Now despite having some 40 channels available for my viewing pleasure I’m still struggling to find anything worth watching. I’ve tried holding out by restricting myself to highbrow documentaries but I’m afraid my brain has softened and I’ve now descended to watching the daytime televisual tripe that’s broadcast between adverts for ambulance chasing lawyers and cleaning fluids that can strip a penny bare in two seconds.
One of these dreadful daytime programmes has become an immovable fixture in my day. It’s a show called Dickinson’s Real Deal. For those not in the know, this hour-long viewing fest features the orange and impossibly perma-tanned David Dickinson, an antique expert of popular note. The show’s format is cleverly designed to appeal to that peculiarly British trait of pretending not to be interested in an item’s value whilst secretly harbouring the most base and greedy of intentions.
Members of the public bring their antiques and valuables along to a large hall rented by Mr Dickinson for the day and then they’re pitted like gladiators against celebrity antique dealers who try to buy the valuables from them for as a low a price as possible. If the seller doesn’t like the amount they’re offered they can turn down the deal and chance their arm by taking the item to auction.
And it’s here where the programme really comes into its own. There’s nothing more satisfying than seeing some nasty greedy little member of the public turn down a respectable offer for their piece of tat in the hope that it will fetch an impossibly high price under the hammer. The moment when these grasping little people fail to sell their junk for even half the money they were previously offered by the dealer is a moment of pure schadenfreude. There’s nothing to beat it.
Still, I can’t hang around here gossiping with you lot… Celebrity Crap in the Attic is about to start on the other side.