I think it's just the switch. It went a year or so ago, and we got a good ticking off for leaving the TV on standby. We do that seldom now, and never overnight or when we're out, partly because we're trying to save the planet* but mainly because we want to save the telly.
In all the years of being in possession of TV I've never had a switch go. There was the hilarious incident of the Remote Control. Basically, I had a TV remote control that wouldn't control the TV. I did all the sensible things like changing the batteries, checking the battery contacts, wiping the transmitting bit, wiping the receiving bit, borrowing a friend's remote control, and it still wouldn't work. So I called the repair man. I was given a slot of two-six, which was less than ideal, because being that this was the last Monday in April 1997, there were a great number of envelopes to stuff at the nerve centre. And a Governors' meeting at 6.30.
Five to six, no repair man, so I ring up, stressing that I was a very important Chair of Governors of a doomed school with a key meeting "with the Education authority at 6.30". At five past six, repair man turns up, takes one look at my gender and says "Have you changed the batteries?" I explained all the steps I had taken so he went to the corner shop to get some new batteries. Surprise surprise, the remote didn't work. So he declared that I needed a new remote but he didn't carry one on the van. I explained that my friend's didn't work either, so he said he would drop off a new remote control tomorrow morning. I don't think so, I said, I'm having my photo taken with Glenda Jackson tomorrow morning** He didn't know who Glenda Jackson was.
The next day, following my date with Glenda, I phoned up and they promised a repair man on Wednesday. I don't think so, I said, I've got thousands of leaflets to deliver, so we agreed Thursday. I promised there would be *someone* in all day.
Mid-afternoon, a different repair man arrived and was rather overwhelmed by the pictures of Keith Hill and Tony Blair on my front door, the evidence of organised chaos that typified a Committee Room*** and the splendid finger buffet that awaited all visitors. I explained the saga and he said "I think there's probably a broken connection," took the TV apart, fiddled around in that mysterious way that repair men do and, hey presto, a functioning remotely controlled TV. The afternoon news was on, a bit strange on Official No News Day, with reports from the polls, early exits predicting a Labour victory, possibly even with a working majority. "Lady Olga Maitland's my MP," he said. "I expect she'll get back in again." He didn't seem too upset at that. Having consumed the Guardian book of the election I knew we weren't targeting Sutton and Cheam, I afforded him a magnanimous smile. When he had gone, the assorted comrades agreed that the Tories losing Sutton and Cheam would be like an unprecedented political revolution. Lady Olga Maitland, where is she now...?
Meanwhile half an hour ago I settled down to watch last night's The Amazing Mrs Pritchard. Look, I know, my BA(Hons) is in Politics. It's ludicrous patronising tosh with very little political understanding or appreciation. But what else to expect from the media. But it is pretty entertaining if you set aside absolutely everything you have learnt about the British Political System.
As a by the way, my Esteemed Employer, in a corporate sense, entertained various editors of Women's magazines recently and said editors were interviewed about, amongst other things, their impressions of Esteemed Employer. There seemed to be a consensus on the gorgeousness of the building, but would you believe that quite a few of them were surprised it wasn't full of men in grey suits. I'm not sure what century, or parallel universe, they live in, but are there any workplaces of any significant size that is stuffed with men in grey suits? We even have some minority ethnic people. And people with disabilities. And gay people, too.
I still don't understand why I suddenly can't record Five on the Sky+. Well, I can, but it sticks and jumps. Sky very nicely talked me through how to defrag the Sky+ box. This, apparently, should be done every few months, but it doesn't come in the standard instructions. Presumably because Sky have decided its customers are too thick to follow simple instructions without being talked through them on the phone. Seems pretty much Sky corporate policy - for heaven's sake don't ever give the public thefull facts.
With no telly I should probably go to bed early.
* or to be strictly accurate, murder it less quickly
** was anybody else there? Does anybody have a copy of that photo?
*** I know, I know Campaign Centre. I'm Old Labour. Get over it.
