shock when moving to England was finding out that some television shows have been running for years: Eastenders – a show about a group of people in London – has being showing for twenty-five years. That, as far as I could determine from the few times I tried to watch it (when my curiosity got the better of me) was about people who continually complain they have no money, but always seem to be in the Queen Victoria pub drinking. Also there was Coronation Street – same theme, which has been on since the 1960’s, a staggering fifty years! Some people have grown up watching these same programs two nights a week – with the repeated omnibus on the weekends – their whole life.
You found that they even referred to the characters as if they were real people. Getting all worked up when so-and-so was about to get married, and how proud they were that it was with a particular person and not so-and-so who was a nasty bit of work. A while back one of the characters was going to be sent to prison, for some reason or other, in the program, as part of the story. People actually protested outside the British Parliament, to have her released. Unbelievable.
No that wasn’t the kind of person I was. Now a documentary about interesting facts, or even people who were real and had done something with their lives, was worth watching. But that was as far as I went. The main channels, as I said, were Fox and CNN even CNBC every now and then. Catching up with what had, and was, happening in the real world. Things that do affect us in someway, and not trying to hide in someone else’s life through make believe.
I flicked through the channels ignoring the mindless dribble until I found Fox, the best news channel in my opinion. Normally it was talking about major incidents that were happening around America or the far reaches of Europe or the Middle East. But tonight it was a local event. A breaking story here in sleepy Devon.
Several people had disappeared, believing it to be foul play.
I sat engrossed as they described the collection of corpses outside.
The reporter was standing outside an old people’s retirement home, with the bright halogen light of the cameraman’s bulb lighting up the night. Old people’s faces were peering out the numerous windows, wondering what the fuss was all about, and who was shining that bloody strong light into their small room?
He was a young up and coming reporter with a little acne on his face, which the makeup poorly covered. His voice was an emotionless monotone. I personally wondered how he had chosen reporting as a career and wondered even harder how he had managed to achieve it with his boring flat voice. Possibly they didn’t have anyone else in the area, or his father had something to do with television, getting him the job.
His flat monolog reported, “…disappearance. Similar to others that had vanished into seemingly thin air.
“ First, Peter Wallace Blackburn, who’s abandoned blue Ford Fiesta was found almost six miles from his Kingsteignton home, in the town of Bovey Tracey. There has been no trace of him, and there didn’t seem to be any sign of a struggle in the car.
“ His wife stated he was having chest problems. Did he have a heart attack and stumble from his vehicle? His body has yet to be discovered. Feral searches of the surrounding woods that run along both sides of the Bovey straights road, have yet to yield anything.”
Bovey Tracey, or otherwise know as the Gateway to the Moors. Only a few miles away from my home.
“… Similarly,” the reporters voice continued, “Cathy Sarah McNain, a mother of three disappeared from Torquay after not returning home from work. Her worried oldest daughter phoned police…”
Nothing mentioned about that fact she was a prostitute. And Torquay was not too far away either, only about twelve miles along the coastline.
I was now sat on the edge of the seat.
“… Thirdly, James Andrew Clark aged
You found that they even referred to the characters as if they were real people. Getting all worked up when so-and-so was about to get married, and how proud they were that it was with a particular person and not so-and-so who was a nasty bit of work. A while back one of the characters was going to be sent to prison, for some reason or other, in the program, as part of the story. People actually protested outside the British Parliament, to have her released. Unbelievable.
No that wasn’t the kind of person I was. Now a documentary about interesting facts, or even people who were real and had done something with their lives, was worth watching. But that was as far as I went. The main channels, as I said, were Fox and CNN even CNBC every now and then. Catching up with what had, and was, happening in the real world. Things that do affect us in someway, and not trying to hide in someone else’s life through make believe.
I flicked through the channels ignoring the mindless dribble until I found Fox, the best news channel in my opinion. Normally it was talking about major incidents that were happening around America or the far reaches of Europe or the Middle East. But tonight it was a local event. A breaking story here in sleepy Devon.
Several people had disappeared, believing it to be foul play.
I sat engrossed as they described the collection of corpses outside.
The reporter was standing outside an old people’s retirement home, with the bright halogen light of the cameraman’s bulb lighting up the night. Old people’s faces were peering out the numerous windows, wondering what the fuss was all about, and who was shining that bloody strong light into their small room?
He was a young up and coming reporter with a little acne on his face, which the makeup poorly covered. His voice was an emotionless monotone. I personally wondered how he had chosen reporting as a career and wondered even harder how he had managed to achieve it with his boring flat voice. Possibly they didn’t have anyone else in the area, or his father had something to do with television, getting him the job.
His flat monolog reported, “…disappearance. Similar to others that had vanished into seemingly thin air.
“ First, Peter Wallace Blackburn, who’s abandoned blue Ford Fiesta was found almost six miles from his Kingsteignton home, in the town of Bovey Tracey. There has been no trace of him, and there didn’t seem to be any sign of a struggle in the car.
“ His wife stated he was having chest problems. Did he have a heart attack and stumble from his vehicle? His body has yet to be discovered. Feral searches of the surrounding woods that run along both sides of the Bovey straights road, have yet to yield anything.”
Bovey Tracey, or otherwise know as the Gateway to the Moors. Only a few miles away from my home.
“… Similarly,” the reporters voice continued, “Cathy Sarah McNain, a mother of three disappeared from Torquay after not returning home from work. Her worried oldest daughter phoned police…”
Nothing mentioned about that fact she was a prostitute. And Torquay was not too far away either, only about twelve miles along the coastline.
I was now sat on the edge of the seat.
“… Thirdly, James Andrew Clark aged
Similar Books
