We drove home from Devon yesterday, after a brief but lovely visit to Grandma, and once we were all trapped in the car Mum inexplicably decided it was appropriate to listen to The Archers. I’ve written here about my loathing of the world’s most pointless rural radio soap, but it turns out there is always more to say on the subject.
During the drive, not one but two
excrescences episodes were inflicted upon me and my other sane family members. Both were themed around the village’s disastrous Christmas panto, an event apparently too fascinating to exhaust in a single go. Dramatic occurrences included an inane 10-minute rant by somebody called Linda, and a ripped dress – the stuff of legend, as usual. Given the impressive degree to which the acting manages to be simultaneously wooden and hammy, it was often hard to differentiate between supposedly spontaneous dialogue and pantomime lines.
When I tried pointing out that I have spent my entire adult life going to some lengths to silence the radio as soon as the dreaded Ambridge is mentioned, Mum suggested that our little torture session was “helping” me by providing material for my blog. It’s painful for me to prove her right by writing this, but it is certainly true that there’s a near-infinite number of things I’d rather do than listen to the Archers. So here’s a selection: