Joy Cometh In The Daytime

I’m in a kind of televisual mourning at the minute. Last week marked the finale of one of my favourite TV shows, Boston Legal. Topical, biting, astute, tremendously well acted and written and, most importantly, completely bonkers, my world feels a little duller without Messrs Spader and Shatner dressing like flamingoes, taking on The Supreme Court and intimate chats on the balcony.

But there’s another show recently that, while it has had less effect on me in the grand scheme, I’m sad to see go all the same. Seoige, a  polished banterfest hosted by two sexy sisters, had it’s last show transmitted last Friday, a victim of  RTÉ cutbacks, and with it a nation of men who wouldn’t be seen dead watching daytime TV otherwise rubbed their thighs in a Vic Reeves fashion for the last time. It’s a shame that it’s gone, not just because Síle’s insane dolphin impression is a national treasure, but that because it was one of the few daytime magazines that was at all watchable.

The Afternoon Show, for instance, isn’t a patch on Live At Three (Derek Davis is much needed back on our screens), Loose Women is the type of show where I’d be afraid to watch it for more than a few minutes lest I get brainwashed, but the worst effort of all is from, who else, TV3, with their midday offering called, accurately if nothing else, Midday.

Now, one hand, you have to give credit to TV3 for attempting to make some in-house programming to make them look less like ITV Ireland, but there are only so many marks for effort anyone can give out when they’re as “dear jesus, make it stop!” bad as Ireland AM, Tonight With Vincent Browne and indeed Midday. It’s often said of TV shows that they don’t really know what they are, and in this case it’s really true. Of the five or so panellists they have on every day, three of them are regular presenters on other shows, often spreading links between the three of them, oftentime leaving the audience, to say nothing of the other panellists, not a small bit bemused. Whereas RTÉ are cutting the wages of their bigger stars, TV3 seem to be putting them on as many shows as possible to make sure they really earn their money. If only it was the format though that was lacking. On the day after President Obama’s Innauguration, the panel were engaging in a conversation that’s very much the station’s calling card: Fashion, and the fabulous celebrities who wear it. In the middle of analysing the choice of Michelle Obama’s overgarments one panellist made reference to “the old guy” at the back. They guy in question was Senator Edward Kennedy. Good to see his 46 years in the US Senate didn’t go to waste, then. Mercifully though, I tend not to catch too much of that type of thing because the radio rules supreme at Casa Duffy until 3:25, when my TV world starts to make sense again.

I’ve waxed lyrical about the virtues of Countdown on this here blog before, but its’ presence as the intelligent oasis in a desert of banality isn’t to be underestimated. From the suave and assured presentation of Jeff Stelling, the infinite lexicon of Susie Dent, the institutional goodwill that comes with over a quarter century of  being on air and the fact it’s the only show you’re likely to see ads for ear wax relief on, Countdown is still an absolute joy to watch. Of course, there is one other crucial thing I’ve thus far omitted that keeps the show so eminently watchable. Riley be thy name.

Frankly, there’s too much to admire about Rachel Riley. The fact she’d never looked into a camera save for holiday pictures prior to auditioning for her current job and yet still got it, the fact she’s a couple of months younger than me and she’s slipped right in to a TV institution with ease, the fact that at her time at Oxford (Oxford for Christ’s sake!) she was considered “one of the most talented physicists her teacher has taught in 30 years” (it says a lot about me that I find this incredibly sexy), plus the fact she looks like Venus’ little sister make it pretty easy to understand why her army of fans grows with every passing abstruse maths problem solved.

So enamoured was I in fact that when Jeff announced a limerick competition, the winner of which would get a Countdown Teapot, I sent one in, dedicated to Her Ladyship. To my considerable delight, I got an email a few weeks ago saying that my own humble five line epigram would be read out on the episode broadcast the 8th May, mollifying  my fears that I had crossed that fine line between healthy crush into mental. And not only am I not the only person to verbalise my fondness for Miss Rachel, but some people have put music to it too.

Introduced over Facebook  by a mutual friend because she thought I might be of help in getting his picture taken with a mannequin (it’s like I don’t even recognise bizarre anymore, it happens so often), Mike Dunbar is a comedian from the north east of England with whom it turns out I’ve a lot in common: We’re both fans of The West Wing, Garth Merenghi’s Darkplace, and Rachel Riley. His song, The Ballad of Rachel Riley, which can both be found at http://mikedunbarcomedy.wordpress.com/podsongs/ and is great, was described by the lady herself as “Hilarious, but not funny enough to prevent me seeking a restraining order”, and is the type of song you’d expect Wayne Coyne to write if he watched the show.

For all my lamentations of the loss of Boston’s most entertaining lawfirm, it’s still nice to know that TV can move people to activity, creativity and puppy dog affection, and for that Rachel Riley should feel pretty proud of herself. That and the fact that she knows her 76 times tables inside out. And if I can make her laugh even the slightest bit at my limerick when it’s read out next Friday, I can retire a happy man.

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