Picture the scene - it's Saturday evening round about supper time, the shutters have been closed and the house is all toasty warm. I've just been for a wee (but there's no need to picture that unless you're some kind of a pervert), the dogs for once have settled quietly and there's a neat little pile of digestive biscuits waiting patiently to be dipped one by one into an adjacent cup of tea. Bliss.
It's the moment I've been waiting for all week - the television is tuned to BBC1, the glitter
ball appears upon the screen and the band strikes up that old familiar tune.
Hold onto your sequins, here comes Strictly!
It's at that precise moment that le bon dieu decides he's going to rearrange the schedules with a re-run of Armageddon II. The sky for miles around lights up, rain lashes the terrace sideways sending plastic chairs tumbling like wind-blown leaves and the biggest clap of thunder since the outbreak of WWII takes out the satellite dish. My beautiful glitter ball has been replaced by a trite little message saying "Sorry - no signal". Merde! This is the third time this series and I'm beginning to take it very personally indeed.
Le bon dieu also decides to take out the lights as well for good measure and I stumble about the place tripping on Geordies moose and assorted tennis balls in my search for a torch. In the meantime the phantom digestive nicker has struck under cover of darkness (a real opportunist that one), my tea has gone luke warm, I need another wee and I'm ever so slightly pissed off.
|Wanted for questioning!|
Normal service was finally resumed in time to see the final recap and a repeat of Midsummer Murders. Don't you just love a quiet Saturday night in, in front of the tele?