Gogglebox by Peter Fuller

I can’t stand that man!

What man is that, Thora?

That man, on the television!  I can’t abide him.

But I really like him.  He rides a Rickshaw for charity every year and he’s always on Country File.

Not that man!  Oh Elsie, do keep up.  I mean the man who was sitting on the couch opposite him a moment ago.  Oh, what is his name?  Come on Elsie, you must know him, he plays a detective in that TV series and always catches the murderer in the end.

That sounds like every programme they ever put on the tele nowadays.

For goodness sake Elsie, do I have to think of everything?  In the last episode a large cheese fell on a woman and killed her stone dead.  You must remember, we watched it together.  Just keep concentrating on the screen, if that’s not too much trouble for you?

I can’t see anything at the moment Thora, because Florrie Sutcliffe is dragging her Zimmer frame right in front of the television.  The ten o’clock news will be on before she’s out of the way.

Look, there he is Elsie!  Oh despair, he’s gone again.

I’m sorry Thora, I can only see the expansive Sutcliffe bottom at the moment.

I might have known that you’d miss him.  Now that Welsh woman with the screechy voice is introducing another segment, about climate change probably.  It would help me if you would go and tell the staff to turn up the sound of the television.  You might then just recognize his voice.

Thora, you know that’s a non-starter.  Every time somebody turns up the volume on the tele her Royal Highness, Philomena (up-her-own-arse) Crawford, insists that it is turned down again.

I am clearly surrounded by complete nincompoops!  But no, wait.  There’s Tony.  He’ll come to our rescue. He’ll sort this out even if you can’t.  Tony, Tony, Tony, could you spare us a moment dear boy?

Please wait a minute Thora, I’m administering Mrs. Albright’s tablets and then I’ll be right over.  Promise.

Tony’s such a good-looking boy, don’t you think so Elsie?  He reminds me very much of my grandson, Baslow, who is, of course, a genius.  He works in the post office.

Now ladies, that’s done.  How can I help you?

Oh, Tony, you are so kind to an old fusspot like me.  You are exactly what I need.  In fact, I needed you fifty years ago, but that’s another story.  Ha, ha.  Dear boy, there is a man appearing on the television and Elsie and I are desperate to remember his name.

Don’t rush him, Thora, the Welsh woman has just handed over to that bald-headed chap.  You know, the one who is always being filmed crawling through undergrowth whilst looking for rare beetles, or for copulating three-toed spotted twits, and the like.

Quiet Elsie!  Tony dear, I am fraught with frustration and Elsie is not being of any help at all.  The man plays a detective in that television series that is full of murders.  In the last episode a victim was pushed into a cheese-making machine and the cheddar cheese was turned immediately into Red Leicester.  Do you remember it?

Well, ladies, it could be that that you are thinking of a series called Midsomer Murders and that the actor’s name you are trying to remember is John Nettles?

Yes, yes, of course.  Oh, hallelujah!  You see Elsie, it takes only a little bit of brain power to find the answer.  And look, there he is at last, his face filling the screen.  John Nettles!

I don’t know how to tell you this ladies, but that isn’t John Nettles.  That is Gyles Brandreth.

Gyles Brandreth!  No, no it can’t be!  I can’t stand that man.