing I enjoy about our games is that, unlike the old-timers who once thrashed us at Scrabble Club we made the mistake of venturing into, we aren’t hell-bent on winning via as many two-letter combinations as are humanly possible. Certainly for me it’s a game that’s just about the fun of thinking of words.