I can remember the first TV we had - it was a Ferguson black and white, with shiny veneer sides - there only three channels - I can hear, even now, the hiss of static from the speaker - I can still see the vague, sinister, drifts of snow moving over the figures on the screen - the shifting faces of the TV people made me think, even then, of the TV sets in Jerome Bixby's Peaksville -
I would lie under the TV set sometimes, staring up into its strange glowing interior - I would turn the pages of the Radio Times, seeking out my favourite programmes - I would sit, enthralled, mesmerised by Blue Peter, or, perhaps, Laramie -
Stages of my early life were marked by particular shows - I can recall, most of all, watching Morecambe and Wise - I would sit with my brother, Nick, and with my parents, in the brilliantly lit lounge - feuds with my brother were forgotten for an hour or so -
Later, I brooded over episodes of The Prisoner - when I went to school, I would murmur - I am not a number - I exulted to see my favourite bands on Top of the Pops - when I saw those brilliant swaggering peacocks, I was convinced that my life would be full of adventure and girls -
So, when I saw this TV repair shop, in Albert Road, I was reminded of those happy TV days - the bright, perky, fascia lifted my spirits - anything was possible again - I straightened my shoulders, and thought of cypress trees and dazzling skies -
No comments:
Post a Comment