Skip to main content

Does he like mustard, tomato sauce or brown sauce with his chips?

As a kid in the 70s, I grew up on a diet of Mr & Mrs - Border TV's kitsch game show which tested how much a husband and wife knew about one another. Under the supervision of dapper host, Derek Batey, one contestant would retire to a soundproofed booth while their companion gave answers to a series of trivial questions about life around the home. If husband could guess wifey's answers - or vice versa - the happy couple might head for home with a carriage clock and a jackpot of, say, £50.

Fast forward to 2008, with Batey's 80th birthday looming in the summer, and the show is set for a fantastic new makeover. The hosts on this occasion will be none other than Philip Schofield and Fern Britton. And, in keeping with the zeitgeist, the couples will be celebrities who will happily to donate their prize winnings to charity. This time, the jackpot will be £30k, as inflation means that everything costs 600 times what it did thirty odd years ago. (A £6 chicken today, for example, was just a penny down the Old Kent Road in 1975. A £3 grande cappuccino was a halfpenny, but you couldn't get one for love nor money.)

The real excitement comes with news of the couples who've been lined up for the new show. Neil and Christine Hamilton, for instance. ("If your husband saw a man in a white suit threatening to take his parliamentary seat away from him, what do you think he would do?") Kerry Katona will be popping down the The London Studios in Waterloo with her own hubby. And on one occasion, Mr & Mrs will become Mr & Mr as jungle hero Christopher Biggins tries to second guess his partner Neil. I won't even mention the one with Lembit Opik and that Cheeky Girl. It's all too much to take in.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Special Constable update

I've now studied the Special Constable poster in more detail (see blogs passim ) and can reveal the idea is even more complex and bizarre than I first thought. You'll recall that a Special is on some seedy looking street corner, just yards away from where a drug deal is in progress. He's keenly observing events and looks ready to take some kind of action. The copy says that Specials wear uniform and always have back-up. But this guy is on his own in plain clothes. Worrying. Perhaps he's off duty but just can't leave the policing thing alone? Once a part-time copper, always a part-time copper. But wait. There is back up. It comes in the form of the constable's own reflection in a puddle. If he took his eyes off the criminal activity for just a second and took the trouble to look down at his feet, he'd see that in Puddle Land, he is wearing a uniform and carrying a radio. There's enough material here to fill a semiotics seminar for a day. If I disco...

Captain Birdseye and other people of rank

Regular readers may recall that I once doubted the existence of Yeo Valley. I'd never heard of the Yeo mountain range and I therefore rated the likelihood of there being a valley at somewhere between 0 and 5%. Of course, I had yoghurt all over my face when I discovered that the place really does exist. Somewhere in Somerset, I seem to recall. Today, having read an article in the latest edition of The Marketer magazine, I'm astonished to discover that there really was a Captain Birdseye. Well, I need to qualify that just a little. There was a Mister Clarence Birdseye who invented the fish finger back in 1955. The avuncular, uniformed figure who dominated our TV screens for about thirty years may have been an invention of over-eager advertising creatives, but he didn't blow in on a trawler during a squall. There was actually some connection to a real human being. These revelations about fish and yoghurt are causing me considerable disquiet, because I'm wondering h...

Tune in next week, when we'll turn another pretty woman into a high-class hooker...

I like to think that I keep up with most of Mrs W's viewing habits, but she's been watching more and more trash since emerging from her hospital trip and things are spiralling out of control. I understand the need for rest and recuperation, but fear the virus has eaten away at the part of her brain responsible for quality control. Somehow or other, I've never previously settled down to How to look good naked on Channel 4. For the uninitiated, the show is presented by a man called Gok Wan who has the kind of face you could happily slap for a week. No, make that a fortnight. Mr Wan is a firm believer that a woman hasn't lived until she's dressed herself up as a tart and paraded herself naked in front of TV cameras. The only thing holding her back is her self-esteem. With the help of hairdressers, make-up artists and a load of disingenuous patter about how great the girl is now looking, he persuades her to sway down a catwalk in lingerie and pose on a chair like...