I learned today that the Christmas and New Year double edition of TV and radio listings magazine the Radio Times was on sale. I had to have it, not later on or even tomorrow. I had to have it now and so it came to pass that I found myself driving to our local Tesco Behemoth store in order to procure my copy. To my delight, there it was, bearing the words ‘Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year’. Purchase complete, I drove home as quickly as possible for the next stage of this annual routine, which is called Disappointment.
For starters, the Radio Times Christmas edition no longer includes the holiday listings pull out. Although I never actually booked any of the holidays, I enjoyed having a browse of the destinations and ordering brochures from the various companies. In the deep midwinter, just thinking about sunnier and warmer days would raise my spirits. No such luck this year.
If that wasn’t disappointing enough I hadn’t seen n-n-n-nothing yet. Well in advance of The Big Day, I had predicted the BBC One line-up. Frankly, this was not rocket science. I got everything right. My list went as follows:
- King Brian’s Christmas Message
- A cartoon movie
- Strictly
- Michael McIntyre’s Christmas Wheel
- EastEnders
- Call The Midwife
- EastEnders again
- Mrs Fucking Brown’s Fucking Boys
And it cost me £6.50 to find out what I already knew.
Laugh? I almost went to church. There’s not even a Top Of The Pops Christmas Special which used to precede Queen Brenda’s speech. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, I want to watch on telly n-n-n-nothing yet on Christmas Day. Christ – I might even have to talk to the family. But hang on a moment. I don’t usually sit around watching BBC One each and every evening, regardless of what crap is on. If any of the above programmes are on I never watch them anyway. I’ll watch something else, from a minor cable channel, a movie or even a sports event. There are no circumstances whatsoever that would compel me to watch Mrs Brown’s Boys anytime, ever.
I’m thinking of the family, I suppose, bloated and tired after too much Cherry Brandy and Marshmallows, slumped around the living room, too stuffed and knackered to move, unable to do anything else or anything at all. I know: let’s watch an hour of Call The Midwife as a family. It’s not going to work, is it, and has anyone ever met someone who admits to watching, never mind liking, the aforementioned Mrs Brown’s Boys? Not even someone who had had a full frontal lobotomy, or even complete brain removal, would watch that wretched show. It all leaves me looking forward to New Year’s Eve, except that it doesn’t.
BBC radio remains the best in the world, not least because you can listen to lots of different music on it. With TV, the only music you can watch on the Beeb must by law be introduced by cheery Londoner Julian ‘Jools’ Holland. His wretched Hootenanny pollutes the airwaves either side of midnight for what feels like days,It’s neatly while Holland, his guests and the audience all pretend it’s 31st December when the bloody thing was recorded weeks ago. I have nothing much against the bloke but I find his shtick a little contrived and boring. A guest list that includes Craig David, Lulu and The Kooks is not one to keep me glued to the box.
Now, having glanced at my annual purchase, I remember why I don’t buy the thing every week. Every year, I go miles out of my way to get a Radio Times and every year I go out of my way to miss nearly everything that’s listed in it. It’s tradition, that’s what it is, just like the Christmas tree, presents and family arguments. And my big tradition is to moan about what’s on telly.
Roll on 1st January 2026, I say and new episodes of … oh no … EastEnders, Mrs Brown’s Boys and of course The Sound Of Sodding Music. Anyone else fancy a pub visit? For the whole of Christmas? See you there.
