Telly addict

Until recently I was one of those insufferable prigs who proudly announces, ‘Oh, I never watch television, it’s all rubbish these days.’ But there was little virtue in my self-restraint, and I had no idea whether there was anything worth watching or not. The fact is that when you are out at the theatre four, five and sometimes, curse it, six nights a week, watching stuff begins to feel like work. My smoking habit also meant that whenever I did want to watch something I’d have to keep nipping out for a quick drag, Mrs Spencer having instituted draconian smoking bans long before the Labour government. Much easier and pleasanter to sit in my chair in the study (the only room in the house where smoking was permitted), roll up the blessed Golden Virginia and drift off into a reverie to the music of my choice.

Since giving up the weed however — and, 16 months on, I still sometimes miss it with a craving that cries to the soul — I’ve become a bit of a TV junkie, at least on Saturday nights.