Thank God for the DVD box set, I’m done with TV

Laura Craik
20 Aug 2009

When I look back from my dotage to the summer of 2009, it won't be the expenses scandal that sticks in my mind, or the death of Michael Jackson, or the foul, unpredictable weather, or the proliferation of cheap and brightly coloured jelly shoes. No, it will be the terminal decline of television.

August 20, 2009 is the day the telly died. I'm not quite sure what sounded the death knell but it might have something to do with the twin indignities of How Clean Is Your House? (Channel 4, 8pm) and The Rat Pack (8.30pm, BBC1), which I optimistically hoped might be a tribute to Frank Sinatra but in fact turned out to be a documentary about pest controllers in London. I've sat through many an hour of drivel in my time but I draw the line at watching a fat bloke chase a rat up a drainpipe.

Of course, this begs the question all thirtysomething parents will, at some point, find themselves asking: what do you do of an evening?Once the baked cod and wilted spinach has been prepared and consumed, do you both retire to the living room and spend the next three hours with your laptops on your knees, muttering dry asides to each other about your respective websites? We've tried this but it isn't very sociable. So another communal activity must be sought, one that can still be enjoyed while dunking Penguins in your tea.

This is the summer of the DVD box set. If politicians want to galvanise the nation, they need only start a parliamentary debate about the merits of The West Wing v The Wire. Running out of conversation as you hover awkwardly with the other parents at little Poppy's birthday party?Just talk about box sets. Everybody has an opinion, and everybody likes to air theirs at length. Is The Sopranos the greatest TV drama ever made? Was The West Wing ever the same without Rob Lowe? Is Prison Break better than Grey's Anatomy? Is Buffy the Vampire Slayer the modern-day equivalent of Shakespeare? Do you get used to the accents on The Wire, or do you watch it with subtitles? (NB: if any of your acquaintance answers “yes” to this last one, defriend them immediately.)

No wonder the BBC's share of viewers has sunk to a historic low, and ITV's share has fallen below its self-imposed target. Both channels seem to blame commercial rivals but I'd wager it's the box set, not the digibox, that has put the final nail in TV's coffin.

Cheaper than a subscription to cable, the best ones are far more complex and engaging than any current Hollywood blockbuster — so much so that they can only, surely, be contributing to the decline in cinema attendance, too. However hard the rain falls this summer, box sets are the gift that keeps on giving.

A good degree in door control

That annual avalanche of pretty girls in strappy vest tops is upon us once more as the latest crop of A-level students grin photogenically at their brilliant results. Soon, the lucky ones will pack said vest tops for a spell at university, where they will work hard, play hard, graduate and in theory start several rungs higher up the career ladder than their friends who left school at 17.

I hope they fare better than a friend of mine. Despite graduating with a 2:1 in English, it took him six months to find paid work of any kind, graduate or otherwise. Finally, he was offered a position: as a bouncer at his local JobCentre. He didn't get the job because of his degree: he got it because he was built like a brick shithouse.

No swords, plenty of sandals

As an airhead with a very low boredom threshold, I was a little worried by my husband's “treat” of tickets to Helen at the Globe. Nor did my mood brighten when we took our seats: narrow, brick-hard benches with barely enough room to get both bumcheeks down. I know the Government has slashed arts funding but you'd think they'd have managed to chip in for a roof.

While Frank McGuinness's version of the Greek classic was witty, pacy and all those other adjectives critics use when they are enamoured of a play, what really sold it to me was the fashion. Truly, I have never seen so many fabulous gladiator sandals in one small space

Cheers to beer

At last, good news! Just as I was about to fall into a slough of despond over recent revelations that a single slice of boiled ham can kill you from 30 paces, another survey comes along and says beer is good for me. A study of 1,700 women found that bone density was better in regular beer drinkers.

As someone who's endured years of female pals saying: “Ooh, but doesn't it make you feel bloated?”, I'm cheered to know that for once I have imbibed something that won't kill me. Clearly, it isn't the beer that is making all you wine drinkers feel bloated: it's all those sausage sandwiches the morning after.