Tears In Heaven

I don’t watch much TV as I find that getting the time to sit down and relax is proving more difficult the busier I get. Or am I simply confusing busier with older? I’ll make a point of sitting with my Horlicks watching House, Gray’s Anatomy and Dexter plus maybe a bit of Spooks, but that’s about it. There doesn’t seem to be much I’d take time out to follow week after week.

I was watching the News last week and felt really sad to hear of Patrick Swayze’s death. The movie star seemed to be one of life’s decent people, married to his childhood sweetheart for over thirty, happy, years. Though I only met him briefly once he was utterly charming. As he smiled and introduced himself, our conversation went something like this …….

Swayze – Hi, how you doin’?
Me – Good thanks. You?
Swayze - Good too. Great movie, huh?
Me - Yep.
Swayze - He’s good isn’t he?
Me – Yep.
Swayze – Good to meet you. Bye.
Me – Bye.

As you can see it was not my finest hour of scintillating wit and repartee. In my defence may I say that the whole conversation was conducted while standing at a urinal in The Odeon Leicester Square answering a call of nature after the premiere of a Timothy Dalton James Bond movie. It’s hard to be witty and scintillating with your flies open and with a Hollywood star standing having a wee beside you. Uppermost in my mind wasn’t that I had to try and make an impression. It was “for goodness sake whatever you do just look straight ahead”.

Swayze didn’t have to say hello to me, a complete stranger, so he was obviously a sociable guy rather than being self important and big headed. Nice bloke. And yes, he did wash his hands after.

I also was sad to hear of the death of TV chef Keith Floyd. Not watching much telly I’m not really in to those cooking shows and I can only just about distinguish my Jamie from my Delia but I have real problems telling my Gordon Ramsay from my Anthony Worral Thompson. I think I’ve got it sussed now though. Thompson’s the one with the Scottish accent, face like foam rubber, says he used to be a footballer and uses language like Sauchiehall Street populated by drunk people with Tourette’s. Isn’t he?

Keith Floyd came on a TV show I hosted and I was asked to interview him while he gave us his guide to good barbecue food. Of course he was uncontrollable and threw food over his shoulder when he didn’t like it. To keep up his image as a rebel he drank gallons of Ribena from a huge glass hoping, or so I thought, that the viewers would think it was red wine. After the show I sniffed the glass and sure enough it wasn’t red wine. It was red wine with whisky or something else in it. I’m told he had the liver of a youngster when he died of a heart attack last week and I can only assume it was the liver of a young whale.

With people leaving us this week it makes me wonder again what Heaven might be like. I used to think of fluffy clouds and angels playing Carpenters’ hits on harps, but then I grew up and imagined it would be like Willie Wonka’s factory with a series of rivers of melted chocolate with custard tart boats. Now, I imagine it will be a place where mobile phones are banned and email has been banished to the bad fire, and where you get told off if you don’t relax and spend time with your family while drinking champagne.

Of course I’ve also changed my ideas on Hell. I used to think it was hot and full of screaming souls, but now I imagine it’s called Top Gear and you are constantly forced to watch Clarkson, Hammond and the other one no one remembers share their opinions on anything and everything. On earth the least used words are “I’m sorry”, in Top Gear Hell I imagine the least heard words will be “no, I don’t actually have an opinion on that”.

Someone tipped manure over Clarkson this week. Disgusting, smelly, offensive, embarrassing and anti social. And the manure probably is too. But I have a sneaking regard for whoever did it.

However, before every nutter starts to have a go at the denim perm, I reckon they should calm things down a bit and feminise Top Gear just a little. Maybe get Paul O’Grady to host it. Just imagine the test drives. “What? You want me to put my dry cleaned trousers on those seats? Wear a crash helmet and hide my highlights? You kidding? And could you wash that manky old exhaust pipe first? Bit of Windowlene on the windscreen please. Any chance of a few lights around the mirror?” And then perhaps an item on colour coordinating your seat covers for the new season, presented by Dale Winton.

I don’t watch much TV. But that? That I would watch.