Image credit: Getty Images via @daylife)Though not a monarchist I had been looking forward to H.M. The Queen's Diamond Jubilee celebrations....plenty of horses and, uniquely, a parade of boats.
I like boats and there promised to be many traditional craft on show...in action, as opposed to up on blocks in a museum....not to speak of the big ships moored in the Pool of London.
Derby Day was the day before...I switched on the BBC during the preliminaries to the big race, expecting to see the horses in the paddock and was greeted instead by a pair of comperes rather than commentators....an ex champion jockey and a lady larger than himself, which is to be expected given the ideal physique for jockeys.
Both would have qualified for the description 'found under a big hat'.
His topper looked ready to engulf him at any moment while her gunmetal grey confection resembled nothing so much as a failed Paris-Brest gateau at which the discontented pastry chef had fired bird shot.
The BBC should review what they pay this pair....all we learned during their double act was that the jockey was missing his lunch in order to be performing for the cameras, because the lady had a technique all her own for hogging the screen.
She would fire a question and while the jockey was replying she would immediately shout him down in a voice which would have done credit to Hornblower clawing his ship off a lee shore on a stormy night.
Finally we had a brief glimpse of the horses in the paddock where the jockey worked with another top hatted side kick who allowed him to speak.
As, asked his opinion of the runners, his invariable reply was
'He's a big strong horse...'
I imagine that the liquid portion of lunch at least had been ingurgitated on his path from the stands to the paddock.
Just as I was enjoying the horses - despite the inability of the outside broadcast team to co ordinate the 'big strong horse' on the screen with the particular 'big strong horse' under review by the pair of patter comedians - the screen switched to some fair haired brat in a stable yard giving his views on his father, or uncle or grandfather's entry for the race.
While I am aware that the accuracy of the offerings of some racing tipsters compare unfavourably with the information issuing from the mouths of babes and sucklings I would prefer a run down of form and starting prices by someone with some experience of the art.
It preserves the illusion that it is not just a matter of sticking a pin....
The race itself was fascinating...a wonderful job by the jockey of the odds on favourite to hold his horse steady and balanced until it was time to let him loose once the terrors of Tattenham Corner had been overcome...the horse running like liquid silk to the winning post.
At which moment the Paris-Brest gateau hove into sight again and I switched off.
It should have been an awful warning...not to switch on in the morning, but switch on to the BBC I did with hopes of seeing some at least of the superb collection of boats assembled for the occasion.
I was prepared for seeing a lot of the Windsors....it was The Queen's jubilee, after all and the populace expects the cameras to focus on them, though from the frozen faces of all except the Duke of Edinburgh, who seemed to be the only one enjoying himself, they might as well have been rechristened the Glums with the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge taking cameo roles as Ron and Eth.
I was not prepared for seeing commentators lolling in their luxurious hutches.....barkers working the crowds....and, good goddlemighty, even the Paris-Brest bellowing away on the royal barge....the proper one, the one being rowed by oarsmen, not the overblown cartoon fantasy of the Pride of Chartwell carrying the Glums and assorted hangers on.
There were overhead shots of the participating boats, shots of an empty river, while the BBC has evidently developed a technique for concentrating on a very few boats several times while leaving the rest as crowd scenes.
They had, to be fair, hired an expert, Tom Cunliffe, who really is an expert on traditional boats, but then did not let him speak...Paris-Brest technique all over again.
He wasn't the best of commentators when he did get a word in edgeways - I don't want to know that Uncle Tom Cobbley is flying the biggest flag in the fleet from his Cornish lugger. I want to know about the lugger itself.
However, he is not an experienced commentator.....whereas the motley crew offered by the BBC are supposed to have mastered the art.
And what is that art? Letting us follow proceedings by explaining what is before our eyes.
No gimmicks. No self publicity. No Paris-Brest work.
While the big ships are still in the Pool of London it would be an unmissable opportunity to load one of them up with the BBC executives responsible for reducing that once exemplary institution to the level of Bill and Ben high on Weed, take them down to the Nore and keel haul the lot of them....together with the Paris-Brest.
I like boats and there promised to be many traditional craft on show...in action, as opposed to up on blocks in a museum....not to speak of the big ships moored in the Pool of London.
Derby Day was the day before...I switched on the BBC during the preliminaries to the big race, expecting to see the horses in the paddock and was greeted instead by a pair of comperes rather than commentators....an ex champion jockey and a lady larger than himself, which is to be expected given the ideal physique for jockeys.
Both would have qualified for the description 'found under a big hat'.
His topper looked ready to engulf him at any moment while her gunmetal grey confection resembled nothing so much as a failed Paris-Brest gateau at which the discontented pastry chef had fired bird shot.
The BBC should review what they pay this pair....all we learned during their double act was that the jockey was missing his lunch in order to be performing for the cameras, because the lady had a technique all her own for hogging the screen.
She would fire a question and while the jockey was replying she would immediately shout him down in a voice which would have done credit to Hornblower clawing his ship off a lee shore on a stormy night.
Finally we had a brief glimpse of the horses in the paddock where the jockey worked with another top hatted side kick who allowed him to speak.
As, asked his opinion of the runners, his invariable reply was
'He's a big strong horse...'
I imagine that the liquid portion of lunch at least had been ingurgitated on his path from the stands to the paddock.
Just as I was enjoying the horses - despite the inability of the outside broadcast team to co ordinate the 'big strong horse' on the screen with the particular 'big strong horse' under review by the pair of patter comedians - the screen switched to some fair haired brat in a stable yard giving his views on his father, or uncle or grandfather's entry for the race.
While I am aware that the accuracy of the offerings of some racing tipsters compare unfavourably with the information issuing from the mouths of babes and sucklings I would prefer a run down of form and starting prices by someone with some experience of the art.
It preserves the illusion that it is not just a matter of sticking a pin....
The race itself was fascinating...a wonderful job by the jockey of the odds on favourite to hold his horse steady and balanced until it was time to let him loose once the terrors of Tattenham Corner had been overcome...the horse running like liquid silk to the winning post.
At which moment the Paris-Brest gateau hove into sight again and I switched off.
It should have been an awful warning...not to switch on in the morning, but switch on to the BBC I did with hopes of seeing some at least of the superb collection of boats assembled for the occasion.
I was prepared for seeing a lot of the Windsors....it was The Queen's jubilee, after all and the populace expects the cameras to focus on them, though from the frozen faces of all except the Duke of Edinburgh, who seemed to be the only one enjoying himself, they might as well have been rechristened the Glums with the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge taking cameo roles as Ron and Eth.
I was not prepared for seeing commentators lolling in their luxurious hutches.....barkers working the crowds....and, good goddlemighty, even the Paris-Brest bellowing away on the royal barge....the proper one, the one being rowed by oarsmen, not the overblown cartoon fantasy of the Pride of Chartwell carrying the Glums and assorted hangers on.
There were overhead shots of the participating boats, shots of an empty river, while the BBC has evidently developed a technique for concentrating on a very few boats several times while leaving the rest as crowd scenes.
They had, to be fair, hired an expert, Tom Cunliffe, who really is an expert on traditional boats, but then did not let him speak...Paris-Brest technique all over again.
He wasn't the best of commentators when he did get a word in edgeways - I don't want to know that Uncle Tom Cobbley is flying the biggest flag in the fleet from his Cornish lugger. I want to know about the lugger itself.
However, he is not an experienced commentator.....whereas the motley crew offered by the BBC are supposed to have mastered the art.
And what is that art? Letting us follow proceedings by explaining what is before our eyes.
No gimmicks. No self publicity. No Paris-Brest work.
While the big ships are still in the Pool of London it would be an unmissable opportunity to load one of them up with the BBC executives responsible for reducing that once exemplary institution to the level of Bill and Ben high on Weed, take them down to the Nore and keel haul the lot of them....together with the Paris-Brest.
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