Watching River Cottage at dinner time. Aw, Hugh Fearnley Wittingstall is making jam. How lovely. Out he goes to collect fruit for it with some middle aged lady in some rich autumnal paradise, outside a picturesquely crumbling manor house. Its a picture of wholesome pantheism. There he is....mixing the jam. And, as if painfully self conscious that he is in fact on television, not casually completing some pleasant Sunday chores before shuffling off to read the paper, and that making jam might not be the most riveting thing to watch, he tries alarmingly to wring some kind of sexual innuendo from the situation! And directs it at the middle aged woman! 'Nothing wrong with a bit of poking and prodding in the kitchen', he mutters, followed by a comment provoked by some so called 'leather fruit' - to do with whips, and bondage. I'm not even making this up. Hugh Fearnley Wittingstall is suggesting to a middle aged woman the joys of whipping, restraining and fucking someone. Over jam. She sort of smiles half heartedly. He looks like he wants to cry. It's so awkwardly constructed, you know there's a twatty young producer somewhere gleefully orchestrating this.
What's going on? The cynicism! The implication that the average viewer cannot sustain themselves on television that's merely about cooking!
Dear Channel Four..........outraged etc, moral rupugnancy etc etc the good old days etc etc etc. Yes I know. But still.
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2 comments:
Hugh Fernley Whittingstall ate my cat.
Sad isn't it, we should really start worrying though when they try to sex up Antiques Roadshow
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