TV birthdays and the 10pm pub chucking out time.

 TV birthdays and the 10pm chucking out time. 

We might have known this would happen. We could feel it in our bones. We are almost six months into the one global pandemic that threatens to throw Britain into complete paralysis. For a brief period of time it genuinely felt as though we'd conquered this frightening hell and then yesterday came along and we're back in the same dark room once again. We've now lost our way again with yesterday's announcement from Government HQ and our eminent medical and scientific officers that we're no nearer to cracking the coronavirus than we were back in March when the storm broke and hell broke loose.

So effectively Britain and quite obviously the whole of the world is back at square one. We should have known what to expect because we were given adequate warning. There were whispers, rumours, speculation call it what you like. We were informed about the possibility that another horrendous second spike would visit our shores but we just assumed that it couldn't come back again. Or could it? It did though and the gruesome saga continues unabated. 

Yesterday Boris Johnson, the blond one from Uxbridge, declared, with not a single note of hesitation in his voice that the pubs, clubs and restuarants will close at 10pm as from Thursday. It all seemed too good to be true. There we were labouring under the gross misapprehension that Britain was getting back on its feet only to have the smile wiped off our faces with the news that we'll have to swig down as many pints as possible in record time and then polish off our evening meal in the pub gastro section hoping that it doesn't give us severe indigestion. 

The truth is that from Thursday Britain will be resorting to yet another set of draconian measures designed to quite possibly scare us again if only partially. Maybe we were floating on a sea of complacency straying over the disciplinary line but once again forced to face the music yet again. This time it'll be chucking out time at 10pm because there are tiny pockets of regional communities throughout Britain who have decided to throw caution to the wind, rebelled wildly with their wanton, illegal raves and then indulged in hectic partying with hundreds of their friends until the small hours of the morning without a care in the world. 

Now all pubs, clubs, restaurants and areas of corporate hospitality where substantial amounts of food and drinks are consumed are to wrap up the day's serving to the public at 10.00 in the evening. Which means that if you're planning to come along to your local pub with the intention of taking part in high energy karaoke sessions, or fancy spending the whole evening playing darts and snooker until whenever, then you're going to be pretty disappointed. Hold onto that voice and don't even think about another game of dominoes because it just isn't happening. 

To say that extra precautionary measures are being proposed here would be a huge understatement. We have almost reached the point where the fear of the unknown is rapidly becoming a horrible awareness of yet more misery, more despondency and yet more tidings of woe. It could hardly get any worse of course but the trouble is that it does seem as we're heading that way. We keep looking behind us, in front of us and everywhere else. It does feel as though we're surrounded, pinned into a corner and fighting to loosen ourselves from hindrances, obstacles, restrictions, dare you say, rationing and soul-destroying laws, taboos, and finally that 10.00 curfew. 

You're reminded of those bed and breakfast hotels from many decades ago where the manager or manageress would insist that if you were out late until some unreasonable hour, you wouldn't be allowed into the hotel because they were shutting up shop- or the hotel in this case. They'd lock up for the evening and you were consigned to a night's shut-eye on the local beach with nothing but the sound of the lapping waves of the sea to send you off to sleep. 

And so the immediate future continues to be shrouded in some grey miasma of indecision, uncertainty and some dormant foreboding, that unspoken fear that things could hit rock bottom very suddenly. Before we know it, we could find ourselves as prisoners in our homes. At the moment we seem to be have the virus under our control but the news is perpetually bleak and the mindset is inexplicably negative so who cares let's look on the bright side. 

So what do you normally do when things take a turn for the very worst. You wander over to your TV, take your pick from a thousand TV channels, both terrestrial and satellite Freeview and cherry-pick your ideal evening of entertainment. You now become aware of the alternative diversions such as Netflix and Britbox, those now very fashionable TV channels which sell you a lovely menu of excellent films, documentaries and what is now referred to in the modern parlance as binge-watching from the comfort of your own sofa. So let's go for it everybody and just become drawn into the LSD 85-inch cinema screen sized TV. Who could possibly ask for more? Not us. 

The subject of TV brings you very neatly onto the goggle box itself, John Logie Baird's finest invention, the one topic that always provokes very heated reaction from the masses. TV invades, intrudes and bursts into our consciousness for varying lengths of our lives. It is controversial, funny, serious, deeply argumentative, stupidly frothy and highly offensive if it just says too much and too often. It provides us with series that become immortalised and never ever forgotten. But above all it obeys the edict according to Lord Reith when the BBC was just a young toddler. It informs, educates and entertains. 

It is with great delight then that you extend many happy 65th birthday congratulations to ITV, the first commercial TV service to regale us with its wit, wisdom and always informative content. Yes today folks ITV is 65 years old and is no mood to be pensioned off. Who would have thought then that a TV channel would venture into hitherto unexplored worlds and break down all manner of frontiers with its very pioneering approach at the time?

Of course for those who treasure such memories that epic evening of September 22nd 1955 will always be enshrined in their minds forevermore. The first advert on ITV was dedicated to SR toothpaste, a charming reminder to us that before going to bed we should always remember to clean our molars and teeth. There was that gleaming white ice cube with just a smear of minty tasting paste that pierced through the ice cube and what a source of fascination that must have been at the time. 

Then ITV bombarded with us memorable current affairs programmes such as World in Action, the delightfully enduring soap opera Coronation Street which first appeared on our screens in December 1960 and is still going strong. Then ITV pulled a magic rabbit out of its hat with the delectably entertaining Sunday Night at the London Palladium which in its turn introduced us to showbiz giants such as Tommy Trinder and Sir Bruce Forsyth, peerless comic geniuses in your living room. 

But on that far off evening today in 1955 ITV were almost gently broken into this exciting new world of  advert driven TV programmes. There was a local boxing match from somewhere in provincial Britain, an evening of powerful plays and drama and a whole series of film stars and broadcasters welcoming the birth of a new child to compete against the seeming monopoly that the BBC had held up until then. 

So while you're dwelling on the frustrations engendered from spending only a couple of hours in your local pub or restaurant it's time to crack open the bubbly for dear old ITV. Well done you're 65 today and after years of watching enthralled at all those great regional symbols such as Southern TV, Anglia, ATV and the glorious Thames you'll be pleased to know that we still think that you're a doing a wonderful job so don't stop now. Keep going.