OH, THE POWER OF THE REMOTE CONTROL

A week or two back a card dropped through the letterbox. It came from BARB - the British Audience Research Bureau telling me that someone would come calling unless, that is, I minded terribly. And yesterday a big bushy bearded fellow arrived, with suitable identification and laptop to see whether our household might be one worthy of joining the great mysterious panel that so accurately reflects the nation that whatever they watch or listen to may be multiplied by some tens of thousands to tell us the total size of the audience for the ten o’clock news or whatever.

All fiendishly clever. What happens, apparently, if you join the panel is that some magic box of tricks is installed next to your TV. This monitors remotely whatever it is you are watching and then, come the end of the day, sends it down the telephone line or by wireless to some base station somewhere. I’m a bit vague about this bit as if we are accepted on the panel we shall be at first on some sort of reserve list and only be moved on to the proper thing when a vacancy (for the species of work-from-home, pensionable household that we are, presumably) arises. Only at that time will we therefore get to see the wizard box of tricks.

There is some compensation for this invasion of privacy, though it seems pretty trivial - a few vouchers for the house - so we shall have to wait and see whether the whole schemozzle turns out to be more trouble than it’s worth. Anyway, I shall now be rewarded by a feeling of great power, knowing that in making my decision about whether to watch Midsomer Murders while doing the ironing I may be speaking for ten thousand other households and therefore can, by my choices, help to keep a programme on air. Or alternatively, extinguish it altogether.

*****

August is normally a pretty quiet month chez nous. I have some free time to walk and potter in the garden. Not so this year, however. I was to have directed Peter Shaffer’s play ‘Lettice and Lovage’ for our little theatre company this autumn. Sadly, my leading lady has had to pull out and there is no one else available to take over the role. The play has already been postponed once. It has now been advertised. The only thing I could do therefore was to take on the part myself.

So my free time in August is going into learning the role of Lettice - a role originally crated for Maggie Smith. It is a quite brilliant virtuoso piece, which I shall enjoy playing, once the lines are learnt, that is. The story concerns an eccentric guide who embellishes history to make it more interesting for her tourists and from this starting point the play goes on to make a protest against modernism in all its forms, but particularly in architecture. Although a comedy, it is essentially a play about loss and about seeking refuge from a hateful present in the fantasy of the past.

People who are not actors often have strange ideas about lines. ‘Oh I could never, ever, possibly, learn all that, they say,’ when they contemplate the 53 pages of the play most of which is either Lettice on stage by herself or with one other person. But learning lines is not that difficult. We learn all lines everyday when we hear a song or listen to someone speaking. Once is often all it takes to be able to repeat a key phrase or punchline. We all know, I should think, almost enough lines from Dad’s army to put together a respectable paragraph of script. ‘We’re all doomed!’ ‘Don’t panic, Mr Mainwaring!’ ‘Don’t tell him, Pike!’ and so on. It’s surprising what we know that we don’t know we know - to use what has to be called now, I suppose, a Rumpsteadism.

So learning lines is not difficult. It is simply a matter of repetition and with each repetition a little more sticks in the memory. Of course, one is not learning unconnected words - as from a telephone directory - but sentiments, opinions, responses. When you really know a part you no longer had to remember lines because you come out with the words automatically in the right situations. The lines become a part of you as much as perhaps ‘Hello, how are you today?’ is a part of you when you meet a neighbour in the street.

Anyway it is time to go a-learning once more. A quick half hour before and during my morning tea break. Then back again to the office to chase recalcitrant label customers.