Remote

I suppose that I am the typical couch potato. A glass of Baileys, a packet or two of salt and vinegar crisps, a giant sized Mars Bar, the leather sofa to myself and most importantly the three remote controls for the TV and I am in heaven. Who needs company, conversation, fresh air (with exercise), and a change of scene when you have a television set with access to hundreds of different channels? OK I suppose you can’t get fresh air or exercise but you can ‘see’ plenty of it and when weather permits I do have the window open, and there is exercise enough in sprinting from one room to another in order to keep up with what’s going on.

There is a ‘receiver’, as I like to call it, in each room of my house. My favourite of course is the one in the lounge, a fifty-inch plasma screen. It is on the wall above the mock log effect fire. The picture is so good I feel that I could almost shake hands with some of my favourite characters.

I have all of my ‘receivers’ tuned to the same channel. I’ve just time during the break to pop a frozen lasagne in the microwave or chips in the oven. There’s only an eighteen inch portable in the kitchen so I have to be quick. We usually have our meals on a tray; Hubby sometimes takes his out to the shed, unless there’s a quiz he wants to watch. Plates and cutlery then go into the dishwasher and so viewing time is not wasted.

Shopping used to be quite a big problem but now bread, potatoes, frozen ready meals, BAILEYS, CRISPS, MARS BARS, and all the things needed for life in this modern world are ordered from Tescos. They come neatly packaged and sorted and Hubby just puts them into their rightful homes.

Clothes were a problem, but have you seen the shopping channels? I can buy whatever I need to cover my modesty. Most days see me wearing jogging pants T-shirts and I do have a passion for those fun slippers. My favourites at the moment are sharks. They have the most realistic teeth with what looks to be traces of blood. I bought Hubby some sweet koalas but he refused to wear them. That’s men for you!

Birthdays are never forgotten, goods are ordered by phone and gift wrapped then despatched to loved ones, with suitable message, and I never have to leave my leather sofa. An added bonus is that the gift can be exchanged if it’s not suitable. I do occasionally get vouchers and gifts because I order so much. How good is that?

Christmas! Is there a worse time of year? Shops full of smelly irritable people pushing, shoving and being completely obnoxious. The shopping channels solve all of these problems. Using my satellite connection I select and charge to my credit card whatever I want. Prezzies are sent off, ready wrapped and no need to leave the house.

Hubby sometimes complains but he’s got his computer, broadband with a twenty-megabyte connection. He’s set it up in the shed and he’s there for hours on end. It’s a home from home in there. He’s insulated it, got an electric fire, a leather desk chair (that matches my sofa) and all the equipment for making himself a quick brew. I sometimes only see him for breakfast. But isn’t that what good marriages are made of, tolerance for each others ‘peculiarities’? It’s good that after all these years we are so tolerant of each other.

He’s not really interested in the Tele, although he does leave his beloved shed in order to watch ‘Who Wants to be a Millionaire’. He could watch it on the computer I suppose but I do think he likes to show off a bit. He’s a real whiz and can even answer those questions where you could win a million. It’s all that ‘surfing’ he does. I’m so proud of him. I’d love him to phone up and try and get on the show but he won’t. How good would that be, my own dear Hubby on the Tele?

I was nearly on once. I’d had to pop out to the shops, it was before home deliveries, and the local news channel was out and about asking people to try snails in garlic butter. I don’t really like foreign food, give me a good old-fashioned, English takeaway curry any time. They’d just put the microphone, and a plate of snails, under my nose when they whisked both away and said they’d got enough footage. Never did get to taste the snails. I did record the item when it appeared on the news. When I played it back a frame at a time you could just see my hand, I knew it was my hand because I recognised the plaster on my finger. It was a nasty cut I got when I opened a tin of soup, I usually have those packets now. And there was just the edge of my pink bobbly scarf, I knitted that in one night when I’d been forced to watch repeats.

When there is something really important on that I have to watch, like one of my soaps, I switch the phone onto answer mode so I won’t be disturbed. Family and friends have strict instructions not to call at certain times and they are very good about it. Mind you I don’t get that many calls but then everyone is too busy watching Tele. I know, I could record them and watch later but it’s not the same. It’s a bit like men having to watch football and cricket matches live I suppose. I’m so pleased Hubby’s not interested in sport at all.

It was funny the time the daughter was in hospital having the baby. We’d had so many false alarms I didn’t know whether I was coming or going. Well, she’d been rushed in again and I just knew she’d be home before the night was out, she still had two weeks to go! I turned the phone off, settled myself on the leather sofa in time for the opening music of Victoria Mansions. I just had to know whether it was Rocky or Blue who was the father of Delice’s baby. Well wouldn’t you know it my first grandchild had to choose that very minute to be born? I didn’t know that until I listened to my recorded messages after Victoria had finished. By the time I got to the hospital mother and baby were all spruced up and looking fine. Once we’d taken the photos and oohed and aahed over the baby do you know what the first question her mum asked was? Yes, you’ve guessed it, ‘Mum, you’ve got to tell me, who is the father?’ We laughed, but I told her I’d recorded all her favourite programmes, including Victoria and that she’d have plenty of time to watch them when she got home. I wasn’t going to tell her and spoil the surprise.

Wayne, that’s her feller, is very good. He wouldn’t let her lift a finger, especially after all that trouble she had.

And you’ll never guess what she decided to call the baby. ‘Mum, as she was born just when Victoria Mansions was on I’m going to call her Tylah, just like Delice’s baby.’

I was so proud. It felt like having our own TV star in the family.

Who knows, maybe one day she will be!