When Bruce Springsteen wrote, way back in 1982, that he’d bought “a bourgeois house in the Hollywood hills with a truckload of hundred thousand dollar bills” and arranged for a TV company “to hook up cable TV” for him and his baby, meaning presumably a woman and not an actual baby, he was disappointed at the result: “We switched ’round and ’round ’til half-past dawn. There was fifty-seven channels and nothin’ on.” Fast forward to 2025 and the only thing that’s changed is that there are now hundreds, maybe even thousands, of channels and there’s still nothing on.
Ironically, given the extra ‘choice’ we are supposed to enjoy these days, I find myself watching less television than ever before. I have a golden rule to never watch daytime TV on the simple grounds that if I live to be old – and I know that’s a big if – I may have plenty of time to do that once I can do little else other than piss my pants and consume my food once it’s been through a blender. I have no wish to watch This Morning, any number of home renovation shows, tiresome middle class Brits buying dream houses on the Costa del Shite and 1970’s sit coms. But my life would be immeasurably improved if there was just the one dedicated, decent quality travel channel that I could dip in and out of.
In the days before mass tourism, the main – actually, only – TV channels broadcast travel shows. Both cheerful middle class efforts, the BBC with the cunningly titled ‘Holiday‘ and ITV’ with ‘Wish You Were Here?‘. Here, presenters like Frank Bough and Judith Chalmers would alert us to the possibilities of holidays abroad. It introduced us to the sophistication of Benidorm and Torremolinos where you could enjoy bingo and Watney’s Red Barrel as you did at home, but under a red hot sun. They’d also ‘take’ the viewer to smaller, more elite resorts, which were unaffordable to all, except well paid holiday show presenters. But it was, for the most part, nice to sit there, freezing under several layers of jumpers in wintering Britain, and dream about being somewhere warmer.
We had, and still have, the travel documentaries, many of which I still find essential viewing. I started, I think, with Alan Whicker, adored Clive James (my favourite TV presenter of all time) and more latterly the likes of Michael Palin and, rather unexpectedly since he used to be a Tory MP, Michael Portillo. Add to the list the brilliant Simon Reeve and there’s a genre I love.
There have been travel channels in the past, usually ultra cheap affairs involving ancient, scratchy documentaries of often obscure and frankly uninteresting destinations, but every now and then you’d find a gem. And pretty well every time I watch a show involving travel, I wonder if there might be sufficient demand for a travel show with a decent budget, showing perhaps a combination of new and heritage programmes? There must be. After all, TV companies are forever commissioning programmes where various chefs and cooks are paid to travel around the world and cook things. Think Rick Stein, the late Anthony Bourdain, Keith Floyd. And there are the lower budget shows like the quite brilliant Peter Maneas and My Greek Odyssey, as enjoyable a travel show as I have ever seen.
I do not particularly want to see more shows like Bargain Loving Brits on the Piss or Our Chip Shop on the Costas, where I am subject to the sight of people, like my father-in-law, who clearly must prefer warm weather all year round to their families, pretending to enjoy themselves as they get shit-faced with their fellow ex pats, or migrants as we otherwise know them to be, as they moan about migrants back home. Just shows that allow me to see a different part of the world, either to enjoy it from the comfort of my armchair and, possibly, to encourage me to visit in person.
Instead, all I have on mainstream TV this morning is the care home favourite This Morning, Homes Under The Hammer and Bargain Hunt. Why not ‘Let’s go to Paxos’, ‘A train driver’s view of the Settle and Carlisle line in real time’ and ‘Great pubs of Britain’, that sort of thing? Surely there must be an audience for that, without the need for James Martin to cook things at the same time?
More likely, I am pining for a genre that died out many decades ago, along with Frank Bough’s jumper and Judith Chalmers’ colourful dresses.
For those moments in life in between doing things that are actually useful, please, TV executives, commission a 24/7 travel channel which I can dip in and out of whenever I choose. Most of us like to travel, even if it’s to exactly the same place every time, and perhaps we might even get a few more ideas to branch out?
One thing is for sure, I could end up like The Boss when it apparently got too much for him:
‘So I bought a .44 magnum it was solid steel cast
And in the blessed name of Elvis well I just let it blast
‘Til my TV lay in pieces there at my feet
And they busted me for disturbin’ the almighty peace
Judge said “What you got in your defense son?”
“Fifty-seven channels and nothin’ on”
I can see by your eyes friend you’re just about gone
Fifty-seven channels and nothin’ on…
Fifty-seven channels and nothin’.’
A bit extreme, perhaps, but have you ever seen Loose Women?
