The hard sell

`The older I get, the less tolerant I become of being treated by television like a child with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. No offence meant to Dr Jago Cooper but, if I’m going to consider spending a valuable hour of my fast-diminishing lifespan watching a documentary about Lost Kingdoms of South America, the very last thing that’s going to persuade me is being importuned in the manner of those men with microphones at street markets trying to persuade me to buy an amazing labour-saving device I never knew I needed, the Radish-o-Chop.

Probably, if I stopped to listen to the man, I’d find that the Radish-o-Chop was indeed an invaluable addition to my batterie de cuisine, especially once I’d been shown its dicing and paring functions and its versatility (not just radishes — but grapes and olives, too!). But I never get that far. As soon as I sense I’m being given the hard sell, I react in much the same way women do when they sense you’re really up for it or you haven’t had it in a while: it makes me want to run a mile.