BOOK OF THE DAY : Nice to See It, To See It, Nice: The 1970s in Front of the Telly; By Brian Viner; Simon and Schuster 310pp, £12.99
AH, BUT it was different back in the 1970s, children. You couldn’t get hundreds of satellite television channels. There were no DVD recorders. If you missed a programme, your computer wouldn’t obligingly track it down for you next day. In Britain there were but three channels – BBC1, BBC2 (on for just a few hours in the evening) and ITV, which some parents forbade because they thought it vulgar. And here it was even worse, with most places outside Dublin restricted to one channel until RTÉ 2 began in 1978.
Such deprivation, by today’s standards! And were we happy, children? Well, actually, we were, as Brian Viner points out in his entertaining recollections of a youth spent glued to what was known as “the goggle-box”.
Televisions were very expensive and most people rented sets. Because the choice was so limited, programmes had greater significance: families avidly watched each new episode of Upstairs Downstairsor Rootstogether, and they were endlessly discussed the next day. The Morecambe and Wise Christmas Showwas a highlight not only of the festive season, but of the year.
Our enjoyment of television was wholehearted and largely uncynical, though few were as innocent as Viner's friend Pete's mum, a big fan of Ironside, the wheelchair-bound police chief played by Raymond Burr. When he visited Britain and trotted nimbly down Parky's stairs, mum called out excitedly: "Peter, quick! Come here! Ironside's on Parkinson and . . . he's better!"
If Viner's book was merely a nerdish examination of 1970s television it would be of limited interest, and only to those of a certain age, but it is something more – a warm, often very funny account of life as the only child of a lower middle-class family. When he was 14 his father died suddenly, and a precious memory Viner took into adulthood was hugging himself with delight at the sight of his dad helpless with laughter at John Cleese in the first series of Fawlty Towers.
Perhaps to put a buffer between himself and his grief, the teenager immersed himself in even more television: The Golden Shot, Kojak, On the Buses, Benny Hill. He fell in love with Jenny Hanley from Magpieand Alexandra Bastedo from The Champions; his role models were Hannibal Hayes from Alias Smith and Jones, John Noakes from Blue Peter, The Sweeney'sGeorge Carter and The Banana Splits'cartoon D'Artagnan.
He grew up to be TV critic for The Mail on Sundayand a columnist on the Independent. On the way to interview John Cleese he wondered whether it would be overly personal to thank him for one of the most vivid memories he had of his dead father. But they had barely shaken hands before it all came tumbling out. The great comic actor's eyes filled with tears and he rose to embrace Viner in one of those awkward fumbles that Englishmen attempt with such heartfelt clumsiness.
This part social history, part memoir is rich in that kind of charming, insightful anecdote. It’s not an important book, nor would Viner make such claims for it, I’m sure. But it is endearing, and it was nice to read it, to read it, nice.