resorts
Friday, October 12, 2007
My resolve eroded by lack of sleep,* have been letting Becca watch Actual Telly in the morning rather than plonking on a DVD to buy me some mins for, y'know, cleaning, and stuff. Laundry. Coffee. To discover the latest - now what's the word? Um. Excrescence. I think. Anyway, the latest steaming pile of sheer dreadfulness to have passed in front of my daughter's impressionable little mind is something called In The Night Garden: sadly, nothing to do with Maurice Sendak, it's what happens when the Tellytubbies meet Victorian children's literature, with graphics by Monty Python. And narrated, God forgive him, by famous thesp and 'confirmed bachelor'** Derek Jacobi. It's so bad it makes Fifi and the F***ing Flowertots look good by comparison.
* Becca coughed and keened until two; when Maggie woke for a feed at four I was, perversely, relieved: if she'd chosen last night to sleep through the irony would have been altogether too much.
**Not my phrase: I saw him thus described in an otherwise fawning article in some Home Counties lifestyle mag.
0 Comments: