McTag wrote:spendius wrote:I'm simply amazed that I have not been profusely thanked for sussing out Titchmarsh.
That guy has sold more stuff than any other salesman you could recognise. He doesn't work with individual companies. He works with trade organisations.
It was funny though when he tried his hand at musical appreciation.
I liked it, and the guy writing in The Guardian G2 yesterday wrote a piece in a similar vein, which was very cruel but funny. (too)
I'll see if I can find it.
By Jim Shelley-
TV Dinners
1. First, some classical music. Classical music that soars. Majestically, gloriously, rapturously ... Music that stirs the soul and makes you proud to be British. Big music, fit for the most tragic romantic epic, for a film about the Somme, and in this case, for a montage of the nation's cuddly mammals, its fields, its fish.
2. Next, dig up your Alan Titchmarsh. This requires taking an expert in putting revolting water features in people's back gardens, covering with a sprinkling of knowledge about wildlife, and plonking him at the centre of your showpiece.
3. Baste with orange makeup and lay a small wad of turf on his head.
4. Soak in the twee, twittering, tones of someone who has recently had a lobotomy and walks around twittering away as if they have never seen a flower or a bird before.
5. Tip in enormous amounts of saccharine and homely, Hovis-flavoured sentimentality until you have simpleton's soundbites such as: "Water! There's not a plant or animal on earth that can do without it!" (No kidding.)
6. Add plenty of greens. Majestic, glorious greens. Green trees, green pastures, green, um, grass. Until you have seen so much green, you gag. Open the kitchen window and breathe in the traffic fumes to recover.
7. Mix in mentions of Yorkshire, cups of tea and spoonfuls of alliteration until the whole thing is winsome, whimsical and other words beginning with "wuh".
8. Finally, I recommend battering. Not with flour, milk and egg, but with a large chrome saucepan.
